Relief surged through Amelia. She sent a brief, grateful look toward Kersey. He gave her an infinitesimal nod.

“A key?” Penn turned to the table and set the two pieces of the heart down on the wood.

Rhys went to the hearth and picked up the flint to light a lantern, which he set down near the stone. “A key to what?”

Everyone huddled around the table. Rhys next to Penn and Amelia on Penn’s other side. Margery sidled up beside her husband, and Kersey stood near Amelia’s elbow.

Penn leaned over and picked up a piece, holding it to the light as he turned it over in his fingers. He narrowed his eyes and used his other hands to pick at the paint that had chipped from where the stone had split. “I can’t tell, but there may be something etched here.”

Using his thumbnail, he pushed a bit of paint away. It flaked off and floated to the table. He continued until he’d exposed a small area. Holding the rock to the lantern, he sucked in a breath. “It looks like a coded message.”

Rhys pitched forward and studied the piece. “Indeed it does. There has to be a cipher.”

“I think I know where it is,” Kersey said, and all eyes turned to him. “The White Book of Hergest.”

Rhys turned toward him, his gaze intense and almost…hungry. “How do you know that?”

“I saw it a few times at Foliot’s. I suspected it may be a palimpsest.”

“You know how to recognize that?” Rhys’s question was tinged with admiration.

Kersey squared his shoulders. “I paid attention when I spent time with you in my youth. I didn’t share my suspicions with Foliot or anyone else, and I don’t think they realize what it is.”

Amelia had no idea what they were talking about. “What is a palimpsest?”

Penn turned to her. “The easiest way to explain it is to show you. Father?”

Rhys left the table and went to one of his bookshelves. He selected a volume bound in dark brown leather and brought it to the table. He opened it in front of Amelia, but it was Penn who spoke.

His long fingers traced over the text. “You can see what’s written here, but if you look beyond the words, you’ll see that something else was on this paper before. The paper was reused. In most cases, it’s simply a matter of needing parchment and using what’s available. However, sometimes the palimpsest hides secret information. Do you see the traces of what was there before?” He scooted the lantern closer to the book.

She bent down and blinked, clearing her sight to peer past the writing. “Yes!” She looked over at Kersey. “You detected this in the White Book?”

“I did.”

Amelia studied the book again before straightening. “Remarkable.”

“I don’t suppose you recall what the palimpsest said?” Penn asked Kersey.

Kersey shook his head. “I wasn’t able to study it. As I said, I only suspected it was there, but it was behind the story of Ranulf and Hilaria, so that seems to fit.”

Excitement curled through Amelia, and when she looked at Penn, she saw the same anticipation reflected in his eyes. “We need that book,” Penn said determinedly.

Something tickled the back of Amelia’s mind. “When my grandfather was ill, he mentioned something that I attributed to the ramblings of a dying man. He spoke of a hidden text. When I asked him if I should find a book for him, he said no it was hidden text. I didn’t understand what he meant.”

“You think he knew about the palimpsest?” Rhys asked.

“We know he saw the White Book at Wynnstay. So I think it’s possible. He said that a hidden text was the key to everything.” She couldn’t believe she hadn’t remembered that until now. But now was precisely when it was important, and that was all that mattered.

“We need that book,” Penn repeated.

Amelia’s gaze fixed on the two pieces of the broken heart. “If that heart holds a clue, then it really is a fake.” She’d gotten so wrapped up in the hunt that she’d forgotten her initial pledge to preserve her grandfather’s legacy.

Penn put his arm around her and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “If your grandfather knew of the palimpsest and said it was the key to everything, it seems likely that he knew it was fake.”

Yes, it did. But she had so many questions. That would likely go unanswered. An overwhelming wave of sadness washed over her. Penn perhaps sensed that as he drew her tight against his side and brushed a kiss along her temple.

It took a moment for his actions to sink into her brain. She glanced at the others. Kersey was fixed on the heart, but Penn’s parents quickly looked away, as if they’d been caught staring at something they shouldn’t.

Amelia inwardly winced. She doubted they’d be able to categorize their relationship as just professional any longer. And here she was, a married woman.

Suddenly, she wanted to get away from all of them, to run from the sensation of the walls closing in around her. Her life had drastically changed in the course of a day. Last night, she’d lain with Penn, hopeful for a future they might have together. A future that, for now, would never be.

“I can get the book,” Kersey said.

She was grateful for the intrusion on her thoughts and for the distraction from Penn’s solicitude.

Penn dropped his arm from her shoulders. Had he realized his faux pas? He angled himself toward Kersey. “How?”

“I’d rather not get into the specifics, but I know Foliot.” He said the last rather darkly and with more than a hint of remorse.

“How is that exactly?” Penn asked. “I’d like to know how you came to know him.”

Kersey exhaled, then moved from the table to a chair at the end. He sprawled into it before answering. “He approached me several years ago—when I was at Oxford. Preyed on me is perhaps a better description,” he said wryly. “He knew my father was interested in antiquities, especially books, and that Stratton was woefully uneducated about them. He offered to tutor me, and I accepted.”

“That is how the Order grooms potential members,” Rhys said, taking a few steps away from the table. “Septon explained it to me once because I asked. I wondered why I hadn’t been approached.”

Penn turned his head toward his father. “And why was that?”

“Because I didn’t exhibit sufficient interest in Arthurian legend specifically.”

“Neither did I,” Kersey said.

Rhys’s gaze softened, and his lips curved into a slight smile. “But you’re a descendant of one of the knights. Your interest in Arthurian legend or even antiquities isn’t required.”

Amelia found that a bit odd. “At all? If a person didn’t even show a passing curiosity, why would the Order think they would care?”

“They make contact to ascertain whether the descendant might develop an interest, if not a passion,” Rhys said.

Kersey made a sound that was part grunt and part scoff. “That sounds like precisely what Foliot did with me.”

“Only Foliot is more than just a member of the Order,” Penn said. “He’s the leader of a villainous faction inside it.”

“Which I didn’t know.” Kersey didn’t say this defensively, but as a matter of fact. “He never told me I was a descendant—merely hinted that I may have a connection. I didn’t know for sure until I picked up that sword.” His gaze flicked to the weapon lying on the table.

“Is there a chance Foliot doesn’t know for sure?” Rhys asked.

Kersey shook his head. “Not anymore. The men we met tonight saw me wield the sword. They’ll undoubtedly report that back to Foliot.”

Amelia tensed, waiting for Penn—or anyone else—to ask about the men. She didn’t want to talk about Thaddeus right now. She didn’t want Penn to learn about him in front of his parents.

She still couldn’t believe he’d shown up. Had he written that note? She hadn’t recognized the handwriting, but she honestly couldn’t say if she’d know it if she saw it. Had he been following her and Penn from Oxford or perhaps even longer? Her skin crawled thinking of that.

“I’m not convinced you should get the book,” Rhys said with grave concern. “It will be dangerous, and I don’t trust Foliot.”

“I could go,” Penn said.

Fear constricted Amelia’s chest. She knew Penn did dangerous things, but she couldn’t let him. Before she could protest, his mother beat her to it. “No, you can’t.” Her gaze darted to Kersey. “And I don’t want you to go either.”

Kersey arched a brow. “Because my father is dead, and I need to assume the earldom? That can wait a few days.”

And that was Amelia’s cue to leave. None of what needed to be spoken next was her business. “I am suddenly quite fatigued. I’d like to retire.”

Penn gave her a knowing look, his eyes burning with intensity. She had the sense he wanted to say something, to do something. But he’d already done enough. It had to be evident to everyone their relationship went much deeper than finding a treasure.

Too bad it had to end.

On that despondent note, Amelia said good night and fled.

* * *

Penn watched Amelia go with an ache in his heart. He longed to follow her, to hold her, to make certain she was safe. He sure as hell didn’t want to talk about the bloody earldom.

His father went to the sideboard and pulled out the whiskey bottle. “Who wants to join me?” Penn, Gideon? Port for you, my dear.” He poured her a glass of her favorite after-dinner drink and handed it to her.

“Yes, please,” Penn said.

“And for me.” Gideon made to stand, but Father waved him back down.

He poured the drinks and delivered a glass first to Penn and then to Gideon. “How did you hear of your father’s death?”

“The steward at Westerly Cross.” That had been Gideon’s mother’s father’s estate.

“So you’ve been staying at Hardy’s cottage?”

Gideon took a sip of whiskey and nodded.

Penn recalled that Hardy’s cottage was on the Westerly Cross estate and was where his parents had found the glass device that had been created to decipher the de Valery code. The estate had passed to the new baron. “Your cousin allows you to stay there?”

“Second cousin, and yes. My grandfather made a provision for it in his will. He wanted the cottage to belong to me, and the current baron has no quarrel with it.”

“I’m sorry you felt you had nowhere else to go,” Mother said softly. “You are always welcome here.”

Gideon’s eyes widened then. “Even after what I did to Cate?”

“She explained everything,” Mother said. “We understand what drove you, especially hearing what you said today about Foliot seeking you out. I can certainly grasp why you might respond to a father figure.”

Penn’s gut clenched. He’d always felt bad for Gideon, for the father he’d been stuck with. Penn had been far luckier with a man who wasn’t his father. And now to know the truth…

Father took a drink of whiskey and went to sit next to Gideon at the table. “There’s more to your father’s death than you know.”

Mother sat down on Gideon’s other side, and Penn remained standing. Apprehension tripped through him as he waited for his father to deliver the blow.

Gideon looked between them, his brow darkening. “This should be a happy occasion. I think we’re all pleased he’s dead.”

“You know of his first wife,” Father said slowly.

Gideon’s hand paused as he lifted the glass toward his mouth. “Yes.” He took a sip and set the tumbler back on the table.

“I met her a long time ago,” Father said. “She didn’t die—at least not when she was purported to. The report of her death was falsified so she could escape your father.”

“Can’t say I blame her for that. At least she didn’t abandon her son with him.” Derision dropped from his tone and burned the air like an acrid smoke.

“No, she took her son with her—in her belly. Then, years later, when she became ill, she gave him to me.” His sad gaze flicked to Penn, and in that moment, Penn forgave him. It had never been a question. He’d just needed his anger to wane. Rhys Bowen had done what he thought was right. In truth, he’d been dealt an impossible situation, and he’d done the best he could.

Gideon’s jaw twitched, and his eyes narrowed to steely slits. “What are you saying?”

“Penn is William Kersey, now the Earl of Stratton.”

Once again, Penn flinched at the name, hating the sound of it. That wasn’t who he was, who he wanted to be.

Gideon turned his gaze on Penn, his lip curling. “After all these years, you want to claim this title?”

Penn shook his head as his body twitched with distaste. “God no. I don’t want it. I left early this morning to try to find the vicar and destroy his proof.”

“I told you that’s where he went,” Mother said, looking at Father.

Father turned to Penn. “Did you find him?”

“No,” Penn said bitterly. “Egg is on the hunt, however. I wanted to get back here to find the heart.”

His mother gave him a look of understanding. “To Amelia.”

Hell, he should’ve expected that. He’d all but declared his feelings for her in front of them when he’d touched her and kissed her and demonstrated his unabashed concern. And what were those feelings exactly… He couldn’t think of that now, as much as he might want to. His entire being yearned to go to her, but there would be time.

“Why is Egg hunting a vicar?” Gideon’s voice was cold, detached, almost emotionless.

“He recorded Penn’s birth and agreed to keep it quiet until Stratton died,” Father said. “It was paramount to Penn’s mother that Stratton never knew of his existence. I kept her secret until yesterday.”

Gideon’s gaze swung to Penn again. “You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t. You must believe me when I say I don’t want it. You’ve been raised to be an earl. I’m a scholar and an adventurer. If I had to manage an estate and sit in the House of Lords, I’d go mad.” He threw back half his whiskey, relishing the trail of fire it burned down his throat, then set his tumbler on the table. He stared at Gideon and promised, “I will not let you be known as a bastard.”

The edge of Gideon’s mouth lifted into a bitter smile. “That won’t change the truth. I am what I am.” His echo of what Penn had said to his father sent a chill down Penn’s spine. “And if Egg doesn’t find this vicar in time?”

The question hung in the room like a hangman’s noose.

“He will,” Penn said, clenching his jaw. He wouldn’t accept anything else.

Gideon tossed down the rest of his whiskey and stood. “Well, I suppose my future is in Egg’s hands. Here I thought I was an earl… All this time, I’ve held the courtesy title, and I wasn’t even a viscount either, but a bastard. It’s no more than I deserve after the way I’ve behaved. Probably best for me to go off and live the life of a hermit.” Was he trying to bring humor to this dismal situation? He certainly wasn’t reacting the way Penn had.

Mother stood and touched his arm. “It is not what you deserve. And you won’t go and be a hermit. You are not alone anymore, Gideon. You never were.”

He gave her a half smile. “You did always try. All of you.” He looked around the room. “But my father was a blackguard and a scoundrel, the very worst our species has to offer, and he raised me in his image.”

“You are not like him,” Father practically growled.

“I’m trying not to be. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to retire too.” He turned and started toward the door.

Penn called after him, “Take the sword.”

Gideon slowly pivoted. He stared at Penn in question but didn’t say a word.

“Take it. It’s yours.”

Gideon went back to the table and picked it up in the middle of the scabbard, demonstrating that for him, it clearly weighed far less than for the rest of them. “Since learning I was a descendant, I’d hoped that maybe Stratton wasn’t my father, that perhaps I was a by-blow. My mother has already demonstrated her proficiency for infidelity. However, I see now that the line isn’t through my father, but my mother.” He looked at Penn. “Otherwise, this sword would work for you too.”

Penn hadn’t considered that. “You’re correct.”

“I wonder if my grandfather was aware of that connection?” Gideon tipped his head toward Penn’s father.

Father had met Lord Nash on several occasions—he and Mother had been quite fond of him. “I don’t think he was, but I daresay he’d be thrilled. And proud of you.”

Gideon gave a slight nod, then clutched the sword more tightly as he sent Penn an earnest stare. “Thank you, brother.”

Then he turned once more, and just before he left, Father called after him, “We’ll decide what to do about the book in the morning.”

Gideon raised his free hand in silent response before leaving and closing the door behind him.

Everyone was quiet a moment. Father sipped his whiskey, then inclined his head toward Penn. “That was the right thing to do.”

Penn picked up his whiskey. “Earls need swords.”

Mother looked at him with worry. “Do you really think Egg will be able to find this vicar? And how will he stop him?”

After taking a sip of his drink, Penn shrugged. “I expect he’ll kidnap him and bring him back here.”

Mother’s gasp pierced the air. “He won’t.”

“He might. But more likely he’ll just steal the register so the vicar no longer has written proof.”

“He’s tracking him to London?” Father asked.

“Yes, but the vicar won’t get that far. Egg will catch up with him tomorrow or the next day at the latest.”

“I’m surprised you left this matter to him,” Father said softly, exchanging a look with his mother.

“Finding the real heart is more important.”

“Or is it Mrs. Forrest?” Mother asked. “Please don’t try to prevaricate. We aren’t blind, and we remember what it was like to work together and the…emotions that can come from such an association.”

“I’d rather not discuss that, if you don’t mind. I think there are far more urgent matters at hand, namely how we will recover this book. We’ll meet at breakfast to develop a plan.” He finished his whiskey and set his empty glass on the table. “Good night.”

As he walked toward the door, his mother touched his arm. He paused, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I hope you know how much we love you. Whatever happens, you are our son, and nothing will change that.”

Penn gave her a fast, warm hug. “I know.” He dropped a kiss on her head and looked over at his father. “I love you too.”

He hurried from the study and went directly to Amelia’s room, uncaring what anyone thought. What did it matter now since it seemed their secret was no longer a secret?

He paused outside her door. Was what they shared a secret? What exactly did they even share?

His mother had spoken of emotions. Penn certainly had several where Amelia was concerned. He’d hated being away from her today. He’d wished she’d come with him, despite what he’d told her that morning. He realized he wanted to face adversity with her as well as celebrate their victories. Warmth and anticipation bloomed in his chest as he knocked on her door.

A moment later, she opened it, and he couldn’t wait for an invitation. He pushed inside and closed the door behind him. Then he drew her against his chest and cupped her face just before he pressed his mouth to hers.

The kiss was short but ravenous, their lips moving together in hungry strokes. “I’ve been waiting all day to do that,” he murmured against her. Then he claimed her mouth once more, caressing her face and neck.

She wrapped her arms around him and held him close, kissing him back with a fervor that matched his own. Need raced through him and washed away the pain and frustration. Whatever happened with the bloody book and this damn earldom, he had Amelia. Together they would surmount anything.

He needed to feel her, touch her, taste her. He steered her toward the bed, his lips and tongue devouring her eager mouth. She clutched at his cravat, tugging the ends free from his waistcoat, then pulling it loose and tossing it aside. Next, she pushed at his coat, and he twitched his shoulders, helping her strip it from his body.

Then her fingers were at the buttons of his waistcoat, pushing and pulling to get them free. He untied the sash of her dressing gown—thank goodness she’d already disrobed—and slid his hands inside to clasp her waist.

She shoved his waistcoat off and tugged the hem of his shirt from his waistband. He pulled at the fabric and tore it over his head, briefly breaking their kiss, before pushing her dressing gown to the floor.

The touch of her hands against his bare chest elicited a groan deep in his throat. He didn’t stop kissing her but licked at her tongue with his. Her fingertips curled into him, the nails digging into his flesh. But there was no pain, just a scalding desire to possess her and be possessed.

He guided her backward until her thighs met the bed. He gentled the kiss as he slid his hand beneath the hem of her night rail. He grazed his fingertips along her flesh, seeking that sweet, hot place between her thighs.

Finding her curls, he stroked her folds. She parted her legs, welcoming his touch. Her hands moved up around his neck and clutched him tightly.

He lifted her and set her on the bed. Then he took his mouth from hers, but only to cascade kisses along her cheek and jaw and down her neck. He tugged the neckline of her night rail down, stressing the fabric as he worked to pull it past her nipple. When it was just barely free, he lowered his mouth to lick and suck at the tight point.

She cupped his head, her fingers digging into his scalp as her low cry cloaked him with seductive promise. He slipped his hand beneath her night rail once more, skimming over her thigh to find her core. She was wet and ready for him, her flesh silky and warm and so inviting.

He brought his head up and brushed his lips against hers. “I want to bury myself inside you.” He stroked his finger inside her, and she let out a soft moan.

Her hands fell to his shoulders, and she pulled back slightly. “No.”

He blinked, his ardor cooling at the sound of her denial. “Is something wrong?”

She swallowed as she pulled her hands to her lap. “Yes. We need to talk.”