Lady of His Own by Stephanie Laurens

Author:Stephanie Laurens [Laurens, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Romance
ISBN: 9780749940331
Google: 71HtOQAACAAJ
Amazon: 1596880295
Goodreads: 7674164
Publisher: Piatkus Books
Published: 2010-01-21T19:30:42+00:00

Hiding a smile, she turned and followed him down the steep stairs.

They spread a rug under a tree that had sprung up by the side of the dry ditch. The spot still gave them views, albeit more restricted, but also protection from the stiffening breeze. In their oasis of comfort, they munched their way through the delicacies Em had packed into the bags. There was a bottle of wine, but no glasses; Penny laughed and accepted the bottle when Charles opened it and, with a flourish, offered it. They passed the bottle back and forth while commenting on this and that, all matters of local life.

Nothing to break the spell.

When Charles had demolished Mrs. Slattery’s game pie, and between them they’d finished Cook’s almond tart, they drained the bottle, then packed everything away. Hand in hand, they walked back to the courtyard.

Charles attached the empty bags to their saddles. Penny handed him the folded rug; he tucked that away, too. “It’s too early for any courier, isn’t it? They won’t have reached the Abbey yet.”

Charles glanced at her. “Unlikely.”

“In that case”—she looked up at the rooms giving onto the courtyard‘—“let’s explore.”

Anything to prolong their time in this place, this haven from the world; Charles fell in with her wish without quibble, inwardly acknowledging his own inclination. Outside a murderer might stalk their families’ lands, but while here, time and place were theirs, sacrosanct, inviolable.

He caught up with her in the hall and took her hand. Together, they ambled through the rooms, recalling incidents from earlier times, laughing, smiling at their younger selves. Restormel was a shell keep, the various rooms built around the courtyard. They were traversing the armory beneath the south battlements when Penny glanced out of an arrow slit— and stopped. “Charles?”

He was beside her in an instant.

She pointed. “Isn’t that Gerond?”

A tiny figure on horseback was trotting along the road to Lostwithiel; it was, indeed, Gerond. He was wearing a caped riding cloak.

“He’s alone,” Penny murmured.

“Hmm… I wonder where he’s been.”

“That cloak…” Penny glanced up at him. “You kept that scrap your knife caught last night. Couldn’t we check to see which of them has a torn greatcoat?”

“We don’t need to check—the answer is none.”

She frowned. “Because he would have got rid of it?”

He nodded. “And in this season, it’s perfectly reasonable for a gentleman to go visiting without a greatcoat.”

Staring at the dwindling figure was pointless; it reminded him of their lack of success in identifying the villain thus far. He nudged Penny. “Come on—let’s go on.”

They did, passing through the rest of the chambers, some still roofed, others open to the elements, eventually reaching the ladies’ solar. A small chamber built on a mezzanine level above the main hall, it faced southwest and was bathed in sunshine for most of the day. Its roof was intact. A stone platform worn smooth over the years filled the space beneath a series of thin vertical windows, each narrow enough not to be out of place in a

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