For the space of ten heartbeats, his gaze rested on her; even through the dimness she could feel it. 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 her control.

Taking charge seemed wise.

“What are you doing home?” All her reasons for believing the Abbey empty, a safe haven, colored the words, transforming question into 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. “Marissa, Jacqueline, and Lydia, and Annabelle and Helen, went to London to help you find a wife. My stepmother-your godmother-and my sisters are there, too. They left here 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, blinked, 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 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 Penny’s eyes and her expressions-the real ones-were too fleeting to read in the dimness. He’d chosen the safe distance of the chair to avoid aggravating their mutually twitching nerves. 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 will to resist.

He still felt off-balance, just a touch insane. He’d stay put and make do.

She appeared as he remembered her, tall, lithe, and slender, a fair sylph who despite her outward delicacy had always had his measure. Little about her seemed to have changed, but he mistrusted that conclusion. As a gently bred nobleman’s daughter, the thirteen years between sixteen and twenty-nine had to have left their mark, but in what ways he had no clue, except in one respect. He would take his oath her quick wits hadn’t got any slower.