The familiar face of his childhood home—well, part of his childhood—greeted Penn as his coach rumbled to a stop in the drive. His father called Hollyhaven a cottage, but it was rather larger than that. With its mullioned windows and ivy-covered stone, it was the most charming home Penn had ever seen. When he’d come to live here, he’d thought he’d been transported to a fairy tale.

But then his father had been the real reason for that. Followed quickly by his mother, since they’d wed soon after his arrival. No matter how old he was or how far he traveled, he always looked forward to coming home.

He didn’t wait for Egg to open the door before stepping out of the coach. Already, the door to the house opened to reveal his smiling mother, her honey-blonde hair still devoid of any white or gray.

Instead of hastening to the entry, he went to Amelia’s coach. He didn’t care what she’d said that morning. She had been angry, and he was willing to wager she’d been jealous too.

However, any pleasure he might have felt at her emotional response was tempered by her insistence that they return to their original arrangement—that of professional partners and nothing more.

And why was he upset by that? He was the one who’d put an end to their embrace last night. He was the one who was terrified of settling down.

Wait, terrified?

Before he could answer that thought, Amelia’s coachman helped her down, beating Penn to the door. Penn awaited her descent and couldn’t help but think she was even lovelier now than she had been that morning. Blonde curls peeked from beneath the rim of her bonnet, and her green eyes shone like gemstones in the bright afternoon sun.

He offered her his arm. “Come, I’ll introduce you to my parents.”

Guiding her to the door, Penn saw that his father had joined his mother. Rhys Bowen was tall, dark eyed, and dark haired with the same dark Welsh complexion as Penn. They looked enough alike that no one questioned whether Penn was his blood son. Indeed, among the handful of people who knew the truth, most of them commented that Penn looked as though he was. Though Penn knew it was impossible, it still gave him comfort.

Margery Bowen smiled broadly as they approached. “Penn, we’re so glad to see you.” Her gaze moved to Amelia. “Welcome.” She glanced toward her husband and murmured, “It seems our children keep bringing home members of the opposite sex…”

Penn’s sister, Cate, had brought her now-husband, Lord Norris, here several weeks ago. Apparently, he’d assured the Bowens that his relationship with Cate was purely nonromantic. Clearly, that had been a lie. In this case, however, Penn could make the same claim and be assured that it was, at least right now, completely accurate.

“Mother, Father, allow me to present Mrs. Amelia Gardiner Forrest.” Penn included her family name on purpose.

As expected, Father’s brows arched with interest. “Gardiner? As in Jonathan Gardiner? Did your…grandfather, I would think, discover the Heart of Llanllwch?”

She nodded. “He did, indeed.” She dipped a curtsey. “I’m pleased to meet you both.”

“Come in, come in.” Mother stepped to the side and gestured for them to move into the coolness of the entry hall.

“Would you prefer to rest, or can I tempt you to join us for tea in my study?” His father’s hopeful tone matched the anticipation in his gaze.

Penn looked toward Amelia in question. He’d join his parents, but he wanted her to do as she pleased.

She smiled at his parents. “Tea would be lovely.”

Father led them into his study, which was situated just off the entry hall. It was a large room dominated by a long table that was always covered with books or manuscripts or odd ends of paper as his father completed translations.

Amelia’s gaze roved the bookshelves climbing the walls, the ornate desk at the opposite end, and, of course, the table in the center. “My grandfather would have loved this,” she said softly, almost reverently.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know him, or I would have invited him to visit,” Father said. “We’ll sit over here for tea.” He indicated the furniture arranged in front of the window that faced the drive.

Amelia didn’t immediately move to sit down. Instead, she surveyed a medieval manuscript that lay open on the table, its illuminations vividly striking.

Father stood next to her. “This is from the fourteenth century.”

“Is that Welsh?” she asked.

“Medieval, yes,” Father said, flicking a glance toward Penn. “My son can translate it for you, if you like.”

She darted a look at Penn, and he saw the question there. He gave an infinitesimal nod.

“How wonderful to be able to read that.” Her tone was rather wistful. “I’m afraid I can only read and speak French.”

“I have many French romances, if you’d care to read them,” Father offered. He was always keen to share his library. “It might be slightly challenging if they’re older, but Penn or I could help.”

“You came here very quickly,” Mother said as she sat on the settee in front of the window.

Confused, Penn blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

Mother’s eyes showed a flash of surprise. “You didn’t receive our note?”

“I did not.”

Father turned from the table. “Ah, well, we can discuss that later. Penn, tell us what brings you and Mrs. Forrest here.” He smiled warmly at Amelia and waited for her to take a chair near the settee before sitting down beside his wife.

Penn took the chair at the other end of the settee. “You’re aware that Jonathan Gardiner found the Heart of Llanllwch. He also found the dagger that counteracts it.”

The anticipation in Father’s gaze heightened. “And you have it now?”

“No, but I did.” Penn hated disappointing his father. “It was stolen from us, and now we are on the hunt to recover it.”

His mother looked between him and Amelia. “You both found it?” Her eyes narrowed perceptively. “How long have you been working together, and how did that come about?”

The tea arrived then, and Mother dismissed the housekeeper immediately so they could continue their conversation.

Penn exchanged a look with Amelia, whose eyes widened briefly. She had to be wondering if Penn planned to tell his parents that she’d threatened to shoot him. “We, uh, happened to stumble upon it at the same time.” That was true enough. “Her grandfather had asked her to find it, but unfortunately didn’t leave her with enough information. What he did was write a letter with the dagger’s location, which he sent to Carlton Burgess.”

“Naturally, Burgess sent you to retrieve it,” Penn’s father said as he helped himself to a biscuit from the tray.

“But who stole it?” his mother asked. “And I trust you’re all right?”

“Yes, though Egg sustained a minor injury. Which Mrs. Forrest was kind enough to tend with a homemade salve. He’s fine now.”

His mother looked at Amelia with a hint of admiration. “Thank you, Mrs. Forrest. Egg is dear to us, despite his sometimes sour demeanor.”

“You were telling us who stole it,” Father prompted.

Penn continued. “We aren’t certain, but I would wager it was the Camelot group. Septon insists it wasn’t the Order.”

Penn’s father leaned back against the settee and stretched his arm out along the back behind Penn’s mother. “You’ve already seen Septon?”

“We went there afterward. I wanted to consult his library.”

“But not him?” his mother asked. Unlike her husband, she didn’t entirely trust Septon. Not since the Order had attacked them all those years ago.

Penn shrugged. “His library usually provides the answers I need.”

“In this case, Septon proved helpful,” Amelia said. “We were looking for the origin of the Ranulf and Hilaria story.”

“It’s in the White Book of Hergest,” Father said immediately. “Unfortunately, that book is lost. But the tale was copied in many other books.”

Penn poured himself a cup of tea. “We know. However, the White Book may not be lost. We tracked it to the bookbinder in London. After speaking with them, I believe it was stolen during the fire—and that the fire was set as a diversion to make it look as though the book was lost.”

His father’s eyes widened. He pulled his arm back to his side and leaned forward. “You can’t be serious.”

Mother elbowed him gently. “Of course he is, dear. He’s our son.” The note of pride in her voice warmed Penn’s heart.

“I am going to find the White Book because I believe it holds the key to finding the real Heart of Llanllwch.”

“You still believe the one in the museum is fake?” Father asked.

Penn pulled it from the pocket of his coat where he’d stashed it that morning at the inn. “I do.”

His mother gasped. “You stole it from the museum?”

“Borrowed it,” Penn clarified.

Father’s dark brows gathered over his darker eyes. “Why are you so convinced the White Book holds the key?”

“My grandfather was especially interested in it,” Amelia answered. “He went to see it at Wynnstay.”

Penn’s mother shook her head. “My apologies, Mrs. Forrest. I should’ve offered to pour your tea. Forgive me. We are swept into conversations of this nature quite easily, I’m afraid.”

Amelia smiled softly. “I understand. I’ve started to do the same thing since becoming acquainted with your son. He’s quite passionate about antiquities. And, perhaps more importantly, the search for them.”

Mother chuckled as she poured tea for Amelia and then herself and Father. “Yes, that’s Penn. As you can see, he poured his own tea without missing a step. We usually just help ourselves.”

Penn felt mildly embarrassed. He hadn’t even thought to offer Amelia tea before pouring his. As was often the case, his social skills were a bit lacking. But then they weren’t typically necessary in the life he led.

Father diverted the conversation away from any discomfort. “I never had a chance to see the White Book.” His voice held a note of regret. “How will you find it?”

“Foliot has it.” Penn awaited his father’s negative reaction and wasn’t disappointed.

“And just how in the hell do you think you’ll get it from him?” He shot an apologetic glance toward Amelia. “Forgive me.”

“I’m hoping Kersey will help us,” Penn said, anticipating another reaction, but not entirely sure what it might be. Like Penn, Father was torn between fury at him for how he’d treated Cate and stolen the sword and love for the person they’d known for years, and in Father’s case, Kersey’s whole life.

“You’re in luck, because he’s likely on his way here,” Mother said, surprising the hell out of Penn.

Penn looked from her to his father and back again. “He is?” He suddenly recalled what she’d said when he’d arrived, commenting on how quickly he’d come. They’d summoned him home for some reason. Had they done the same to Kersey? That made absolutely no sense. What made even less sense was Kersey listening to them. Penn shook his head. “I can’t imagine he’ll come. How did you even know where to find him?” Kersey had ridden off to parts unknown after giving Cate the sword.

Father lifted his shoulder in an enigmatic shrug. “I know Gideon quite well.”

Penn wasn’t sure what to make of that statement but didn’t have a chance to ask. Amelia abruptly stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’d like to go upstairs for a respite before dinner.”

Everyone else jumped to their feet. “Of course,” Mother said. “I’ll have Mrs. Thomas show you upstairs.” She guided Amelia from the study. At the door, Amelia cast a glance back at Penn, but her expression was unreadable.

He had no idea where things stood between them. That wasn’t true. They were partners and nothing more.

“You’re frowning,” his father said.

Penn blinked and turned his attention to his right, where his father was plucking another biscuit from the tray.

“What’s going on between you and Mrs. Forrest?” Father asked.

“Nothing.” Penn realized he answered a bit too quickly, but it was the truth.

Father gave him a knowing stare. “That look you just gave her wasn’t nothing.”

“What look?” Mother swept back into the study and landed back on the settee next to Father. “Are you discussing Mrs. Forrest?”

“He’s trying to,” Penn muttered.

“And Penn is trying to tell me there’s nothing between them.”

“I’m not sure I doubt that.” Thank goodness for his mother’s sense. “At least as far as Mrs. Forrest is concerned. I didn’t catch any indication they share anything more than a professional acquaintance.” She turned her head to her husband. “But then I missed whatever ‘look’ you just mentioned.”

“He frowned as she left. That was after she looked back at him. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to say something. Without saying anything.”

Mother nodded. “I know what you mean.” She turned to Penn. “Interesting.”

Penn rolled his eyes and picked up his teacup, taking a deep drink before clattering it back on the table. “Is this how you discuss me when I’m not here?”

“Somewhat.” Mother laughed softly but then sobered rather quickly. She looked back to his father, and Penn’s neck prickled.

“Why did you send for me to come home? And Kersey too?”

His parents exchanged another look, the kind they always shared when they were worried about one or both of their children. And this worried Penn.

It was his father who spoke first. He angled his body toward Penn and gave him an earnest look followed by the slight curving of his lips. He seemed to be trying to impart a sense of supportive concern. Penn’s worry intensified.

“The Earl of Stratton has died.”

Penn exhaled. “I can’t imagine anyone will mourn him.”

“Gideon might—at least a little,” Mother said.

That was true. After his mother had left, Kersey had only had his father, such as he was. They’d developed a close relationship for a while, until Kersey had come to realize just how horrid his father was.

“Is that why you asked me to come?” Penn asked. “To be here for him?”

Father shifted uncomfortably, appearing as though he were sitting on sharp rocks and not a settee. “Not, uh, exactly.”

Mother stood from the settee and came around the low table where the tea tray sat. She knelt beside Penn’s chair and took his hand. The apprehension he’d just dispelled came roaring back.

Penn’s heart began to pound. He couldn’t imagine why they were acting like that. “What is this about?”

Father took a deep breath and looked Penn square in the eye. “The Earl of Stratton wasn’t just Gideon’s father. He was also yours.”

It was as if the world around him faded to gray. Penn wasn’t aware of his parents, of the chair beneath him, of the roof over his head. The face of his mother—the woman who’d given birth to him—floated before him. He saw the fear that had always lurked deep in her gaze, even beneath the love she’d had for him. He recalled the secrecy she’d incessantly employed in his youth, telling him to never give his name to strangers and not to talk to Quality at all if possible. The name Will drifted up from the recesses of his mind—she’d called him that a few times when he’d been very young. He remembered that Stratton’s first wife had disappeared and was found dead.

“His first wife didn’t die, did she?” Penn asked in a barely audible voice. In fact, he wondered if he’d actually spoken aloud.

“Not until later. After she brought you here. To me.” The anguish in his father’s voice did nothing to soothe the confusion and distress tumbling through Penn.

The room—and his parents’ concerned faces—came back into focus. “Why did she bring me here?” Penn was vaguely aware of his mother squeezing his hand.

“Because I was the only family she trusted. She wanted you to have your birthright some day—after Stratton was dead.”

Dread filled Penn’s soul. “What are you saying?”

“You’re the Earl of Stratton now.”

Hell no. Hell no. “I can’t be. No one even knows I exist. Kersey—Gideon—sure as hell doesn’t know.”

His father winced. “That’s true—about Gideon. However, the vicar who recorded your birth is very much aware, and he’s protected the legal proof of your birth for over thirty years. As directed by your mother, he’ll come forward now and provide the proof necessary for you to claim the title.”

Penn stood, dropping his mother’s hand and awkwardly stepping around her. “I don’t want it.”

An earl? What the fuck was he supposed to do with that? He hadn’t the slightest notion how to be an earl, nor did he want to be. A future of being tied to a title loomed before him like an executioner’s axe.

His father’s face was grim, his mother’s lined with sorrow. “You don’t have a choice.”

They’d lied to him for years. They’d allowed him to cultivate a life that had nothing to do with an earldom, knowing that someday it would come to an abrupt and necessary end.

“You didn’t think how this would affect me?” He hated how broken and angry he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. And he wouldn’t. They deserved his rage.

“I’ve thought of little else,” Father said, rising from the settee and helping his mother to stand.

She gave him a tentative smile. “Penn, we’ll work through this. It will be all right.”

“Tell that to Gideon when he arrives. I’m sure he’ll be just as thrilled as I am. You’ve ruined two lives today, and for what?”

His father’s features were a mix of regret and resolve. “For your birthright. You are the Earl of Stratton.”

“Not if I can help it.”

Penn stalked from the room and left through the back of the house, heading straight for the woods behind the sloping yard. It was the place he’d always gone when he’d first come to Hollyhaven—it had been his haven.

And for the first time in years, he needed a refuge. For the first time in years, he felt alone and abandoned, as if his world would never be right again.

* * *

Amelia walked downstairs for dinner at seven. They’d pushed dinner back an hour for some reason she didn’t know. She was surprised to find the dining room empty upon her arrival. Was something amiss at Hollyhaven?

There’d been a strange air in the study that afternoon—something between Penn’s parents. She’d excused herself thinking the family needed some privacy. Now the feeling that she was somehow intruding intensified.

“Good evening, Mrs. Forrest.”

Amelia turned at the sound of Penn’s mother’s voice.

“Good evening, Mrs. Bowen.”

The older woman smiled briefly—too briefly. “Please call me Margery.”

“I couldn’t.”

Penn’s mother waved her hand in dismissal. “I insist. I don’t know the nature of your relationship with Penn, but if he brought you here, he must think quite highly of you. He never brings anyone here.”

That made Amelia absurdly pleased. “We’ve become friends,” she said cautiously. She didn’t want to disclose anything Penn would prefer to keep private. But was there really anything to hide? She’d told him that morning that they were going back to where they’d started. Well, not quite where they’d started. She had no intention of pointing a pistol at him anytime soon.

No, never that. In fact, she’d begun to regret telling him she wanted to just be partners again. Because she didn’t really. The truth was that she had been jealous.

“I’m not aware of Penn having any women friends,” Margery said. “I’m glad, because he could actually use a friend right now.”

Her words alarmed Amelia. “What happened?”

“Will you sit and have dinner with me? I’m afraid it will be just us. My husband is too upset to eat and begs your pardon for being absent.”

“Of course. Where’s Penn?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” Margery gestured toward the table. “Shall we sit?”

Amelia took one of the two places with a setting. She hadn’t noticed there were just two when she’d entered.

Margery sat at the end of the table to Amelia’s left. A young footman served them soup and then departed.

Amelia grew anxious waiting for Margery to explain Penn’s absence. “Is Penn all right?”

Picking up her spoon, Margery stared at her soup a minute. When she raised her gaze to Amelia’s, it was filled with apprehension. “I don’t know.” She gave her head a shake. “That’s not true. No, he’s not all right. We gave him some upsetting news.”

Amelia grasped at what it could be. “Does this involve Kersey?”

“Yes. Somewhat. His father, the Earl of Stratton, died three days ago.”

The flash of relief Amelia felt was momentary. Clearly, this affected Penn somehow. “Why is Penn upset about this? I had the impression he didn’t care for Stratton.”

“No one cared for Stratton,” Margery said derisively. She gave a delicate shudder. “Which is one reason this news was so upsetting for Penn.” She looked at Amelia with a sad gaze. “Penn is the earl’s firstborn son. Stratton was abusive and horrible, and Penn’s mother fled when she was with child. She orchestrated her own fake death to protect her son.”

Shock froze Amelia for a moment. “If she was supposedly dead, how can Penn be the earl?”

“There’s a vicar who helped Penn’s mother escape. He housed Eleanor until she gave birth and bore witness, recording Penn’s birth in the church registry.”

Amelia’s heart sank. There was proof he was the heir. “Penn doesn’t want to be the earl.”

“You know my son very well.”

“Where is he now?” Amelia could only imagine what he was feeling. If she found out her parent was a horrid person and that she suddenly had responsibilities she’d never conceived… He was an adventurer, an explorer, not a lord.

“He left. He often spent time in a small lean-to in the woods behind the house when he was a boy. I suspect that’s where he went. He could be back by now.” Margery looked down at her soup. “I suppose it’s gone cold by now.”

Amelia took a taste and found it was still warm. Only she wasn’t very hungry anymore. Forcing herself to sip a few spoonfuls, she noticed Penn’s mother seemed to be trying to do the same.

Thankfully, the footman rescued them a moment later, removing the dishes. Of course, he only brought the next course, which was about as appetizing as the first.

That wasn’t fair. The fish did look delicious, and Amelia told herself she ought to eat.

Margery took a few bites and set her fork down. “I’m afraid I’m not that hungry. Don’t let me interrupt you, however. I’m happy to have a bit of company. It’s quiet here now that Cate is married. Did Penn tell you about his sister?”

Amelia swallowed a bite of fish. “Yes. I understand she is newly married.” To an earl. Amelia had told Penn she’d never met an earl. Apparently, last night, she’d kissed one.

She set her fork down. “I’m not particularly hungry either. I blame all the food the inn sent for my journey.” There had been an excess, really, and every bite was delicious. But she knew that wasn’t the reason for her loss of appetite.

She wanted to ask about Penn and how he’d come to live with them, but decided she preferred to hear that from him. If he wanted to talk to her. First, however, she would keep Penn’s mother company. “Since we don’t seem to be interested in eating, would you like to show me your husband’s study?”

Margery’s eyes lit with interest. “Oh yes, let’s. That will be a welcome distraction.” She stood, and Amelia joined her.

Later, after Amelia had heard the exciting tale of how Penn’s parents had met, she stood in her bedchamber as Culley put her clothing away. “Culley, do you happen to know where Mr. Bowen’s—Penn’s—chamber is located?”

Culley snapped her head around in surprise. “I believe it’s the one next door.”

Good, that would decrease the chance of her being noticed.

“Are you going to…visit him?”

Amelia didn’t see any reason to lie, not to Culley. “He’s had some bad news, and as you know, he and I have become friends. I’d like to make sure he’s all right.”

Culley’s expression softened. “You’ve a kind heart. I won’t say a word, of course.”

“Thank you. I really am just paying a visit.” Amelia didn’t know why it mattered. She was a widow and not the slightest bit concerned about ruining her reputation. She was, however, a guest in the Bowens’ home, and she meant to behave respectfully. She doubted Penn’s parents would mind her checking on him, especially not if it helped.

As she made her way from the room into the corridor, she wondered if she were doing the right thing. What if he didn’t want to see her? Well then, he wouldn’t open the door. Assuming he was even there. She hoped so. She hated thinking of him outside in the dark. Alone. Upset.

Relying on the audacity he claimed she possessed, she knocked on his door. When she heard nothing—no response and no movement—she said, “It’s Amelia.”

When there was still no sound from the room, she knocked again and repeated herself, but a bit louder—as loud as she dared.

Not willing to give up, she reached for the latch. If he wasn’t inside, she’d wait for him. The door wasn’t locked. She pushed it inward. And nearly fell flat on her face.

Strong arms caught her as she pitched toward the floor. The door had moved quickly, and she realized now it was because someone had been opening at the same time she’d pushed.

She looked up into the dark blue, tortured gaze of Penn.

His grip on her waist was tight and…electrifying. He didn’t immediately let go, and she basked in his touch. Alas, he finally released her.

“What are you doing here?” he rasped.

She closed the door, plunging them into darkness without the light from the sconce in the corridor. “I came to see you.”

“Well, that’s obvious. Why?”

She followed him into the room and promptly stubbed her toe on something. “Ow. Do you suppose you could light a candle?”

A moment later, she heard flint, and a candle sputtered to life. She took in her surroundings—Penn’s bedchamber. She’d stubbed her toe on the chair set in front of a writing desk. The candle sat on a nightstand on the other side of his bed. He sprawled in a wingbacked chair set in front of a dark hearth, his long legs stretched before him. He drank from a glass dangling from his fingertips.

Tightening the tie of her dressing gown, Amelia ventured farther into his room. There wasn’t a chair for her to sit in, unless she wanted to pull the desk chair over to the hearth. Which she might, if he gave her any indication he wanted her to stay. Right now, she assumed he was moments from banishing her.

She took up a position near the corner of his bed, less than a couple of dozen inches from his bare feet. He wore only his breeches that stretched just past his knees and a shirt that had been pulled from the waistband and was, of course, open at the neck absent a cravat. She was seeing far more of Penn Bowen than she ever had before, and her body was well aware of it, reacting with heat and desire. She shoved it aside. Now was not the time for such distractions. “Your mother told me about the Earl of Stratton.”

His gaze, still dark and tormented, lifted to hers. “You mean me?”

“No, I meant the prior earl.”

“But the issue is me, isn’t it?” He tipped the cup back into his mouth, draining whatever was inside. Then he set the empty tumbler down onto the hearth to his left.

“Yes. I can imagine—”

“Can you?” he snapped. “Can you really imagine how this feels? My entire life has been upended. Hell, my entire life is a bloody lie.” He jumped to his feet and prowled past her.

She turned as he walked by, her body tense and on edge as she witnessed this new side of him. He’d always been genial and unflappable—even when they’d been tied up by brigands. But this was something wholly different, and she knew it.

“I know,” she said quietly. “That’s why I can only imagine how this feels. And what I imagine is that you’re devastated.”

He paced on the opposite side of the bed but said nothing. Just when she was about to move toward him, he came around the bed in a flash, stopping right in front of her. “Devastated is a good word. Also furious. And heartbroken. My parents knew all this time and never told me.”

Heartbroken. Hearing him say that twisted her heart too.

“I’m sure they had a good reason.”

He let out a derisive snort. “Can you think of one?”

She could but wasn’t sure he really wanted her to answer. “They wished to keep it a secret from Stratton? He doesn’t sound like a very nice person.”

“Yes, that’s their reasoning. But why not trust me with this life-altering, future-changing secret?” His eyes blazed with anger as he leaned toward her. “Why let me create a life as a scholar and an adventurer knowing I was going to have to cast it all aside to become a fucking earl?”

His crude language jabbed at her, but she didn’t blame him. It only made her want to soothe him even more. Before she could say a word, however, he continued his ranting. “I don’t want that life. I want the life I already have. I like that life. Especially since you came into it.”

His fury melted into something else—a heat she felt into her bones as he stared at her with desperation. She touched his face, feeling the scrape of his beard emerging along his jaw. “Penn—”

“That’s not even my name.” His voice was rough and sad. “It’s William. My mother changed it to some place we visited—Pennard. I’d forgotten that until today.”

“You shall always be Penn to me,” she said softly, caressing his cheek.

“Penn, your partner?” he asked huskily.

She dragged her hand along his jaw and brushed the pad of her thumb over his lips. “My partner. My friend. My lover.” She infused the last with a bit of a question, holding her breath as she waited for his response.

His gaze speared into hers before he drew her thumb into his mouth, licking her flesh with his tongue. Then his hands came around her waist, and he pulled her to his chest. He released her thumb from his lips. “You’re certain? Because I am on the edge of so many emotions right now. Rejection is not something I want to contemplate.”

She brought her other hand up between them and cupped his face. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.” And it was true. She wanted him with the ferocity she saw reflected in his gaze. “I don’t think I could handle rejection either—if you recall, you’re the one who pulled away last night. I’m the one who opened my door to hopefully persuade you to change your mind.”

“Bloody hell, I mangled that,” he whispered. “Not tonight. Tonight, I’m yours. Completely.”

“Then I shall take you.”