He took the door the footman had opened, held it and held out his hand. She put her fingers in his, felt him grip. Hard.
“I am not happy about this.” The words were a growl as he helped her up the carriage steps.
She glanced at him, met his eyes. “I know. But we can’t always have what we want.”
Moving into the carriage, she sat. He looked up at the coachman, nodded, then leapt into the coach, slammed the door, and flung himself on the seat beside her.
Head back against the squabs, he looked up at the coach’s ceiling. “As it happens, I usually do manage to get what I want from women. With you, however…”
She took a moment to subdue her smile, then, lifting a hand, she gently patted one of his where it rested half-clenched on his thigh. “Never mind.”
His response was a growl of elemental male frustration.
But he opened his hand and closed it about hers.
The drive was as grueling as she’d expected; the coachman had his orders-he drove like one possessed. The crest on the carriage door gave them a certain license. The carriage was relatively new and well sprung, and Charles and his commanding presence ensured that the teams they were provided with at every halt were the very best to be had.
They made excellent time, racing on into the night. Other than easing the pace a fraction to allow for the fading light, the coachman made no other concession. As night closed in, they met fewer and fewer carriages; when full darkness fell, it seemed as if they were the only occupants of the road, streaking ever onward, the carriage lights faintly bobbing, throwing faint gleams that the darkness swallowed as they rocketed along.
The regular thud of the horses’ heavy hooves, the repetitive rattle of the wheels became a soporific lullaby. Drawing her shawl about her, she leaned against Charles; he raised his arm and gathered her in. She smiled, turned to him, lifted her lips for a kiss…which was truncated by the next jolt.
His arm tightened, holding her against him. She patted his chest, then settled her cheek on the warm, resilient muscle, and closed her eyes.
She awoke at their next stop, when he left her to see to the horses. When he returned, and their rattling trip resumed, he drew her back to him and rested his cheek against the top of her head.
A fitful rest at best, yet despite the rigors, the journey was restful in other ways. They spoke little; there was no point in arguing yet.
When dawn broke and Charles took a turn on the box, spelling the coachman who’d driven through the night, her gaze fixed unseeing on the landscape flashing past, Penny grasped the chance to consider the landscape forming between them.
Within it, she felt comfortable; the farther they traveled together along their road, the more the position at his side felt right, increasingly hers. Increasingly meant to be hers. His confidence in that, that that’s what would be, remained unwavering, feeding her confidence that this time…
Once they’d dealt with Fothergill, they would see.
Charles rejoined her in the carriage at Hammersmith, leaving the coachman to tool the coach through the outskirts and into Mayfair. They came to a rocking halt before Lostwithiel House in Bedford Square.
A mansion of gray stone, it was old enough to have developed its own charm. Penny had visited there frequently in years gone by; when Charles’s butler, Crewther, opened the door, she smiled and greeted him by name.
Crewther’s face lit; he was about to bow, then his gaze went past her to Charles, giving her coachman directions to the mews. Crewther’s eyes widened. As Charles turned and strode up the steps, Crewther stepped back and bowed them in. “My lord, Lady Penelope. Welcome back.”
Charles nodded. “Thank you, Crewther. Lady Penelope and I will most likely be here for a few days.” He fixed Crewther with a direct look. “Are my mother and sisters in?”
“I believe the countess, your sisters, Mrs. Frederick and Mrs. James, are attending a luncheon at Osterley Park, my lord.”
Charles’s relief showed. “In that case…” He looked at Penny. “Lady Penelope and I have business to attend to-our movements are uncertain.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
Knowing Charles would leave it at that, she turned to Crewther. “Please inform the countess that she shouldn’t delay dinner or her evening’s entertainment on our account-we’ll speak with her when we return.”
Lips thinning, Charles nodded. “We should call on Amberly without delay.”
She glanced down at her crushed gown. “Just give me time to wash and change into something more appropriate.”
Crewther stepped in, sending a footman for the housekeeper, directing the two who’d fetched their bags to take them upstairs.
Charles gave orders for his town carriage to be brought around, then took her arm; they started up the main stairs in the footmen’s wake. The housekeeper, Mrs. Millikens, came bustling up to meet them at the stair head. She greeted Charles, then bore Penny off to a bedchamber.
“Twenty minutes in the front hall,” Charles called after her.
Mrs. Millikens looked scandalized. “Twenty minutes?” She huffed. “He’s not in the army now-what is he thinking? Twenty minutes? I’ve sent Flora to unpack your things-” Millikens paused and opened a door. “Ah, yes, here she is.” She ushered Penny in. “Now, let’s see…”
With Millikens, who’d known her from childhood, and Flora assisting, Penny was ready, gowned in a walking dress of blue silk twill, in just over twenty minutes. Descending the stairs, she saw Charles pacing in the front hall below. Hearing her footsteps, he glanced up; the set of his features, the frown that lurked, told her he’d been debating ways and means of detaching her from their pursuit of Fothergill-and he didn’t care that she knew.
He walked to meet her, taking her hand, tucking it in his arm as they turned to the front door. “I sent a message to Elaine that you were here-it wouldn’t do for someone to see you about town and mention it. She’s staying with Constance, isn’t she?”
“Yes.” Penny shot him a glance as they went down the steps. “What did you tell her?”
He met her eyes briefly, then handed her into the carriage. “That you and I both had business to deal with, so I’d brought you up to town, that you’d be staying here, that our movements were uncertain, but that you’d explain when next you saw her.”
He followed her in and shut the door, then sat beside her. She studied his face. “Nothing else?”
Turning his head, he met her gaze. “Having you involved in this is bad enough-I’m hardly likely to say anything to bring both our chattering families down on my head…” He looked forward. “No matter the aggravation you cause me.”
She smiled and looked ahead. “Better the devil you know…?”
After a moment, he murmured, “Actually, I’m not that well acquainted with this particular devil.”
She pondered that comment as the carriage traversed the few streets to Amberly House. To their relief, the marquess was at home, but he wasn’t alone.
Charles had sent a rider ahead of them with a message for Dalziel; as they were shown into the library, Penny glanced briefly at her relative as he struggled up from the chaise, then transferred her attention to the gentleman who rose from the armchair opposite.
He was tall, well built; although neither as tall nor as heavy as Charles, he was every bit as physically impressive. His hair was dark brown, almost black, his face pale with the austere planes and strong features that marked him as an aristocrat. Deep brown eyes of that shade most often referred to as soulful took her in; as his gaze, outwardly lazy yet intelligent and acute, met hers, she had little doubt of the caliber of mind behind those bedroom eyes.