His mind started to shift focus from what he was supposed to be doing, to what he wanted to do…
It took considerable effort to lift his head and break the kiss. Yet he couldn’t seem to get his lips more than an inch from hers.
“Penny…” He nipped her lower lip, trying to focus her attention. “This is seriously unwise.”
Eyes still closed, she dragged in a breath. “I know.”
Her breasts swelled against his chest; his breathing hitched. He caught enough breath to acerbically comment, “You might have reservations over performing certain acts in daylight, but I don’t, if you recall.”
She recalled very well; a sensual shiver ran through her, sending desire spiraling through him all over again.
But at least she opened her eyes. She searched his, then sighed. “I know I can’t go visiting smugglers’ dens by daylight-I know I can’t go with you. But where are you going?”
If she accepted she couldn’t go with him…he mentally cursed. He was losing his touch; she was winning too many concessions. “Lostwithiel first, just to ask around. Then down to Tywardreath. I doubt Granville would have gone that far afield, but I’ll see if they know him down there.”
He released her hands, still locked on the doorknob, his fingers trailing the length of her bare forearms as he stepped back.
She held his gaze, then arched a brow. “See? It wasn’t that hard.”
Before he could respond, she whirled, opened the door, and walked out into the hall.
He followed, shutting the door. He caught her gaze as she faced him. “Behave yourself while I’m gone-go ask Mrs. Slattery for more of Mama’s recipes.”
That earned him a glittering, tight-lipped smile.
He grinned, reached out with one finger and traced her cheek. “I’ll be back for dinner.”
Penny watched him walk off, arrogantly assured, heading for the stables. Her lips eased into a genuine smile. Now she knew where he was going, she could make sure their paths didn’t cross.
After an early luncheon, she rode into Fowey, left her mare at the Pelican Inn, and once again descended to the harbor. After checking that the fishing fleet was indeed out, she climbed the narrow lanes to Mother Gibbs’s door.
Mother Gibbs welcomed her with a cackle, and a shrewd eye for the sovereign she’d promised, but the old biddy was as good as her word; when Penny left some twenty minutes later, all they’d heard thus far and surmised of Nicholas’s interests had been confirmed.
She turned out of the narrow passageway onto the quay.
And walked into Charles. Again.
One look into his eyes was enough to confirm that he now understood why she’d wanted to know wither he’d been bound.
She raised her brows at him. “You must have ridden like the wind.”
“I did, as it happens.” His accents were clipped, his jaw tight; he clearly recalled telling her he didn’t want her visiting Mother Gibbs alone. His fingers locked about her elbow, he turned and walked beside her along the harbor wall.
Refusing even to acknowledge his very male irritation at her intransigence, she looked ahead. “What did you learn?”
After a tense moment, he conceded. “There wasn’t much to learn in Lostwithiel-no one around who could name any local lads Granville may have called friend. As for Tywardreath, the fraternity there knew of him only by repute-he’d never run with them.”
“If he hadn’t gone as far west as Tywardreath, it’s unlikely he’d have gone farther.”
“So I think. With all the gangs about the estuary to choose from, and the Fowey crews are some of the best, why venture to more distant territory?”
They turned away from the harbor to climb back to the High Street.
“Incidentally, I’m not amused.”
“How did you know I was there?”
“I stopped to chat to the head ostler at the Pelican and saw your mare. The rest was easy.” His gaze lifted to her face. “So what did you learn?”
She told him.
Charles listened, inwardly conceding that Mother Gibbs was an excellent source-an inspired choice on Penny’s part, much as he disapproved of the connection. “So Nicholas is definitely setting himself up as Granville’s replacement, specifically putting it about that any contact looking for Granville should now be referred to him.”
“That must mean he’s expecting someone to make contact.” Penny looked at him. “But why would that be? The war’s over. There’s nothing, surely, that the French would pay to learn-is there?”
“Nothing military. But Nicholas is Foreign Office, and they’re involved in trade pacts and so on.” After a moment, he added, “I’ll ask Dalziel.”
Twisting her elbow from his grip, Penny closed her hand over his wrist and halted. She lifted her eyes to his. “Is there any way you can ask without mentioning names?”
He held her gaze for a moment, then turned his hand and caught hers. Confessed. “I’ve already told Dalziel about Nicholas, but believe me, Dalziel’s no threat to you. I trusted him with my life for thirteen years-no danger to you or your family will come through him.”
When she just looked at him, her gray eyes momentarily blank, inward-looking, he squeezed her hand. He wished he could read her mind as well as he could most women’s, then made a plea he wasn’t sure it was wise to make. “Trust me.”
She refocused, stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded. “All right.” Turning, she slid her hand back on his arm.
They continued on, while he grappled with his reaction.
All right. Just like that, without further questions, she trusted his decision, one involving her family’s honor, no less. He steered her back to the Pelican, buoyed and touched by her accepting his word on a matter so profoundly important to her with so little reservation.
Reaching the Pelican, they retrieved their horses; once more side by side, they rode back to the Abbey.
Cassius and Brutus came lolloping up as they walked out of the stables. The hounds gamboled about them, pushing shaggy heads under their hands for pats. Penny laughed and complied. Charles looked across at her.
“Come for a walk-it’s too early for dinner, and these two need a run.”
The hounds had understood enough; they circled, barked encouragingly.
She smiled. “All right.”
They followed the dogs east to the long sweep of the ramparts. Steps led up to the broad grassed walk atop the sloping mound; they climbed them side by side. In companionable silence, they walked along, drinking in the wide views over the lush green fields to the silvery blue estuary and farther, to where the waves of the Channel glittered on the horizon, gilded by the sun.
The breeze was brisk, tugging wisps of her hair from her chignon, rakishly ruffling Charles’s black curls. The hounds bounded up and down the slopes, ranging out, noses to the ground, then circling back to check on them before ambling off once more.
Charles scanned the fields as they walked along. “What was it like around here during the war?” He gestured with one hand, encompassing all before them. “Did anything change?”
She understood what he was asking; she shook her head. “Not fundamentally. There was more activity in the estuary-naval ships and the like putting in, and our local privateers were especially active. There was always talk of the recent engagements whenever one went into village or town, and no dinner party was complete without a full listing of all the latest exploits.
“But underneath, no, there was no real change. The same day-to-day activities still consumed us-the fields, the crops, the fishing. Which family’s son was walking out with which family’s daughter.” She paused, remembering. “Life rolled on.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why he’d asked; instead, she observed, “But if there were any real changes wrought by those years, you, coming back to it so rarely, would notice more than anyone.” She glanced at him. “Has it changed?”