August 1818, Wiltshire, England

A fine sheen of sweat beaded across Penn Bowen’s forehead as he dangled from the rope and reached for the slick side of the cave. The lantern his assistant dangled from the opening fifteen feet above him cast a meager glow into the large space, but he’d known he’d be operating in the near dark. It was no worse than he’d managed before. In fact, it was a bit better than some of the situations he’d found himself in.

He scanned the wall of rock, left to right, top to bottom, searching for the small opening that would lead him to his prize. A darker spot drew his eye about five feet to his right and above his head. He squinted into the inky dark to confirm it was what he sought. Damn, it was very small.

Clenching his jaw, he swung toward the wall, aiming for the hole. The rope felt as sturdy as it had when he’d lowered himself a few minutes before. He was also comforted by the presence of his very capable assistant, Egg, who would ensure Penn didn’t drop the fifty or so feet to the cave floor. Most of it was likely sandy and soft, but there were rocks too, and he’d no desire to end his adventures in such a fashion.

A few feet short of the hole, he grasped a small outcropping of rock and brought himself flush against the cool limestone. Finding purchase with his hands and feet, he let go of the rope, though it remained tied around his waist—a measure Egg had insisted upon. Tentatively, he sought another handhold to bring himself closer to the hole. It was a bit of a stretch, but he managed to wrap his fingers around another, albeit smaller, outcropping. Now to get his lower half in the same direction.

He searched for another foothold, his boots scraping against the coarse rock. Finding a small shelf, he put his right foot there and took the left one off the other foothold. A cascade of dirt fell down the hole through which he’d descended, distracting him momentarily. His boot slipped from the rock. He hung suspended for a few seconds, his heart launching into his throat and his pulse beating at a frenzied pace.

“Sorry about that!” Egg’s voice boomed into the cavern, further disrupting Penn’s concentration.

Penn didn’t know what had caused the disruption of earth, nor did he care, so long as it didn’t happen again. He closed his eyes for a bare moment and willed himself to move. He found his footing once more and successfully brought his left foot to perch beside the right. He exhaled and told himself to hurry the hell up.

The hole was just above his head now. Holding on to the rock with his left hand, he reached up with his right and slid his hand into the opening. It barely fit. It was a good thing he hadn’t worn gloves, an argument he’d won with Egg earlier. “But the rope will burn your ’ands!” Egg had insisted.

“I can grab rock much more easily with my bare fingers,” Penn had said. “I’ll take the potential rope burn.” As if it mattered. Penn’s hands were not the manicured, pampered hands of a scholar or worse, a nobleman. His were the rough and ready appendages of someone who lived the most of each moment, experiencing as many adventures as possible. But of course, he was also a scholar, just not the typical sort.

The hole was cold and narrow. He met a bit of resistance at the top and pushed his hand past it. The rock dug through his flesh, slicing through nerve and sinew. He winced and silently swore. Egg would berate him for not wearing gloves.

Just when he feared he wouldn’t be able to reach back any farther without jeopardizing his position, his hand plunged into a void. Opening his fingers, he felt around—there was a ceiling to the hole, but the bottom had fallen away. Pressing himself tight against the rock so that the rough surface abraded his cheek, he stretched his fingers and felt down into the void.

And found what he was looking for.

Relief coursed through him, and he smiled as he wrapped his fingers around a cold metal shaft that was maybe six inches long. Clutching the artifact in his fist, he withdrew his hand cautiously, going slow lest he scrape his hand again. When he reached that spot, he couldn’t get past it. Fisted, his hand was now too large. Hell and the bloody devil.

Sweat broke out along the back of his neck. Urging calm, he loosened his grip, careful to retain hold of the artifact between his thumb and fingers. It was exceptionally lucky that this piece was narrow, but then it would have to be in order to be placed in this spot in the first place.

He continued, aware that he was likely going to reinjure himself. The rock cut into him once more, creating a new wound so he would have two. Spectacular.

Once past the obstacle, he tightened his grip on the artifact and quickly pulled his hand out. Though tempted to look at it, he didn’t, instead stowing it into a pocket sewn inside his waistcoat.

Confident the item was secure, he gripped the rope with his right hand, then withdrew his left to climb. “Coming up!” he called to Egg. He pulled himself up, hand over hand, as the slack curled from his waist.

The light above him moved as Egg withdrew the lantern from the hole. A moment later, Penn reached for the edge of the rock. Egg’s hand came over his, and he grabbed the back of Penn’s waistcoat, hauling him into the upper cave.

The rock scraped over Penn’s midsection and thighs. Egg let go, then helped him turn and sit up. No sooner had Penn withdrawn his legs from the hole than Egg demanded, “What the bloody ’ell did you do to your ’and?” He reached for Penn’s right hand, but Penn scrambled to his feet.

“Nothing. Well, barely anything,” he amended, knowing Egg would argue with him. Egg would argue with the Regent if he thought he was right. And Egg almost universally thought he was right. “Never mind it now. Just take care of the rope, will you?”

Egg frowned up at Penn from his five feet six inches, his weathered face carved with deep canyons from the years he’d spent outdoors. His dark eyes narrowed, and he muttered to himself as he set about looping up the rope.

“I found it, if you care to know.” Penn removed the artifact from his coat and moved closer to the lantern. He squatted down and placed the item on his left palm.

There were etchings in the gold hilt of the iron dagger, deep and quite legible. Indeed, the hilt didn’t look right at all. Penn frowned.

“And there it is,” Egg said softly. He was always as thrilled as Penn to unearth a new treasure. Always.

“Yes, there it is.” The words hadn’t come from Penn or Egg.

Penn closed his hand around the dagger and rose to his full height. He turned toward the mouth of the cave where a lone figure blocked the entrance. Due to the daylight behind him, the man was unidentifiable. However, the cock of his pistol was not. Make that two pistols, for he held one in each hand.

“Thank you for taking care of the difficulty of finding it,” the man said. “Please have your companion deliver it to me.”

“Why not me?” Penn asked, his mind racing. His small knife was tucked beneath his waistcoat, but he couldn’t reach for it without prompting the stranger to perhaps shoot him. Egg, however, had a knife at his side, and the stranger wasn’t watching him as closely. He’d be able to employ it while Penn pretended to deliver the artifact. Which, of course, he had absolutely no intention of actually doing.

The stranger, whose face was mostly covered by a neckerchief, trained a pistol between Penn’s eyes. “Your companion looks far more amenable. Send him, or I’ll start shooting.”

He thought Egg looked more amenable? Penn wanted to laugh. Egg was as surly as they came. Or could be, at least. “I don’t think you will,” Penn said softly, hoping to unnerve the man with a lack of concern while edging forward. “Why on earth would you want a silly old dagger?”

The man barked out a laugh. “Do you take me for a fool?”

This miscreant knew the value of this find, that it was an important treasure that could change the face of history. This knowledge was highly guarded—only a handful of people were informed. Which meant this man was either one of them or an associate hired by one of them. Whoever he was, he would leave here empty-handed.

Penn clasped the dagger. “Indeed I do if you intend to steal this from me.”

“Must I really shoot you?”

Penn looked askance at Egg. “D and C,” he whispered. Divide and conquer. They’d done this many times.

Egg gave an infinitesimal nod.

“Now,” Penn breathed as he darted to the right while Egg went left.

One of the pistols fired. Penn thrust the dagger back into his waistcoat as he scrambled along the edge of the cave. Reaching the mouth, he dove for the man, hitting him in his midsection and wrapping his arms around his back. They both went sprawling backward through the entrance into the light of day.

“Oof!” The villain landed with a thud and an exhalation. He lifted his arm—likely so he could take another shot—but Penn knocked the pistol from his hand. The other pistol was gone.

Penn stared down at the man, eager to see if he knew the brigand. The cloth covering his face had dislodged, exposing his features. Penn’s breath caught as he took in the unfamiliar face and the softness of her—her—body imprinted on his.

“What the bloody devil are you doing?” Penn thundered.

“Get off me!” she shrieked, raising her arms to push him away. Gone was the deep, clearly affected voice from the cave. Her tone was still darker, grittier than most females, but it was unequivocally female.

Penn ignored her struggles even as she landed several blows against his chest. “Egg, do you have the weapons?” he asked.

“I do now, sir.” He came abreast of them and sucked in a breath. “Blimey, it’s a woman!”

Penn took in the soft arc of her cheekbone, the lush curve of her lip, the sparkling green of her eyes, and the blonde curls peeking from beneath her hat. “So it is.”

“She nearly shot me,” Egg complained, his voice climbing. “Bullet whizzed past my ear, it did. If I were any slower…” He shook his head.

She glared up at him, her eyes nearly as dangerous as the weapon she’d fired. “Get. Off. Me.”

“Are you going to try to kill us again?”

“You have my weapons,” she hissed.

Penn lifted a shoulder. “So you say, but there might be more. Perhaps I should verify for myself.” He patted at her coat, and she renewed her efforts to beat him away from her.

“What are you doing? Don’t touch me!”

“I’m making sure you aren’t still armed. Forgive me if I don’t trust you.”

“I’ll forgive you nothing, you scoundrel!”

He felt down her abdomen. Despite the bulk of her men’s costume, she was quite slender and, as he’d recognized a few moments ago, soft. He grazed his hands over her hips, and his body seemed to realize he was astride a beautiful, curvaceous female. Beautiful? Oh yes, she was stunning. But then so were wolves, and Penn had no desire to tangle with one of them either.

He pushed himself to the side and stood, offering her his hand to help her up.

She glowered at him and rose on her own. “You’re despicable.”

“And you’re a thief.”

“Would-be, actually,” Egg clarified, ever the stickler for accuracy.

“I’m not sure I believe that,” Penn said, keeping his gaze glued to the blazing-eyed virago. “I’m sure she’s stolen from others.”

Egg snorted. “I’m not. She’s a fairly good shot, but she didn’t plan very well. Much better ways to steal—or at least try to—from you, sir.”

“Please enlighten me,” she said.

Penn had to admire her courage and her determination. More importantly, he had to wonder how in the hell she’d come to be here. “Who are you?” he asked.

“That doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that dagger rightfully belongs to me.” Her hands tightened into fists at her sides, and as the gloves pulled over her slender knuckles, Penn wondered how he’d ever mistaken her for a man.

Penn stared at her a moment, then laughed. Egg joined in. Amused and curious, Penn said, “I can’t begin to imagine how you arrived at that fantasy, nor can I puzzle how you even know about this artifact.” He sobered, narrowing his eyes at her. “How do you know about it?”

She lifted her chin, her gaze coated in frost. “That doesn’t matter either.”

Perhaps not, but it would bother him. Penn liked to have answers. “Well then, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll be on our way.” Penn nodded toward Egg, who tucked the pistols into his waistband.

“I’ll just grab our things.” Egg turned and disappeared into the cave.

“You will not.” The spitfire lunged forward and grabbed Penn’s elbow. “That dagger is mine.”

He dropped a perturbed look at where her fingers wrapped around him. “Unless you’d care to disclose why you think that, this interview is over.”

Her jaw clenched tight. “I can’t let you take it.”

“I’m afraid you have no choice. If you’d care to share information about how you even know about this treasure, perhaps we might come to an arrangement.” It was a bald-faced lie since he had no intention of relinquishing his find. But he was keen to learn her role in this.

As she opened her mouth to speak, the all too familiar sound of a pistol cocking filled the air. Penn looked past her as she released her hold on him and spun about. Make that multiple pistols. Four men approached them, their weapons poised to shoot and the lower part of their faces covered with neckerchiefs so that only their eyes were visible beneath the shadows cast by the brims of their hats.

“Bloody hell,” Penn muttered. “Friends of yours?”

“No.” The tension weighing that single word was enough to tell him that she wasn’t with these new arrivals.

Penn hoped that Egg was somehow aware of what was happening and would stay in the cave until he could find a way to turn the situation in their favor. In the meantime, he’d try to talk their way out of whatever was going on.

Wait, “their” way? Was he referring to himself and Egg, or was he including this unknown woman?

Penn smiled at the quartet of masked men. “How can we help you, gentlemen?”

One of the men—the leader, apparently—raised his weapon toward Egg, who’d emerged from the cave still holding the woman’s pistols. Unfortunately, another of the men went and relieved him of the weapons.

The leader answered Penn’s question. “You can hand over the dagger.”

Damn, they knew about it too. So much for secret treasure. “I didn’t find it.”

The speaker snorted as a rather large fellow standing a little off to the side growled. “We know you’re lying, Mr. Bowen,” the man said. His tone held the sophistication of a learned man. He was no hired thug. He also knew who Penn was.

“I’m afraid you have the advantage,” Penn said. “And you are?”

“Not leaving until you hand over the dagger,” the man said pleasantly as the large growler took a few menacing steps forward. This put him rather close to the lady. She stiffened.

Penn moved to her side, close enough that he could feel her against his arm. She might be a thief, but he wouldn’t allow her to be harmed.

“Who is she?” the man—clearly the leader of the foul group—asked.

“Does it matter?” Penn asked nonchalantly.

“Take her.”

Growler pounced like a cat, moving far more quickly and gracefully than Penn ever would have wagered. His hand curled around the woman’s arm, and he dragged her away from Penn. He stuffed his pistol into his waistband and withdrew a long knife from a scabbard at his side. With another growl, he pressed the blade against her neck.

Every muscle in Penn’s body tensed. He was finished pretending to be pleasant. He snarled at the leader. “Release her.”

“Give me the dagger,” he responded blandly.

When Penn hesitated, the leader nodded toward him. “Search him.”

As the other two men holstered their pistols and advanced, the growler tipped the woman’s hat from her head, revealing her mass of golden curls. Strands cascaded down her back while the bulk of it stayed wrapped in its knot at the back of her skull. She twisted in the brigand’s arms, and he tightened his grip, forcing a cry from her throat.

Penn lunged toward her just as the other two men grabbed him by the arms.

“Can’t we just shoot the lot of ’em?” the growler asked hoarsely. “Maybe not her. At least not yet. She smells nice.” He sniffed her hair and dragged his lips across her forehead.

Penn moved quickly, surprising the men who’d grabbed him by elbowing them swiftly and dashing forward. The leader’s pistol came up. “Stop!” he yelled.

A pistol shot rent the air, but Penn didn’t turn. He dove for the growler, knocking the large man—and the woman—to the ground.

“Bowen!” The sound of Egg’s voice broke through Penn’s haze of fury. The distraction was enough for the growler to gain the upper hand. He hit Penn in the jaw and flipped him to his back. The leader stood over him then, his pistol aimed at Penn’s head.

“We’ve shot your man. Give over.” He looked at the woman. “You—find the dagger and give it to me. Otherwise, I’ll let my man have you.”

“You’re despicable,” she spat.

Penn couldn’t see her, but he heard the venom in her tone and imagined the fire that must be sparking from her green eyes, just as when she’d called him the same adjective. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being judged the same as these villains. His thoughts turned to Egg and what his wound might be, but he didn’t dare move his gaze from the gun pointed between his brows.

“You all right, Egg?” he called.

“Just a nick on my arm,” Egg answered.

Penn exhaled with relief, but it was short-lived since their situation was utterly untenable.

“How about I give him more than a nick?” the leader offered. “And we’ll take your lady friend here with us.” His dark eyes narrowed, and he bared his teeth for a brief moment. “Give me the goddamned dagger.”

Anger spilled through Penn’s veins. Trapped, he slipped his hand into his coat and pulled forth the dagger. “I’ll get it back.”

The man reached down with his left hand and pulled the artifact from Penn’s grip. “Highly unlikely, but you’re welcome to try.” His mouth spread into a condescending, malevolent smile.

“I’ll do more than try,” Penn promised.

“Bind them,” the leader said, taking a step back.

The other three men sprang into motion, one of them dragging the wounded Egg to where Penn lay in the dirt. The growler pushed the woman next to Penn as another of the men pulled Penn to a sitting position. Egg dropped beside Penn, and their arms were pulled behind them and bound together at the wrist. Penn tested the rope, but it held fast.

“And their feet,” the leader bade as he turned the dagger over in his hand.

As the three men bound their ankles together, the leader looked down at Penn. “This is quite a find, thank you.”

“You’re a bastard and a coward,” Penn said, gritting his teeth as the man tying his feet pulled the rope extra tight.

“No and no, actually. Come, gents.” He holstered his pistol and turned away.

Two of the men followed him immediately while the growler lingered a moment. He leaned forward, his face a few inches from the woman’s. “Next time, my pretty.” He flashed her a smile that was missing several teeth before backing away and jumping to his feet.

She was close enough to Penn that he felt her shudder.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Fine.” The word was strained, and Penn didn’t believe her.

Penn turned his head to his assistant, who was tied to his right. “How is your arm?”

“It ’urts, but it’ll clean up all right, I imagine. So long as we get ourselves out of this mess.”

“Someone will come along,” the woman said.

Penn appreciated her optimism but didn’t think it was well placed. “I doubt that. We are quite a ways off the road.” A thought occurred to him, and he turned his head toward her. “Does someone know you’re here?”

She nodded. “My maid.”

“Your maid. Have you no man to assist you?”

“My coachman is back at the inn. He just doesn’t know precisely where I am.”

“He should.”

“This was a discreet errand,” she snapped.

Penn laughed derisively. “A fool’s errand, you mean.”

She pulled at her bindings, which caused Penn to fall toward her and Egg to fall on Penn.

Egg grunted. “Watch yourself!”

Penn caught the scent of honeysuckle and sunlight before jerking away from her. “We are tied together,” he said. “Your movements affect ours. Please be so kind as to not cause Egg pain.”

“Where’s your knife?” Egg asked.

It was tucked into a leather scabbard secured to the inside of his waistcoat. “In its usual location, which will be impossible to retrieve given the state of our hands.”

“Where is it?” the woman asked.

Penn turned his head and was greeted with the intensity of her emerald stare. “My waistcoat.”

She eyed his chest. “It can’t be very large.”

His lip twitched. “It’s bigger than you think.”

“Can I use my mouth?”

She seemed to have missed the humor in his double entendre given the innocence of her question. Only there was nothing innocent about his sudden reaction. Unexpected heat sparked in his belly, and he struggled to recall what she was going to use her mouth for.

The knife.

“I suppose you could try.” It was the only plan they had. He angled toward her as best he could. “It’s on the left. My left.” The side closest to her.

“I need to move a bit closer. Egg—is that your name?—I’m going to move now, if you could brace yourself.”

“Egbert Howell, ma’am.”

“I am Mrs. Forrest.”

Mrs. “Where in the devil is your husband?” Penn asked.

She twisted at the waist. “I am a widow.”

“You undoubtedly drove him to his early demise.” Penn chided himself for making light of her situation. He blamed the disaster this day had become. “My apologies,” he said softly.

“Something like that,” she murmured before bowing her head. Using her chin and nose, she nudged at the waistcoat to get to the scabbard. Thankfully, it was rather accessible.

The feel of her against him in such an intimate fashion only served to stoke the dormant fires in Penn’s gut. It had been months since he’d lain with a woman, so it made sense Mrs. Forrest would arouse him.

A moment later, just as he grew uncomfortable because his body was beginning to respond to hers in a rather inappropriate manner, she lifted her head. Gripped in her teeth was the slender hilt of his knife.

Penn grinned. “Brilliant! Drop it behind you so that I can grab it and cut us free.”

She turned her body back to a more natural position, and he realized she might have incurred more than a bit of discomfort. After a moment, she turned her head, moving her chin to the edge of her shoulder. She dropped the knife.

“It’s in my hand,” she said.

“Well done.” He didn’t bother keeping the admiration from his tone. Thieving had clearly given her some useful skills.

“Where’s your hand so I can deliver it to you?”

“Let me find you so you don’t stab me,” he said. “I’m not wearing gloves.”

“You’re taking the fun out of this.”

He smiled in spite of himself. She was skillful and brave. And witty. Also beautiful. She was, in a word, dangerous.

Penn sobered as he searched for her hand. His fingers grazed her sleeve. Moving down, he encountered her glove. A few more inches and he clasped the knife.

“Egg, give me your hands.”

“What about mine?” Mrs. Forrest asked.

“I won’t risk cutting you,” Penn said.

“I am wearing gloves. And neither of you are. It makes sense that you should cut my restraints first.”

It did, in fact, make sense. Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to. “Egg?”

“Here.” The assistant thrust his hands into Penn’s.

Sweat dappled Penn’s brow as he worked at Egg’s bindings. It took a few minutes of blind navigation and several minutes more of awkward sawing, but Egg’s hands soon came free of the ropes. He exhaled. “Thank you, sir.”

Mrs. Forrest made a sound of irritation.

Egg quickly untied his feet, then set about freeing Penn’s hands.

“What happened to helping ladies first?” Mrs. Forrest demanded.

“Are you a lady?” Egg asked. “I’m not sure.”

She let out a distinctly unladylike expletive under her breath, but Penn caught it.

As soon as Penn’s hands were free, he shook them vigorously to restore feeling, then leaned forward to untie his feet. When he was finished, he turned to Mrs. Forrest.

Her eyes narrowed when he didn’t immediately release her. “What are you waiting for?”

“I’m contemplating whether I ought to untie you.”

“You’re as beastly as they were.”

“No, I’m not.” He moved to her back and untied her hands. He lowered his head and spoke next to her ear. “I may be a scoundrel from time to time, but I am not like them. If you get to know me, you’ll find that out for yourself.”

As soon as her hands were loose, she scooted away from him and untied her own feet. “I have no plans to do either.”

Penn climbed to his feet. “Pity. I was hoping you might tell me how you knew about the dagger.”

Her shoulders crumpled, and her face lost a bit of color. “The dagger.”

“Don’t fret. It was a fake anyway.”

“A what?” She stared at him with incredulity, her jaw hanging open.

“A fake.”

“How can you know that?”

“The hilt and, more importantly, the markings on it were too new.”

She surveyed him with great skepticism. “I ask again, how can you know that?”

“Mrs. Forrest, I am an antiquary with a great deal of knowledge and experience. I am trained to recognize artifacts and determine their authenticity. That artifact was absolutely a fabrication. But then I am not surprised, since its counterpart, currently residing in the Ashmolean, is also a sham.”

He didn’t think it was possible for her to look more shocked, but her jaw dropped farther and her eyes practically fell from their sockets.

“Are you talking about the Heart of Llanllwch?” Her pronunciation of the Welsh was impeccable, and he couldn’t suppress a flash of admiration.

He nodded. “I am. It’s a fake.”

She drew herself up to her not unimpressive height. “It most certainly is not.”

“And how can you know that?”

“Because my grandfather found it, you cretin.”