Page 50 of Fairest of Heart

He dipped his chin in her direction, and the welcome in his gaze caused her heart to do a little twirl in her chest.

Mercy. The man looked far too good first thing in the morning.

“Morning.” She willed her feet to restart, though the nearer they brought her to him, the more she recognized signs of a restless night etched into his face. Dark smudges beneath his eyes. The slight slump to his posture. The weariness lining his brow. She placed a hand on his forearm. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

He shrugged as if his lack of rest didn’t matter, but it did. To her. “I snagged a few winks. Just wanted to grab some coffee and a cold biscuit before heading out.”

Her chest squeezed. “You’re leaving?”

The small wag of his head brought more relief than she had a right to feel. True, she felt safer when he was near. But she knew herself well enough to admit that her reluctance for him to leave stemmed from something far more personal than simple safety.

Titus fiddled with the handle on his mug. “I’m gonna see if our visitor last night left a trail. I doubt I’ll be able to follow him far, but if I can at least determine which direction he headed, that might give me ammunition to fire at Hunt when I catch up with him.”

Penelope moved to the stove and poured herself a small cup of coffee. She preferred tea, but talking about what happened last night brought a chill to her insides and left her craving warmth.

“You really believe Mr. Hunt did this?” She stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee, the clink of the spoon echoing loudly in the quiet kitchen.

Titus turned in his chair to face her. “I do. This wasn’t a random robbery. Thieves don’t typically break into houses and make off with ladies’ undergarments.”

In all the daydreams she’d woven about her and Titus sharing intimate conversations, never once did they entail discussing corset burglary. Oh well. Her life had veered away from ordinary long ago.

Locking away her missish sensibilities, Penelope joined Titus at the table, determined to handle the conversation with practical resolve.

“If it was Mr. Hunt, he was likely here at Madame’s bidding.”

Titus nodded, then raised a brow and pinned her with a look. “Why would Narcissa LaBelle want your corset?”

“I have no idea. Certainly not to wear.” Penelope dropped her gaze to her coffee cup. Conversing about corsets was one thing. Looking him in the eye while doing so was quite another. “Madame’s taste is far more . . . stylish.”

“That’s putting it kindly.”

Penelope glanced up to find him looking at her in a way that was hard to read. All she knew for sure was that she didn’t need the coffee to warm her insides anymore.

“I prefer substance over style in a woman,” he said, his voice a tad rough, “and after meeting Narcissa LaBelle, I got the impression her substance is rather lacking.”

And his impression of her? Penelope hid the ill-timed thought behind her cup as she lifted the coffee to her mouth and took a small sip. As much as she was dying to know the answer, she refused to be one of those flirtatious sorts who batted their lashes and probed for compliments. A woman of substance would be more concerned about solving a crime than padding her ego.

“You’re a rare man, Titus Kingsley,” she said instead. And he was. Few men made the effort to look past Narcissa’s beauty to assess her character. Most didn’t care. Her physical perfection was all they wanted. Titus was different. But then, she’d sensed that about him from the beginning. Hence the daydreams.

“I don’t know about that.” He wagged his head a bit and did some hiding of his own behind a raised coffee cup. “I just got a disliking for manipulative women is all.”

Her cup came down. “Were you hurt by one?”

She didn’t like the image that sprang to mind. Titus with a beautiful woman on his arm. Laughing with her. Sharing his hopes and dreams. His love.

But what she disliked even more was the idea of such a woman causing him pain. It brought an answering ache to her own chest, leading her to reach out and touch his arm in sympathy.

He blew out a breath and leaned back in his chair. His arm stretched away from her touch, but before she could snatch her hand back in embarrassment for overstepping, he captured it in his and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles in a simple yet terribly sweet caress. Her insides didn’t just warm, they melted.

“Yeah, I was hurt by one,” he admitted. “But not the way you think.”

He gave her hand a small squeeze, then let her go as his gaze drifted down to the table between them. She expected him to withdraw his words, too, but they trickled out, slowly at first, like dripping water evolving into a steady stream.

“Her name was Nora. She had shiny blond hair, blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and a figure that had every man in town turning his head. It wasn’t just her looks, though. She was magnetic. Always having fun and making sure those around her did, too. Vibrant, funny, and just a tad bit dangerous. A combination Tate couldn’t resist.”

“Tate?”

“My brother.” Titus’s mouth tightened, as if it physically hurt to speak of him. “He was eighteen months older than me, but we were so close growing up, people often mistook us for twins.” Titus shook his head. “The older we grew, the more competitive we became, though never to the point of disloyalty. He should have known I would never betray him, but he let Nora’s whispers infect his mind.