The glory slowly faded, leaving, as she was learning it was wont to do, her emotions exposed, at least to herself. She’d never had any choice but to accept them; they were immutable, unswerving. Holding him close, idly stroking his hair, she reminded herself she had time to learn his secrets, to find some way of reading, not just his mind, but his heart-before he demanded hers.

CHAPTER 18

THEY REACHED THE ABBEY IN MIDAFTERNOON. FILCHETT met them in the front hall and informed them nothing had arrived from London, but that Fothergill had called that morning.

“Very interested in architecture. I took him on the usual tour.”

“Did he ask many questions?” Charles asked.

“Indeed. Quite a knowledgable young man.”

Charles pulled a face at Penny. “Tea in the study?”

Penny nodded.

Charles glanced at Filchett. “Some cakes wouldn’t go amiss.” He returned his dark gaze to her. “We’ve been riding in the fresh air-it’s left me with an appetite.”

Her expression limpidly innocent, she absolutely refused to react.

Cassius and Brutus had come to greet them; they danced around, then circled them, herding them into the study, Charles’s lair. Charles spent five minutes petting the dogs, running his fingers through their shaggy coats and reducing them to ecstasy. When Filchett arrived with the tray, Charles left the hounds stretched at her feet and headed for his desk to sort through the letters and notes piled there while she poured.

Returning to fetch his cup, he filched the plate of cakes. Nibbling the one she’d already selected, she watched as he went back to the desk and settled to deal with all he’d left to pile up while he’d been guarding her.

He steadily demolished the cakes.

Eventually he glanced up, and noticed her smile. “What?”

“It wasn’t that appetite I thought I evoked.”

He held her gaze, took another bite of cake. Swallowed, then said, “It isn’t. This appetite is the consequence of adequately slaking the other.”

“Adequately?”

Looking back at his accounts, he shrugged. “Thoroughly might be more accurate.”

She grinned and left him to his work, content to relax in the chair and let the peace envelop her. The Abbey had always been a contentment-filled house; even his brothers’ unexpected deaths hadn’t changed that. Closing her eyes, she let the quiet claim her; idly stroking the hounds with her boot, she turned her mind to devising some way of learning what the emotion driving Charles to want her was…and found herself dozing.

Sometime later, the hounds got quickly to their feet and shook themselves; she opened her eyes to see Charles push away from the desk. “Done?” she asked.

He nodded. Rounding the desk, he looked at the dogs, amber eyes shining as they patently willed him to take them for a run. He raised his brows at them, hesitated, then looked at her. “Shall we? We’ve time enough for a walk on the ramparts before we ride back.”

She acquiesced with a smile, held out her hands, and let him pull her to her feet. Into his arms. He bent his head and stole a swift kiss, then, closing his hand about one of hers, headed for the door.

The hounds followed, eager and excited. They bolted the instant Charles opened the side door, but returned within a minute to gambol about them before rushing off to follow some scent.

Hand in hand, they walked down the lawns and climbed the steps up to the broad curve of the ramparts. The breeze had turned brisk, plucking at her hair, sending errant wisps curling about her face. Catching them, vainly trying to tuck them back, she glanced at Charles; no matter how strong the wind, his curls merely ruffled, then fell back into place.

She stifled a humph; they strolled on.

They’d reached the middle of the long curve when Charles stopped. He turned to her, looked into her eyes, his face set, his expression serious.

She looked back at him, was about to raise her brows in query when his grip on her hand tightened.

“Marry me.”

Her eyes flew wide; her jaw dropped. “W-what?”

His gaze hardened, the line of his lips thinned; the dominant and domineering Norman lord looked down at her. “You heard me.”

She managed to catch her breath. “That’s not the point!” She tugged and he released her; she put both hands to her head, as if she could hold her whirling wits down.

He was the only person who could throw her so off-balance; it took her a moment to steady her thoughts. She stared at him. “I only realized this afternoon what you were about, what you’ve been leading up to-that you were going to ask-but I thought you’d wait at least until after your investigation is ended and this horrible murderer was caught!”

“So I thought, so I intended, until you favored me with your recent revelations.”

His accents were clipped, his words uninflected. She eyed him, increasingly wary. “What have my recent revelations to say to anything?”

Dark blue eyes bored into hers; he wasn’t amused. “You cannot expect to tell me you’ve fantasized for years about being my lady-and in such an explicit way-and not expect me to suggest that, in the circumstances, marrying me would be a good idea.”

In this mood, focused and intent on gaining victory, he could be quite devastating; the scent of leashed aggression-leashed at his whim-was strong. Feeling very like his prey, she blinked at him. “I haven’t had time to think-”

“You don’t need to think, just answer.” He stepped toward her.

“No!” She held up a hand, pressed her palm to his chest. “Wait, just wait!” He stopped; she caught a quick breath and stepped back-put enough distance between them so her wits could function-and shifted her gaze from his face. “I have to think.”

His response to that, muttered beneath his breath, wasn’t complimentary. She ignored it, but had to fight to ignore him, to dim the effect of him at close quarters in his present mood. Her senses flickered, acutely alert; she was supremely conscious of the steely purpose in him, and that it was directed, fully, at her.

He was much more forceful, more potent, than he’d been years ago, battle-hardened, but also battle-scarred; to her, the latter only made him more interesting, more compelling, not less. Their attraction now operated on multiple levels, direct and indirect, physical and emotional; refusing to meet his eyes, she drew in a deeper breath and tried to reach past it.

His need of her was real; she didn’t question that. For it, he’d been willing to play the supplicant to seduce and persuade her; he’d asked rather than demanded or, worse, commanded-which, she knew, he could have done. But he’d wanted her to give herself, and been willing to give himself to gain that…was his need for her a symptom of love?

She glanced at him, but could see nothing beyond hard-edged impatience in his face, and an intensity of emotion in his dark eyes that took her breath away…she hurriedly unfocused. Even so, she could feel that emotion focused on her; whatever drove him, whatever compelled him with respect to her, was strong and immensely powerful.

Was it love? If he loved her…did he know? Even if he did, and she asked, would he acknowledge it?

All she had were unanswerable questions, but she needed an answer, now. What was it to be? No?

The instant the word formed in her mind, her inner self rose up and dug in its heels. After all these years, to have all she’d ever desired, the future she’d always wanted and still so desperately yearned for, dangling before her…how could she refuse without knowing if the prospect was real? She wasn’t such a coward; no wasn’t an option, not yet.

Regardless, she wasn’t about to settle for anything less than love; on that, her conviction had never wavered. So she couldn’t say yes either, not unless she was sure…

Drawing in a tight breath, she refocused on his eyes, felt his instant attention, the honing of his senses. “If you give me what I want, then yes, I’ll marry you.” She held his gaze steadily, lifted her chin. “As soon as you like.”

Something leapt in his eyes at her “yes,” but he quickly concealed it, screened it. He didn’t immediately respond, but searched her eyes, then flatly asked, “What you want. Am I to take it that’s the same thing your other suitors didn’t know to give you?”

“Didn’t know, didn’t know how to give, or couldn’t or wouldn’t give.” She nodded. “Precisely.”

Exasperation flared in his eyes as he considered her; she could see him assessing his options. Then he nodded-once, determinedly-and caught her hand. “Agreed.”

She blinked.

Charles raised her hand to his lips, kissed, and searched her eyes again; she hadn’t yet seen the truth, hadn’t yet identified his motive. “Until I discover what this thing you want is, and give it to you, we continue as we are-as lovers.”

His tone made it clear there was no question, not one he would countenance; after a moment, she nodded. “I never was one to slice off my nose to spite my face.”

His lips twitched; he hurriedly straightened them, but the fraught tension that had enveloped them nevertheless eased.

She studied him, puzzled, suspicion dawning in her silver-gray eyes.

“Come.” He closed his hand about hers, whistled for the dogs. “We can leave the dogs in the stables. We’d better head back.”

Frowning, she let him turn her; hand in hand, at his direction, they walked briskly back along the ramparts-too briskly to talk.

He’d got what he wanted; his impulse was to crow and dance, but he reined in all expressions of triumph-time enough for that when this was all over and the murderer caught.

She’d been right about that; it would have been wiser to wait and ask her then, but as usual between her and him, wisdom hadn’t featured-it had flown the instant she’d told him she’d indulged in erotic fantasies about them all those years ago. Even now, with victory assured, although he accepted the impulse, and on one level-a purely male, highly possessive level-understood it, he wasn’t thrilled that it had been strong enough to compel him to seize the moment and ask her to marry him, outright, without any preparation.