That odd look she’d seen and even more sensed in his eyes returned to haunt her. Frowning, she tried to fathom what it meant. In that moment, she was perfectly sure neither he nor she could have pretended anything. He’d sworn he was no longer capable of pretense, not in that sphere; she now understood enough of his past to believe him.
Sinking into the soft mattress, she thought back over the night…smiled at the success of her strategy.
That strange look floated once again across her mind.
She shook it aside. She knew what they were doing this time; it was a physical engagement, an affair with no emotional strings on either side. That was the mistake she’d made last time, imagining something that hadn’t been, not understanding how he saw it. He hadn’t felt for her as she’d thought-not as she’d felt for him-and that’s how he’d always see her. They were close friends indisputably, lovers in the physical sense, but nothing more.
This time she accepted that that was how it would be; she’d gone into this with her eyes open. They would share and indulge in physical pleasure as they would, until they grew tired of it; she had no doubt that whatever transpired they would remain forever friends. He would go off and do whatever he would do, and she would continue as she had been, but with a wealth of memories to warm her, to reassure her that she was as female, as feminine, as desirable as any of her sex.
She knew, this time, what she wanted from him; this time that matched what she could expect to receive. This time, she hadn’t put her heart on the table and expected to receive his in return.
Her gaze drifted to his face, the section she could see. His dark hair lay in heavy locks over his forehead; his beard was starting to shadow his jaw.
Again, that odd, lingering, wanting look of his filled her mind…
He’d spoken of a jigsaw with pieces that didn’t fit; this seemed more like one thread too many for the tapestry she’d thought they’d been weaving. That look was evidence of an extra strand, something she hadn’t expected, something that didn’t fit with the picture of them she’d assembled in her mind.
But that look had been real, not imagined, not something concocted for her distraction. It had been raw, undisguised, unshielded.
Which was why it wouldn’t leave her mind.
Charles came awake in the instant the tumblers of the lock on Penny’s door clunked. He sat up, looked across the room, aware she was awake, too.
The latch lifted, the door swung noiselessly open-all the way open.
The moonlight streaming in was bright; the unlit corridor was pitch-black in contrast. All he could see was the vague outline of a man.
He swore and leapt from the bed.
The man ran.
Grabbing up his breeches, he yanked them on, stomped into his boots. Penny had sat up, covers clutched to her chest, staring at the open door. The sound of running footsteps receding along the corridor reached them.
“Stay there!” He was at the door on the words; he paused only long enough to grab the key from the inside lock, fit it to the outside, then he slammed the door, locked it, and pocketed the key. And raced after the shadowy figure he glimpsed at the head of the stairs.
The man pelted down the stairs, leaping, swinging from the banister. Charles reached the top, and flung himself after him. The man was making for the front door. The bolts would slow him.
Except that the front door stood wide open.
Charles slowed in disbelief as he ran into the wide swath of moonlight pouring into the front hall. Realizing, he swerved to the side, out of the light. He heard the scrunch of booted feet fleeing-then nothing.
Walking out onto the porch, he looked in the direction of the last sound, but as he’d expected, the shrubbery was a mass of dense shadows. The man could be standing there or fleeing through it; it was impossible to tell.
Hands on his hips, he stood waiting for his breathing to even out, and softly swore. He was far too wise to give further chase. The man had come to Penny’s room; if he left the house, the villain might circle around and try for her again. He wasn’t leaving her unguarded, not in this lifetime.
But why the hell had the front door been unlocked? Not even the best locksman could get past its heavy double bolts.
He was turning to check the bolts when a shifting shadow made him freeze. Then he stared. Hands in his pockets, Nicholas came walking up along one of the garden paths, one easily reached from the rear of the shrubbery.
Charles waited where he was, in full sight.
Nicholas saw him from some distance away; reaching the steps, he started up. “What are you doing here?”
Charles paused long enough for Nicholas to sense how very wrong things were, then said, “Some man broke into Penny’s room.”
Nicholas stepped onto the porch. His jaw fell. “What?”
It was a convincing performance, yet Charles wasn’t sure, and wasn’t taking any chances. He waved inside. “The front door was left unbolted.”
Nicholas looked at the double doors, both standing wide. “I…I left them shut when I went out.”
“Shut, but not bolted?”
“Well, no…I had to get back inside.”
“Where have you been?”
“Out.” Apparently stunned, he waved vaguely toward the gardens. “I couldn’t sleep-I went for a walk…” Suddenly, he focused on Charles’s face. “Good God! Is Penny all right?”
Charles almost believed him; his horrified expression appeared very real. “Yes.” He paused, then added, “I was with her.” He started back into the house. Still apparently in shock, Nicholas trailed after him.
Hauling one huge door shut, Charles added, distinctly grim as he thought things through, “Just as well.”
Nicholas closed the other door; he stood back as Charles threw the bolts. “We’d better check the other doors, I suppose.”
“Yes.” Charles did, confirming that the other doors and windows on the ground floor were secure. Not that that meant much; any trained operative could find a way in, and he was sure, now, of the caliber of the enemy.
Nicholas trailed behind him, watching but not volunteering, also just as well. Aside from the fact Charles knew the house better than he did, Charles wouldn’t have accepted his word for anything, not even that a window was locked.
Finally, Charles climbed the stairs. Nicholas followed. Charles halted in the corridor at the stair head; Nicholas’s room was in the other wing, in the opposite direction from Penny’s.
Nicholas stepped up to the corridor; his gaze moved over Charles’s bare shoulders and chest, slid down to the knee buckles on his breeches, hanging free. Halting, he stared at Charles through the dimness, transparently making the obvious connections.
Charles simply waited.
Nicholas cleared his throat. “Ah…you said you were with Penny?”
Crouched behind her bedchamber door, her ear to the keyhole, Penny heard his question and the inference behind it.
“Damn!” She’d already sworn in both English and French at Charles for having locked her in. Panic of an unfamiliar and unprecedented sort had attacked her when she’d heard the thuds as two men-Charles and the mystery man-had gone flying down the stairs. After that, no matter how hard she’d strained her ears, she’d heard nothing. Her window gave onto the courtyard; she’d seen nothing either.
Now she listened with all her might. The door was old, solid, and thick, but so was the lock; the keyhole, with no key in it for Charles had taken it with him, was large. With her ear pressed against it, with night’s quiet prevailing through the rest of the house, she could hear their words. She had no idea where Nicholas had come from, but he and Charles were standing along the corridor, she thought near the stairs.
“Indeed.” That was Charles at his drawling worst. In the circumstances, pure provocation.
She heard an odd sound-wondered for one instant if Charles was throttling Nicholas-then realized it was Nicholas clearing his throat again.