Penny humphed.

Leaning forward, Charles rested his elbows on his thighs. “There’s someone else involved. Someone acting independently of Nicholas. Some other player in the game.”

He’d suspected as much when he’d stood looking down at Gimby’s broken body. He’d hoped it was Nicholas’s work; he was now convinced it wasn’t.

“Does Nicholas know who this other person is?”

The crucial question. “I don’t know-at present there’s nothing to say either way.”

Penny glanced at him; from the corner of his eye he saw her gaze flit over his hunting jacket, note his cravat, then rise to his freshly shaved chin. He’d ridden home at dawn, bathed, changed, attended to business, then ridden back in time to shake Nicholas over breakfast.

“Have you heard anything from London?”

“No-it’ll be tomorrow at the earliest.” He straightened. “Filchett knows to send word to Norris if anything arrives unexpectedly, but I’ll go back every morning to check. I’ve alerted both my stablemen and yours to ferry any messages that might arrive to me.” He glanced at her, lips curving. “There are some benefits to being a mysterious war hero.”

“Hmm.” She held his gaze for a moment, then looked away, over the gardens. “That leaves us with this unknown someone lurking about-presumably he’s Gimby’s murderer. How do we flush him out?”

We don’t. He kept his lips shut, said nothing at all.

She frowned. “Perhaps we can raise a hare? Create some situation that would lure him out-that would prompt him, if he knows Nicholas, to contact him. Or perhaps”-she warmed to her theme-“we could start a rumor that there’s some secret something to be obtained at a certain time and place-”

“Before you get too carried away, we’ll need to wait on the information from London before we play any more hands in this game.”

His dry tones had her turning his way. “I thought you were the reckless one?”

“The years have taught me wisdom and restraint.”

Her humph was derisive; he hid a smile.

She glanced at the stables. “Do you think Nicholas will go out today?”

“If he’s feeling half as rattled as he looked, I doubt it-not unless he does in fact know who the murderer is.”

After a moment, she said, “It has to be one of those five visitors, doesn’t it?”

He hesitated, then agreed. “I don’t know of any local who would have known to do what was done to Gimby.” Except me. He stirred. “One of the five visitors would be my guess.”

“Which one? The Chevalier?”

“There’s no way to tell, not from the faces they show the world.”

“How do you expose someone like that?” She looked at him, searched his eyes. “And don’t bother suggesting that I just leave it to you.”

He smiled faintly, took her hand, idly toyed with her fingers. “I think he-whoever he is-would have hoped Gimby’s body wouldn’t be found, at least not so soon. Now it has, he’ll lie low for a time, a few days at least. Unfortunately, it won’t take long for such news to fade, then he’ll…”

She followed his line of thought easily. “What’s he after? What’s his purpose in this?”

He was silent for a moment as the possibility took shape. “Revenge. That would explain why Nicholas is afraid.”

They tossed around the possibility that one of their five suspects had somehow stumbled onto Nicholas’s scheme and was now bent on making all those involved pay. “Presumably because of lives lost-perhaps a specific life,” Penny suggested. “Like a brother in the army killed because of some secret that was passed.”

He grimaced. “That scenario calls for access to highly restricted information, but…it’s not impossible.” He was already formulating the queries he’d send to Dalziel. “It makes the Chevalier a more likely candidate.”

“Because he might have heard something from France?”

“I’ll get Dalziel to investigate his connections.”

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.