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 t
hem 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?”