A Rebel Without a Rogue by Bliss Bennet Page B

find out more. Not only if his uncle was truly the man for whom she sought, but why she was in search of him. Her words had led him to assume she sought her natural father who’d abandoned her, an assumption she hadn’t denied. But what if she had a more malevolent reason for her pursuit?  
    Bloody, bloody hell. What if she’d been the one who’d shot him at the Crown and Anchor? Not intending to harm him at all, but mistaking him for his uncle?
    “Mr. Pennington. Kit.” He felt her shrug beneath his hands. “You’re hurting me.”
    He looked down, confused. When had his fingers curled so cruelly about her arms?
    He released her, but then caught her back again, his arms pulling her tight to his chest. One palm cradled her head close against his shoulder, keeping her from watching his face as a tangle of suspicions whirled through his brain.
    To ferret out the secrets of such a guarded woman, he’d have to keep her close to hand. Not as close as his uncle’s bedchamber, of course. But perhaps as close as his own? That’s what she’d assumed when he’d told her he’d provide for her, that he meant for her to be his mistress, wasn’t it?
    The thought of having her beneath him sent a shiver, part fear, part desire, racing down his spine. But it would be sheer madness to actually take up with a woman he suspected might be intent on harm. If he extended the offer to be her new protector, but did not immediately partake of her charms, how long would he be able to keep her from suspecting his true motives?
    And if word got out that he’d invited a woman to take up residence, rumors about him would once again run rife through the ton . He could just hear Dulcie and his cronies now, trading tales about the youngest Pennington’s new paramour. Or perhaps they’d even say he’d made up with the one who had shot him. . .
    Would such rumors damage his political aspirations beyond repair? Not if he could keep her presence a secret from the gossips. And from Uncle Christopher. And Theo.
    But even if word did spread, Kit would sacrifice more than a seat in Parliament to ensure his uncle’s safety. Nothing was more important than family. Nothing.
    He clenched his hands against Fianna’s back, steeling himself for the task ahead, then stepped away from the enticing creature in his arms.
    “It seems I’m not as much of a gentleman as I might wish, at least where you are concerned, my dear,” he murmured, looking down as if abashed. His body might be only too happy to cooperate in such a deception, but it would all be for naught if his expression gave his doubts away. He reached out and took her hands in his. “Will you let me take care of you, Fianna?”
    He waited, his body tensed.
    Until at last her fingers gave a wordless squeeze of consent.

    Kit Pennington was not living in his family’s London home; the knocker had not been on the door at Saybrook House when she’d gone there in search of Major Pennington the day she’d arrived in London. No, Kit’s lodgings lay only a few streets away from Ingestrie’s. Yet they might have been a world apart, so different did they seem. And not only because Kit’s lay in Mayfair, and Ingestrie’s in less fashionable Marylebone. In fact, the furnished rooms the viscount hired had a decided air of style about them, with their rich red walls and gilt-embellished picture frames, a style the forgiving shadows of lamp and candlelight only enhanced. But in the bright glare of day, the cracking paint and worn upholstery, the stains from spilled wine and burns from countless careless cigars, were harder to hide. Ingestrie’s penchant for leaving his soiled clothing and other belongings scattered about only added to the dilapidated air. Fianna had been glad to wander London’s streets each day in search of Major Christopher Pennington, if only to escape the dispiriting pall that fell on her whenever she found herself alone in those rooms.
    But as soon as she stepped inside Kit’s