His wide, blue-grey eyes haunted with unending torment. “I don’t have a plan.”
Chev always had a plan.
Always.
She pulled the sheet up over her body and sat up. “But you will. You and Emmaus and I will—”
“No.” He reached out, expression urgent. “Youare not going to stay involved. Whatever happens between Anthony, me, and the smugglers you are going to keep yourself—and Thaddeus—as far away from any danger as possible.”
He reached out with his injured hand, winced and then slammed down his arm.
“In fact,” he continued, “you should take Thaddeus and leave at daylight tomorrow.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “I’ll travel with you to Ashbey’s—if we leave early enough and use post horses, we’ll be able to get there in a day and a half. Ashbey will make sure you both stay safe.”
Her jaw dropped. “Do you actually think I would leave you?” Didn’t he know her at all? “I will not allow you to take on Anthony and Thomas and the smugglers alone.”
And Thaddeus...Good Lord. Even if she resolved to go, she’d not be able to tear Thaddeus away.
She suspected Thaddeus, too, had known his father from the start, even if Thaddeus hadn’t fully acknowledged the realization.
She shook her head no. “Thaddeus wouldneverleave his home to the mercy of his enemies.”
Chev cocked his head, eyes slightly narrowed.
She frowned. And then gasped. “I wasn’t comparing him leaving now to you leaving then.”
“Weren’t you?” he asked quietly.
Not consciously. “I meant that he is protective—just as protective as you. Youcan’texpect us to go.”
Didn’t Chev understand? Pensteague was hers to defend.Chevwas hers to defend.
A light rap sounded against the door. “My lady?” Mrs. Renton called.
Penelope exchanged an ominous glance with Cheverley. “Yes?”
“Mr. Anthony, Lord Thomas, and their friends have returned. They request your presence in the library.” Mrs. Renton paused. “I would not have disturbed you, but you know how Mr. Anthony gets when he’s been kept waiting.”
“I understand,” Penelope replied. She searched Cheverley’s blank gaze, unable to read his response. “Thank you, Mrs. Renton. Tell Mr. Anthony I took an early afternoon rest, but I will come down as soon as I am dressed.”
“Very well.” Mrs. Renton’s footsteps withdrew from the closed door.
Again, Chev hit the bed. “Must you go just because Anthony beckons?”
She lifted a brow. “Going down is the most reasonable choice. Anthony’s rage is much easier to prevent than restrain. He throws things when angered—he threw a chair at you in the courtyard, remember?”
“Anthony’s trained you to prevent his rage.”
She stared for a long, hot moment. “Trained me?”
“Yes, trained you.”
She whipped aside the sheet, slammed her feet to the floor, swiped up and then pulled on her shift.
“Trust me,” he said through his teeth. “I know something about being trained.”
A terrible ache weighted her limbs. She glanced up as she tightened her front-lacing bodice.
She sat down on the bed and spoke in a more tender voice. “Perhaps it would be better if we speak about this after I return.”
