Penny nodded.
Charles glanced at Filchett. “Some cakes wouldn’t go amiss.” He returned his dark gaze to her. “We’ve been riding in the fresh air—it’s left me with an appetite.”
Her expression limpidly innocent, she absolutely refused to react.
Cassius and Brutus had come to greet them; they danced around, then circled them, herding them into the study, Charles’s lair. Charles spent five minutes petting the dogs, running his fingers through their shaggy coats and reducing them to ecstasy. When Filchett arrived with the tray, Charles left the hounds stretched at her feet and headed for his desk to sort through the letters and notes piled there while she poured.
Returning to fetch his cup, he filched the plate of cakes. Nibbling the one she’d already selected, she watched as he went back to the desk and settled to deal with all he’d left to pile up while he’d been guarding her.
He steadily demolished the cakes.
Eventually he glanced up, and noticed her smile. “What?”
“It wasn’t that appetite I thought I evoked.”
He held her gaze, took another bite of cake. Swallowed, then said, “It isn’t. This appetite is the consequence of adequately slaking the other.”
“Adequately?”
Looking back at his accounts, he shrugged. “Thoroughly might be more accurate.”
She grinned and left him to his work, content to relax in the chair and let the peace envelop her. The Abbey had always been a contentment-filled house; even his brothers’ unexpected deaths hadn’t changed that. Closing her eyes, she let the quiet claim her; idly stroking the hounds with her boot, she turned her mind to devising some way of learning what the emotion driving Charles to want her was…and found herself dozing.
Sometime later, the hounds got quickly to their feet and shook themselves; she opened her eyes to see Charles push away from the desk. “Done?” she asked.
He nodded. Rounding the desk, he looked at the dogs, amber eyes shining as they patently willed him to take them for a run. He raised his brows at them, hesitated, then looked at her. “Shall we? We’ve time enough for a walk on the ramparts before we ride back.”
She acquiesced with a smile, held out her hands, and let him pull her to her feet. Into his arms. He bent his head and stole a swift kiss, then, closing his hand about one of hers, headed for the door.
The hounds followed, eager and excited. They bolted the instant Charles opened the side door, but returned within a minute to gambol about them before rushing off to follow some scent.
Hand in hand, they walked down the law
ns and climbed the steps up to the broad curve of the ramparts. The breeze had turned brisk, plucking at her hair, sending errant wisps curling about her face. Catching them, vainly trying to tuck them back, she glanced at Charles; no matter how strong the wind, his curls merely ruffled, then fell back into place.
She stifled a humph; they strolled on.
They’d reached the middle of the long curve when Charles stopped. He turned to her, looked into her eyes, his face set, his expression serious.
She looked back at him, was about to raise her brows in query when his grip on her hand tightened.
“Marry me.”
Her eyes flew wide; her jaw dropped. “W-what?”
His gaze hardened, the line of his lips thinned; the dominant and domineering Norman lord looked down at her. “You heard me.”
She managed to catch her breath. “That’s not the point!” She tugged and he released her; she put both hands to her head, as if she could hold her whirling wits down.
He was the only person who could throw her so off-balance; it took her a moment to steady her thoughts. She stared at him. “I only realized this afternoon what you were about, what you’ve been leading up to—that you were going to ask—but I thought you’d wait at least until after your investigation is ended and this horrible murderer was caught!”
“So I thought, so I intended, until you favored me with your recent revelations.”
His accents were clipped, his words uninflected. She eyed him, increasingly wary. “What have my recent revelations to say to anything?”
Dark blue eyes bored into hers; he wasn’t amused. “You cannot expect to tell me you’ve fantasized for years about being my lady—and in such an explicit way—and not expect me to suggest that, in the circumstances, marrying me would be a good idea.”
In this mood, focused and intent on gaining victory, he could be quite devastating; the scent of leashed aggression—leashed at his whim—was strong. Feeling very like his prey, she blinked at him. “I haven’t had time to think—”