A Lady of His Own (20 page)

They fell silent, each pursuing their thoughts.

He still held her hand, his own closed over it. She seemed unperturbed by that, engrossed in thinking of how to trap a murderer. He was alive to the murderer’s presence, sensitive to the villain’s proximity to her, the potential danger, but his chances of distancing her from the investigation were too slight to be worth pursuing.

She
, however, was another matter. Not much would occur for a day or so. In that time…somehow he had to exorcise their past and steer their present onto the track he wanted it on. He hadn’t fully appreciated the potential between them, not consciously, years ago; he’d been young, naive, much less experienced then. But now he clearly saw what could be, not just for him, but for her, too—and he wanted that.

On finding her strolling through the Abbey at midnight, he’d unintentionally got close enough to reach over the chasm that had opened between them, and the opportunity to grasp what he’d always wanted—what he now desperately needed—had come his way again. He was determined to seize that second chance.

If he wasn’t the sort of man he was, and she the sort of female he knew her to be, setting aside their personal interaction, leaving any attempt to redefine it until after the murderer was caught, the mystery solved, would be the wisest course. But they were who they were, and when it came to them together, wisdom had never featured greatly. Witness last night. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—risk not being with her every night and through as much of the day as possible, and that being so, nothing was more certain than that they’d end as he’d warned her sooner rather than later—far sooner than capturing the murderer or solving the riddle of Nicholas and Granville’s scheme.

They were closer than they’d been for thirteen years, but he needed them to be closer still. He needed to know she was as safe as he could make her, that she would allow him to protect her and accept his protection, that if danger threatened, she would do as he asked—ultimately that she was under his hand, behind him, shielded to the best of his considerable abilities.

Between them, nothing else would suffice.

If he was to influence her in the direction he wanted—and influence was the best he could hope for—then he had to act soon; now was the time. This brief hiatus was the only pause the murderer was likely to grant them.

Tightening his hold on her hand, he turned his head and looked at her; when she met his eyes, he baldly asked, “Why haven’t you been intimate with any other man?”

She gaped at him. Eyes wide, she stared into his, opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. He’d half expected her to blush; instead, she looked stunned.

“
What?
” Her tone had risen, shrill and tight. She tugged her hand free—then held it up, palm toward him. “No! Wait.” She drew a deep breath, held it for a second, then calmly stated, “My personal life is none of your business, Charles.”

Her dismissive tone had him tensing; his jaw tightened. “What happened between us thirteen years ago is very much my business, and if that incident has affected you over all these years, then that, too, is my business.”

She stared at him as if he were a spider—a species beyond her comprehension. “If it’s affected me…” Her voice trailed away as she stared, but then her chin firmed, her eyes narrowed, and she snapped, “What the
devil
are you talking about?”

Gritting his teeth, he spoke through them; he was determined to have it out, all open between them, so they could put it behind them and go on. “Thirteen years ago,
if
you recall, you and I were intimate in that damned barn down by the cliffs. It was your first time, and I hurt you. A lot.” He narrowed his eyes on hers, ruthlessly forced himself to go on, “You were upset. Very upset. You refused to let me touch you again, then or later. You rushed off, and avoided me for the next several weeks, until I left to join the Guards. You wouldn’t even talk to me or let me talk to you.”

The naive hurt he’d felt welled up again, fresh and unexpectedly stinging; he thrust it back down. As evenly as he could, he continued, “I returned last year to learn that despite a string of highly eligible offers, you’d elected to remain a spinster. It was impossible not to wonder if what I’d done—what happened between us—was behind your reluctance to marry. And then last night I learned you’d never—”

“No. Stop.” Abruptly, she stood. Eyes like flint, she looked down at him. “What happened last night, what I said—forget it. My life is my own. I made my decisions as I wished. It’s none of your business—”

He swore and surged to his feet. “Of
course
it’s my damned business!” The barely restrained roar rolled away across the lawns; he forced his voice lower, pinned her with his gaze. “If I hurt you that much, caused you so much pain that you were so upset you’ve never let any other man even
touch
you…”

He stepped closer; her eyes flared, but she stood her ground, raised both hands and waved them between them. “Wait—
wait
!” She frowned at him. “Slow down—just go back a minute…”

Her expression said she was replaying his words…then her eyes widened, darkened, grew even more stormy. After a moment, she raised them to his. “Are you telling me that for all these years you thought I was hurt—upset—because of the
pain
?”

He couldn’t read her eyes. He frowned, sensing a catch in the question, but…drawing a tight breath, he nodded. “What else?”

It hadn’t occurred to her, but it should have. Penny dragged in a huge breath and swung away. She started to pace. “Don’t move. Just wait.”

He stiffened at the order, but did as she’d asked; just as well—she had to think, and quickly.

She’d always known what he
hadn’t
realized, that he hadn’t seen that she’d loved him, but she’d assumed he’d realized that her intense upset hadn’t been driven by something as minor as a little pain. When he’d spoken of hurt, she hadn’t thought he’d meant
physical
hurt.

Thinking back, she wasn’t sure what she’d thought he’d thought; at the time, she’d been so caught up in her own reactions, her intense disappointment, the dashing of her naive expectations—the shattering of her heart as she’d then thought—that beyond knowing that he knew he’d upset her, she hadn’t stopped to consider what he’d seen as the reason why.

He’d thought she’d been upset because of the pain!

She hauled in a huge breath, and swung to pace back to him.

Given he had, he was patently suffering from a burgeoning case of guilt, to which he was not entitled, and through that developing a sense of responsibility over her life, to which he was even less entitled.

Responsibility had always been a strong motivator for him, witness his devotion to his family and his country. If she didn’t act quickly to correct his thinking and dissolve any responsibility he was nurturing toward her life, they would shortly find themselves in a hideous state. He would try to make amends, she would refuse, her conscience would prick while her independence would kick, and he’d become ever more subbornly determined to put right his perceived wrong…it would end in animosity if not outright war, and that she definitely didn’t deserve or need. Neither did he.

She had to correct his understanding of the past, but
without
revealing the truth of why he’d hurt her.

Folding her arms, she lifted her head, and halted directly before him. “Very well.” She met his eyes. “As you’re so determined to revisit our past, let’s do so, but let’s get the facts correct. Thirteen years ago,
I
decided we should make love. Yes, you’d wanted me for years, but you wouldn’t even have suggested such a thing—
I
plotted and planned to meet you out riding, to inveigle you into the barn. Everything that happened that day happened because
I
wished it to.”

“You didn’t know how much it would hurt.”

“True.” She tightened her grip on her arms, and tried not to think about boxing his ears; he was so damned male. Holding his gaze, she went on, “However, I did know I was a virgin, and you”—she managed not to glance down—“were you. I wasn’t so ignorant I didn’t expect the experience to be attended by some degree of pain.”

“A considerable degree of pain.” His jaw was so clenched she was surprised it didn’t crack.

She shrugged, deliberately dismissive. “However one measures pain.” It
had
been more than she’d expected, but that hadn’t been what had hurt. “Regardless, it didn’t scar or scare me—I can assure you of that.”

His eyes remained narrowed, boring into hers. “You were hurt, upset—you almost cried.” He knew she rarely did. “If it wasn’t the pain, then what the hell was it?”

When she didn’t answer, he spread his arms wide. “For God’s sake—
what did I do?
”

The torment in his eyes—something he wouldn’t have felt let alone shown years ago—stopped her breath, stopped her from ripping back at him.

Lips compressing, she held his dark gaze. She couldn’t tell him the truth. If he ever learned she’d loved him…given their present situations, he might well press for marriage. He’d see it as an honorable obligation on the one hand and a suitable alliance for them both. And it would be suitable on many levels, except one.

She loved him still, and having to marry him knowing he didn’t love her would, for her, be hell on earth. She’d rejected her other suitors because they hadn’t loved her, and she hadn’t loved them. Now, after all her years of dogged independence, of refusing to marry without the love she craved, to be pressured to marry Charles of all men, and very possibly jockeyed into it…

Her eyes steady on his, she quietly said, “It wasn’t anything you did.”

Charles read her eyes, confirmed she was telling the truth. Confusion swamped him. After all these years, he was still at sea; he hadn’t understood then, and nothing had changed.

Except, perhaps, his persistence; this time he wasn’t going to play the gentleman and let her fob him off. Lowering his arms, he searched her eyes, casting about for some other approach, some other way to draw an explanation of what he didn’t know, and now desperately wanted and needed to know, from her.

Eventually, he quietly, evenly, said, “You haven’t answered my question.”

Penny blinked, thought back, fleetingly gave thanks as her temper sparked. She refocused on his eyes, studied them, narrowed hers. “What are you thinking? That what happened in the barn that day blighted my life?”

“Can you swear to me that what happened that day hasn’t stopped you from being with other men?”

“
Yes
!” As belligerent as he was relentless, she faced him down. “I swear on my mother’s grave that the events of that day in no way influenced my decisions regarding my suitors.
Or
any of the others who offered to seduce me.” Her temper soared. “You are so damned
arrogant
! It might interest you to know that sex and men don’t rule my life—
I
do.
I
decide what I want and what I don’t. Unlike you, I don’t need sex on a regular basis to be happy!”

Charles couldn’t remember when last he’d dined at that particular table; he clenched his jaw and held back a retort.

She glared at him, then gestured dismissively and swung away. “If you insist on feeling guilty for causing me pain that day, then do so, but don’t you
dare
presume to assume responsibility for any other part of my life. My decisions were and are mine to make, my life is and always has been my own.” She paced back, met his eyes, lifted her chin. “
I
decide who I’ll let seduce me.”

He held her gaze for a heartbeat, then reached for her, pulled her to him, and kissed her.

As always, desire leapt to instant life; between them, the flames
whooshed
, then roared. Penny knew what he was doing, what track his mind had taken; so be it. She relaxed into the kiss, gave him back fire for flame; pointless to attempt to do otherwise.

He broke the kiss. Lifted his head just enough to look into her eyes. “
Why
, then? You’ll let me seduce you—”

She opened her lips.

Brusquely, he shook his head. “Don’t bother pretending—we both know you will. You’ll let me, but not any other man. All those years ago, you wanted me to seduce you, you encouraged me—and yes, I remember every tantalizing, fraught, uncertain minute. And now…” His gaze was so hard, so sharp, she wondered he couldn’t cut through and see her soul. “Now you’ll be with me, but not any other man.
Why
?”

Because, God help her, she loved him still. It took a moment for her wits to formulate a useful answer; she didn’t rush them. Drawing a breath restricted by their embrace, she didn’t try to escape his gaze, but calmly held it. “I told you.
I
decide who I’ll admit to my bed. Those others—none of them interested me sufficiently to warrant an invitation. Apparently I’m exceedingly fussy. You, I issued an invitation to years ago, and for some reason and certainly against my better judgment, the grounds on which I made that decision still appear to be valid.”

Something leapt behind the dark blue screens of his eyes; her breath was suddenly even shorter.

“Be that as it may…” Eyes locked on his, increasingly watchful, she tried to ease back, out of his hold, but his arms gave not an inch. “You shouldn’t presume on that previous invitation, not after all these years.”

As always with her, Charles felt…not quite in control. “Forget your previous invitation.” He bent his head, brushed her lips—just enough to refocus her attention on what was, still, burning between them. “Issue another.”

His voice had lowered of its own accord. He watched, following the battle within her, between physical desire on the one hand and a desire to escape it on the other. She distrusted getting caught, enmeshed in physical desire—and he was the only man capable of weaving a web strong enough to hold her; in that instant, he saw that much clearly.

It only led to the next
Why?