A Lady of His Own by Stephanie Laurens

they left the house.
     
    It was indeed time for luncheon when they clattered back into the Abbey stable yard. Charles’s grooms came running. Penny slid from her saddle without waiting to be lifted down; handing the reins to a groom, she joined Charles, and they started across the gently rising lawn toward the house.
    “That went well!” Head up, she savored the exhilaration still singing through her veins. They hadn’t talked on their journey home, just exchanged triumphant smiles, and ridden, laughing, before the wind.
    “We’ve certainly given Nicholas a few things to think about.” The book of maps under his arm, Charles paced beside her.
    “He was put out about the maps—and your questions about the pillboxes were inspired. He was hanging on every word.”
    “With luck, he’ll accept that you—and thus I—have no knowledge of the pillboxes hidden in the priest hole.”
    She frowned. “Why didn’t you want him knowing we knew?”
    “Because they’re the proof—the irrefutable evidence—that some presently inexplicable but clandestine relationship has existed between the French and your family’s menfolk for decades. I’d rather they remained where they are, accessible should we need them.”
    She glanced at him. “Decades?”
    He met her eyes, baldly reiterated, “Decades. You counted the boxes—how many were there?”
    “Sixty-four.”
    “If we assume every piece of information was paid for with a pillbox, and I checked—most are the work of French jewelers—then given the rate at which sufficiently valuable information would crop up to be passed, it would take something like thirty years to amass sixty-four boxes.”
    “Oh.” The knowledge cast a pall on the day, leaving her feeling as if clouds had covered the sun.
    “Do you still want to help me?”
    She looked up to see Charles regarding her, understanding very clear in his midnight eyes. She stared into them for a moment, then looked ahead. “Yes. I have to.”
    She didn’t need to explain. He nodded, and they walked on, passing beneath the spreading branches of the huge oaks bordering the south lawn, the side door their goal.
    Despite the confirmation that it wasn’t only Granville but her father, too, who’d been involved in the traitorous scheme, she still felt curiously buoyed by their success, minor though it had been.
    That morning, for the first time in she couldn’t remember when, she’d shared fears and concerns with someone she trusted, someone who understood. Just being able to air such thoughts had been a catharsis in itself.
    As for her specific concern, while the problem hadn’t gone away, its weight had lessened, lifted in part from her shoulders—truly shared. She now felt immeasurably more confident that whatever the truth was, Elaine, her half sisters, and she would be safe. Shielded as far as it was possible to be.
    Whatever was going on would be properly and appropriately dealt with; actively contributing to that end would help soothe her lacerated family pride.
    Forty hours before, she’d been lost and uncertain; now she felt confident, all because she’d joined forces with Charles.
    She glanced at him.
    He caught her gaze. Arched a brow. “What?”
    She was tempted to look away; instead, she held his gaze as she said, “It seems I made the right choice in confiding in you.”
    Three heartbeats passed; he didn’t release her gaze.
    Then he caught her hand, halted, waited until she did the same, then smoothly drew her to him.
    All the way to him. He bent his head and kissed her.
    She hadn’t been expecting it—her lungs locked, her senses froze, her very heart seemed to stop…but he’d kissed her before. Even starved of breath and with her senses reeling, she recognized the feel of his lips against hers.
    Clung to the sensation. Found memories pouring in. Found reassurance in the familiar, no matter that it had been years.
    She found herself drifting on a familiar tide, one of subtle warmth, simple