Stalking across the room, she whirled and sat on the side of the bed, watching from under lowered brows as he entered. Leaving the door ajar, he located her, then his gaze scanned the room.
He saw her brushes on the dresser, glanced at the armoire, noting the pair of half boots she’d left under it, then he looked at the bed, confirming it was made up.
All this in the time it took him to prowl, long-legged, arrogantly assured, to the armchair before the windows. His gaze returning to her, he sat. Not that that word described the motion; he was all fluid grace, somehow arranging long muscled limbs into an inherently masculine, innately elegant sprawl.
His gaze rested on her; even through the dimness she could feel it. She reminded herself that he’d always had better night vision than she; if she was to survive this interview with her secrets intact, she’d need every last ounce of control she possessed. Dealing with him had been hard enough in the past. Now, in the dark of the night, with her dressed as she was—with him already as suspicious as he was—things were assuredly going to be worse.
“What are you doing home?” All her reasons for believing the abbey empty, a safe haven, rushed into her mind and turned the question into an accusation.
“I live here, remember?” After an instant, he added, “Indeed, I now own the Abbey and all its lands.”
“Yes, but.” She wasn’t going to let him develop the theme of being her host, of being in any way responsible for her. She scowled at him. “Marissa, Jacqueline, and Lydia, and Annabelle and Helen, went to London to help you find a wife. My mother—your godmother—and my sisters are there, too. They were all totally set on it—enthused, in full flight. There’s been talk of little else in the drawing rooms here and at Wallingham Hall since Waterloo. You’re supposed to be there—not here.” She paused, blinking, then asked, “Do they know you’re here?”
Knowing him, that was a pertinent question.
He didn’t frown, but she sensed his irritation, sensed, as he answered, that it wasn’t directed at her.
“They know I had to come down.”
Had to? She fought to cover her momentary dismay. “Why?”
Surely, surely it couldn’t be…?
Charles wished the light were better, or the chair closer to the bed. He couldn’t see her eyes, and her expressions—the real ones—were too fleeting for him to read in the dimness. He’d purposely chosen the safe distance of the chair; since thirteen years ago, being close to Penny was uncomfortable. For both of them.
That moment in the corridor had been bad enough; the urge to seize her, to have his hands on her again, had been so strong—so unexpectedly intense—it had taken every ounce of his strength to suppress it.
He still felt off-balance—just a touch insane.
He’d stay put and make do.
“I’m here on business.” True enough.
“What business?”
“This and that.”
“Estate business?”
“I’ll be attending to whatever’s on my study desk while I’m here.”
“But you’re here for some other reason?”
He could sense agitation building beneath her words. His mission here was to be open, very definitely overt, not covert. For once, there was no reason he couldn’t cheerfully tell all, yet the very last person he’d expected to tell first—if at all—was her.
But he wanted quid pro quo—what the devil was she doing traipsing about the countryside at midnight, let alone dressed as a male? And why the hell was she here and not at her home, Wallingham Hall, a mere four miles away? Come to that, why wasn’t she in London, or safely married and living with a husband? Oh, yes, he definitely wanted answers to all those questions, and for that, the distance between them wasn’t going to work. If she lied…if he couldn’t see her face, her eyes, he might not pick it up.
Slowly, he stood; his gaze on her, he walked as unthreateningly as he could to the bed and propped one shoulder against the post at its end. “I’ll tell you why, exactly why, I’m here, if in return you’ll explain to me why, exactly why, you’ve arrived here at this hour, dressed like that.”
Her grip on the edge of the bed had tightened, but otherwise she hadn’t obviously tensed. She’d followed his approach; she stared up at him. A finite moment passed, then she looked away. “I’m hungry.”
She rose and went to the door, without a backward glance went through it.
Unsurprised, he pushed away from the bedpost and followed her to the kitchen.