The music flowed over and around them. The magical moment stretched; the subtle pleasure sank to her bones, taking hold and soothing her in some inexplicable way. Like a large warm hand stroking her senses.
She felt like a contented cat. If she could have, she would have purred. Instead, she didn’t—couldn’t—stop smiling, softly, gently, as they whirled and she floated on a cloud of delight.
After a time, he smiled, too, in that same, quietly satisfied way. They didn’t need words to communicate their shared pleasure.
Too soon the musicans reached the end of the measure. Barnaby halted with a flourish. He bowed; she bobbed the regulation curtsy, and with an inward sigh returned to the world.
He settled her hand on his sleeve and turned her toward the drawing room.
Her senses were still waltzing, but her wits had reconnected—enough to recall her to the pertinent point that as he was there, he must have questions.
She glanced at his face, waited a heartbeat, but he seemed in no rush to pursue his inquiries. She looked ahead, smiling politely at those they passed. She was content to let the moment stretch, to just be together, him and her, with no investigation intruding—content to imagine, just for that moment, that investigating wasn’t the reason he was there.
But it was, and now she’d thought of it…inwardly sighing, she asked, “What was it you wanted to know?”
He looked down at her, puzzlement clear in his blue eyes.
“The investigation,” she prompted. “What did you come here to ask?”
The expression in his eyes blanked, then his lips tightened and he looked ahead; locating her mother, he tacked in her direction.
“Well?” she prodded, hoping he realized her mother had no knowledge of the situation at the Foundling House. That they even had a situation, let alone that she’d recruited him to investigate and she was investigating, too.
“Just give me a minute to think,” he muttered, still looking ahead. Not looking at her.
She blinked. Perhaps he’d forgotten what he’d come to ask, and couldn’t remember. Perhaps the waltz had distracted him, too.
Or perhaps…
He led her to a spot beside the chaise on which her mother sat, chatting to Lady Horatia Cynster. Both ladies smiled benevolently at their approach, but immediately returned to their discussion.
Suddenly very certain she needed to know what had brought him to Lady Moffat’s, she drew her hand from his sleeve, faced him, and fixed him with an interrogatory stare.
Barnaby met it. Lips firming, he extemporized, “Stokes wasn’t in when I called this afternoon. I left a note explaining the situation with Jemmie Carter—Stokes will no doubt order a guard, but I’ll go and see him tomorrow morning regardless. Wherever he was, he was working on this case—he and I need to consolidate what we know and plan our next step.”
Penelope’s eyes lit up. “I’ll come, too.”
Barnaby inwardly swore; he’d only told her what he had to excuse his presence, not to tantalize her. “There’s no need—”
“Of course there is. I’m the one who knows most about these boys—the four who’ve been taken and Jemmie.” Her dark eyes darkened further; he got the impression she was expending effort not to frown. “Besides,” she continued, her diction crisp, “I’m the one who initiated the investigation—I have a right to know what’s being done.”
He argued. In forceful terms, albeit keeping his voice low.
She regarded him mulishly, and gave not one inch. When he ran out of arguments, she tartly commented, “I don’t know why you bother. You know perfectly well I won’t change my mind—and if I choose to call on Inspector Stokes, there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
He could think of a few things, but all involved rope. Exasperated, he exhaled through his teeth. “All right.”
She gifted him with a smile—a tight one. “See? That didn’t hurt a bit.”
“Much you know.”
She heard the mumbled grumble, but forbore to comment. She looked out at the guests. “What time do you imagine calling on Stokes?”
Lips tight, he considered, then surrendered. “I’ll call for you at ten.”
She didn’t react for a moment, then inclined her head. “I’ll be waiting.”
A warning, but he’d expected no less. Once she set her mind on a path she was…as ungovernable as he.
