The journey through the Cotswolds was beautiful, and though Penn had made it dozens of times, he felt as though he were seeing it through new eyes with Amelia. When they’d stopped for a brief refreshment, he’d convinced her to join him in his coach. Since then, the day had passed quickly as their conversation had mostly focused on Penn’s travels and exploits.

Egg was serving as coachman for the trip, a job he sometimes undertook on the rare occasion they took a coach instead of just horses. Penn typically preferred to travel lightly and quickly. The former ensured the latter.

However, this journey was different. He was content not to be in a rush and to enjoy his companion’s company. What the hell was wrong with him?

He should be eager to talk to his father about the dagger and the White Book of Hergest—and he was. Yet, he was also eager to spend this time with Amelia.

And that was troubling.

Why, because he’d dreamed of her the night before? Yes. When he dreamed of women, they were faceless, nameless, completely without an anchor in reality. Amelia was quite real and sitting next to him as they pulled into the yard of The Falcon.

As the coach rumbled to a stop, Penn realized he hadn’t discussed the particulars of their stay with Amelia. He turned to her as she yawned and stretched.

She blushed faintly. “My apologies. I’ll be glad to be out of the coach.”

He yawned in response, quickly covering his mouth with his fingers. “I will be too.” He grinned. “I stay here quite often as I travel between Oxford and my parents’ home in Monmouth. Mr. Jessup runs an excellent facility. There are four rooms, and I’ll ask for two of them.” He watched for her reaction, but there was none.

What had he expected? Disappointment? Did he think she’d wanted to share a chamber with him? Hell, he was the one dreaming of her, not the other way around. At least as far as he knew. She’d seemed to enjoy kissing him. Perhaps it wasn’t too far-fetched to think she might dream of him too—

“Penn?”

He realized, belatedly and embarrassingly, that he’d gone completely lost for a moment. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked if it would be improper that we’re traveling together.”

“Not at all. You have your maid, and since you’re a widow, I daresay there will be few eyebrows raised.” Honestly, he paid a minimum amount of attention to societal guidelines. He had no need for them in the life he led.

“I suppose that will suffice.”

Penn stepped out of the coach into the early summer evening. The scent of roses and sweet pea clung to the air, as did the chirps of a family of birds and the gentle wings of some flying insect. He turned to help Amelia down, then escorted her into the inn.

Mr. Jessup came from the back, his face splitting into a wide grin. He was short of stature with a balding pate and a generous sense of humor. “Good evening, Penn. It’s good to see you.” His gaze darted to Amelia.

“Allow me to present Mrs. Amelia Forrest,” Penn said, reluctantly taking his arm from hers. “She is traveling to Monmouth with me on an errand of intellectual investigation.”

Jessup’s dark brows collected over his eyes. “I see.” He executed a quick, smart bow. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Forrest. Do you have a maid with you? If not, my daughter could provide any assistance you may need.”

Amelia gave him a warm smile. “My maid is just outside, but I do thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Jessup.”

The innkeeper’s gaze moved past them to the door. “Ah, this must be her now.” He looked back to Amelia. “I’ve just the room for you. Cozy and inviting with fresh flowers Henrietta just cut.” He called out for his daughter. “Etta, come show our guests to their rooms.

Etta came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She smiled at Penn. “Good to see you, Penn.”

“Good evening, Etta,” he said. “This is my associate, Mrs. Forrest.”

Etta dipped a brief curtsey. “Welcome to The Falcon.”

“Etta, please show Mrs. Forrest and her maid to the room overlooking the garden.”

“Of course. Right this way.” She turned and went to the stairs in the back right corner of the room.

“Come and have an ale with me in the kitchen,” Jessup offered. “I should keep an eye on things while Etta’s upstairs.” He turned without waiting for Penn’s reply. Likely because Penn never refused his invitations to join him for ale.

Penn trailed him through the doorway that led to the kitchen at the back of the inn. Jessup stirred something on the stove before fetching tankards of ale for the both of them. He handed Penn his cup and offered a toast. “To a blessed summer.”

Penn lifted his ale in acknowledgment before taking a long, deep draught. He closed his eyes briefly. “Still the best ale in England. And Wales.”

“But not Scotland, eh?”

“Scotland too,” Penn said with a chuckle.

“On your way home, then?” Jessup asked. He was well acquainted with Penn’s travel patterns and knew that Penn spent a great deal of time on the road.

“For a bit.”

Jessup sipped his ale. “And your companion… She really just an ‘associate’?”

Penn ought to have expected that question. He and Jessup were friendly enough. He bit back the surprising answer that leapt to his mouth: for now. “Yes. I’m on the hunt for something.”

“As usual,” Jessup put in.

“As usual,” Penn agreed with a nod. “Mrs. Forrest has an interest in the same artifact, and we’ve been working together to find it.”

“Never seen you with a woman before. What does Egg think about that?”

“Egg is naturally disgruntled. You know that.” Penn flashed a grin before taking another drink of ale. “In truth, I think he might like her. She did tend a wound for him. As it happens, she knows a bit about healing.”

This gained Jessup’s attention—his brows pitched up, and he leaned slightly forward. “Does she? I wonder if she has any remedies to offer for my joints. Last winter, they ached terribly.”

“You can certainly ask her,” Penn said.

“I may do that.”

Etta came back into the kitchen and went directly to the stove to stir whatever was cooking there. “What do you plan to ask Mrs. Forrest, Papa?” she asked softly.

“About my joints. Penn says she’s a healer.”

“She knows some remedies,” Penn said. “I’m not sure she’d call herself a healer.” He wasn’t sure and made a note to ask her more about that. He decided he should wash up before dinner. Excusing himself, he took his ale up to his regular room, where he washed his face and decided to don a new cravat.

A knock on the door caused Penn’s fingers to fumble, and the silk slipped out of his grasp. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Come in!”

Egg walked in, closing the door behind him. “Did you change your cravat?”

Penn frowned into the glass as he tried to focus on his task. One of the reasons he liked this inn so much was because he didn’t have to share his room with Egg. Jessup had a nice, warm place in the stable, which suited Egg just fine.

Egg came over and swatted Penn’s hands away. “Let me do it.”

Penn scowled. “Ow. Careful of my wound.” The back of his hand had healed nicely due to Amelia’s salve, but it was still a bit sensitive.

“Now who’s the infant?” Egg smirked while he quickly and efficiently tied Penn’s cravat into a neat and stylish knot.

Penn turned his head back and forth as he surveyed his reflection. “How the hell do you do that?”

“You know I’m good at knots.”

“Yes, with ropes. The fact that you can also tie an impeccable cravat is astonishing. Careful, I may promote you to valet.”

“Try to give me that title, and I’ll reinjure your ’and,” Egg said with a glower.

Penn laughed as he turned from the glass.

Egg handed him his coat. “You don’t want a valet any more than I want to be one.”

“That’s true.” Nevertheless, he allowed Egg to help him don the garment. “Why are you here?”

“Just to tell you dinner’s ready.”

“And to apparently save my toilet. Thank you.”

“We still leaving early tomorrow?” Egg asked.

“Yes. Why would things have changed?”

Egg shrugged. “I wasn’t sure if you and Mrs. Forrest might want to linger here a little longer.”

On his way to the door, Penn turned, narrowing his eyes at Egg. “What are you implying exactly?”

“Nothing, really. You and Mrs. Forrest just seem quite…friendly.”

He was the second person to ask after his relationship with Amelia. What were they seeing? Yes, they’d shared a kiss, but that was all. “Yes, we’re friendly. What would you rather us be?”

Egg snorted. “Not obtuse, but never mind that. You’re adults.”

Penn rolled his eyes. “I’m leaving now.” He went downstairs into the small dining room and found that Amelia was already seated.

She looked up at him, and it seemed her gaze took in his combed hair and his tidy cravat. He was suddenly grateful for Egg’s intrusion. She held up a tankard. “Mr. Jessup insisted I try his ale. It’s quite good.”

“My favorite, actually.” He realized he’d left his empty vessel up in his room. Then his gaze fell on the fresh one set at his place. “I see Mr. Jessup has thought to provide one for me as well.”

“I asked him to. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Penn took his seat. “Their food is excellent as well.”

“I look forward to it.”

Etta appeared with their dinner plates. “Two courses,” she said in her usual soft tone. Sometimes Penn had to strain to hear her. “Here’s the first. Duck with carrots and potatoes.”

Penn’s mouth watered at the food. “It looks splendid, thank you.”

Etta’s cheeks flushed a pale pink as her eyes met his. “I hope you enjoy it.” Then she was gone, leaving him alone with Amelia once more.

“I trust your accommodations are acceptable?” he asked.

“More than. I can see why you come back here again and again.”

“That and the Jessups are good people. Speaking of Mr. Jessup, he has trouble with his joints—they bother him in the winter. I mentioned that you have some experience with healing remedies and may be able to help him.”

She swallowed her bite of duck with a nod. “That’s not uncommon at his age. My grandfather suffered from the same sort of aches. Willow-bark tea with ginger will help him quite a bit. I can write out how to make it.”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”

They ate for a few minutes before she paused to take a drink of ale. She peered at him over her tankard and, when she replaced it on the table, asked, “I’d like to confess something.”

That sounded serious. He set his knife and fork down. “What’s that?”

“I’m…nervous about having taken the heart from the museum.” She picked up her fork and poked at a carrot. “It just feels wrong somehow. Perhaps because my grandfather found it and put it there. I don’t like thinking I’m undoing his work.”

Penn didn’t like her feeling unsettled, but he wasn’t sure there was anything he could say to reassure her. She still believed the heart upstairs in his room was real. At least he thought she did. “Do you still think it’s the real artifact?”

Her eyes widened briefly as her gaze latched to his. She took a moment to respond, and when she did, she surprised him. “I’m not sure.” She pressed her lips together. “And I hate that.”

Penn’s frame relaxed against the chair as her words sank in. She’d begun to come around. He chose his next words carefully. “Maybe that’s where your anxiety is coming from.”

“Probably.” She frowned down at her plate, then took another sip of ale. “I don’t know what to believe.” She raised her gaze to his once more, and he saw determination in their depths. “I do know I want to find the truth, and that means recovering the White Book of Hergest. Do you really think we’ll be able to?”

He leaned over the table slightly and lifted his lips in a confident smile. “I’m very good at what I do.”

She stared at him a moment, then rolled her eyes. “Your arrogance emerges at the oddest times.”

Laughter shot from his mouth. “Arrogance? I prefer to think of it as being self-assured.”

“Call it whatever you like. You’re as bold as they come. But I suppose you have to be.”

“I would paint you with the same brush.”

Her brow curved into an elegant arch. “You think I’m arrogant?”

“Self-assured,” he corrected. “And bold. And tenacious. How else could you have nearly shot Egg’s ear off and traveled all over southern England with me?”

Now she blushed, and he appreciated the sparkle in her eye that accompanied it. She went back to eating again, and a few moments later, Etta returned with the second course, replacing the first, then taking her leave once more.

“Jessup’s mushroom sauce is divine,” Penn said, slicing into his venison and working to scoop up as much sauce as possible. “Or perhaps it’s Etta’s, I really don’t know.”

“How long have you known the Jessups?”

Penn thought back to what had first drawn him to the inn. He’d been a student at Oxford. “Close to fifteen years. I was on my way home through Little Witcombe when I saw Etta very high in the oak tree that sits in the corner of the yard near the road. I’m not sure what made me stop, but I did, just to make sure she was all right. She was all of eight years old.”

“Was she all right?”

Penn shook his head as he swallowed a bite of parsnips. “No. She was stuck and wasn’t able to shout loud enough for anyone to hear her. She’s always been painfully shy and soft-spoken.”

Amelia’s eyes creased with concern. “How horrid—not that she’s shy, but that no one could hear her.”

“I climbed up and managed to get us both down without falling. Honestly, I’m still not quite sure how I accomplished it.”

“She’s lucky you came along.”

He waved his fork in nonchalance. “Someone would have found her—she hadn’t been up there long. In any case, they insisted I stay, and that is how I came to know the Jessups and their delightful inn.” He grinned at her before cutting another delicious piece of venison.

“And there are no other Jessups? She doesn’t have siblings?”

“Unfortunately, no.” He winced at the memory. “I met Mrs. Jessup that first time I stayed. She was with child. It was a difficult birth, and both she and the child were lost. It was a terrible time for them.”

“How tragic.” She lifted her tankard and murmured, “To Mrs. Jessup.”

Penn raised his cup as well. “To Mrs. Jessup.” He eyed Amelia as he drank. She had a kind heart. His sister would like her. Would they meet? He wasn’t sure if Cate and her new husband planned to stop back in Monmouth after their wedding trip. And even if they did, it was likely he and Amelia would have moved on. He was keen to find the White Book—and the true heart.

They finished their meal, and before Penn could ask if she wanted to have a nightcap, she tried to stifle a yawn and failed.

“I’m afraid I’m ready to retire,” she said apologetically.

“I’ll escort you upstairs.” Watching her yawn made him tired too. Nevertheless, his body was still contemplating that it might be nice to escort her all the way to her room and see if she offered an invitation. He inwardly grimaced.

Maybe he was arrogant.

“Thank you.” She started to rise, and he rushed to pull back her chair.

He offered her his arm and tried to ignore the rush of anticipation her mere touch incited. Guiding her up the stairs, he paused at the landing and gestured down the corridor opposite his room. “Down there?”

“Yes, at the end.”

He walked her to the door and waited until she removed her hand. When it took a second or two longer than necessary, he wondered if he ought to feel encouraged. “We’ll leave early, taking breakfast with us. Unless you’d rather stay.”

“No, I’d prefer to be on our way as soon as possible.”

He laid his hand against his chest. “Your eagerness speaks directly to my heart.”

“And now you’re a poet?”

“My father would be delighted to think so.”

Her soft laughter sang in the dim corridor. “I’m looking forward to meeting your parents.”

“I’m sorry I can’t meet yours.” She sobered, and he wished he hadn’t said that. “I didn’t mean to make you melancholy.”

“You haven’t. I like thinking of them.” Her gaze found his, and a connection between them gathered and held.

“May I kiss you again?” He hadn’t meant to ask, but it suddenly seemed as though he must.

She didn’t break eye contact, and she didn’t blink. “Yes.”

Again, she surprised him. He gently cupped her face and lightly brushed his lips across hers. Their first kiss had been a rush of sensation. This one would be an exploration, a deepening of what they already knew of each other. And he knew enough to realize he was sliding into the promise of something that would bring them both pleasure.

Hell, maybe he was a poet. A bad one, anyway.

Her lids dropped closed as he tipped his head and pressed his mouth more firmly against hers. Her hands moved under his arms to clasp his back.

He caressed her nape, then trailed the fingers of one hand down her spine. His movement necessitated she move her arm over his, and she did so with alacrity, her palm flattening against the side of his neck just above his cravat so that her flesh and his connected.

The contact caused a shiver that started at the back of his neck and fanned out to every part of him. Before he could recover, her tongue sought entrance to his mouth, and the control he was clinging to faltered.

He surrendered to her kiss, pressing her tight against him as rapture built within him. Kissing Amelia was like nothing he’d ever known. It was sweetness and fire blended with audacity and seduction.

He cradled her head with his left hand, pulling it back slightly as he tasted her mouth. They were close to the door. In fact, she pushed her back against it and pulled at him, her hands clinging tightly to his coat and his nape.

To keep his hand from being pinned between her back and the door, he skimmed his fingers under her arm and over her rib cage. His knuckles brushed the curve of her breast, and he simply couldn’t refuse the temptation.

He tried to cup her from beneath, but her corset prevented such intimacy. Instead, he brushed his hand up to where her flesh peeked above the dainty lace edge of her gown. He ran his thumb over her bare skin and felt her reaction as she withdrew her tongue from his and a low sound formed in her throat.

Emboldened, he slipped his fingers into the top of her gown. She thrust her breasts forward, seeking his touch. It was all he could do to keep from tearing her gown away and feasting on her.

But he wasn’t a brute. Nor did he want to rush this moment. He wanted to savor every touch, every taste. Taking his mouth from hers, he nipped at her chin before kissing along her neck, his tongue and lips sampling her sweet, sensitive flesh.

She gasped softly as her fingers moved into his hair at the back of his head and pressed against his scalp. He needed no further urging. He trailed his mouth down along her collarbone, then lower still until he reached the rise of her breast. He longed to set it free, to find her nipple, to increase her pleasure. Her breathing was rapid now, matching the frenetic beat of his own heart.

He clasped her waist, kneading her through the layers of her clothing. She arched forward again, this time with her pelvis. He groaned quietly, just managing to keep himself in check. But only barely.

Her hand moved down his back and she clutched at his backside, pulling him flush against her. His cock, pressed neatly against her core, pulsed with desire.

This was the moment he’d ask to take her into her room. The moment they’d come together and spend an evening of mutual bliss. But after that evening came the morrow and, with it, the parting.

Only they couldn’t part. Nor did he want to.

His lips stilled against her breast. What the hell was he doing? It was now clear that Amelia was different from any other woman he’d encountered. And what did that mean?

He couldn’t embark on a liaison with her. She was more than that. She was a woman one married.

But he couldn’t do that. His life didn’t allow for a wife or a home or a family. She deserved all that and more.

Penn removed his arms from her and took a wobbly step backward.

Her eyes came open, and they were bemused. Her kiss-swollen lips parted, but she didn’t say anything. She simply stared at him as if she were trying to regain her bearings. Which was precisely what he was trying to do.

“I didn’t mean for that to get so…” What? Intense? Passionate? Reckless? All of those. “I should bid you good night.”

She nodded, her eyes flickering with a touch of wariness. “Good night, Penn.”

“Good night, Amelia.”

Turning, she opened the door and went inside without a backward glance.

He wondered if her maid was inside or if she was lodging somewhere else. It was a good thing he hadn’t tried to go into her room. If the maid had been there…

He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair, chastising himself. None of that mattered. They were supposed to be acting professionally.

Pivoting on his heel, he stalked down the corridor toward his room. As he passed the stairs, he nearly crashed directly into Etta.

She let out a soft cry and seemed to teeter on the top stair. Penn reached out to grab her lest she lose her balance. Clasping her around the waist, he held her tightly. “I’ve got you.”

Her warm brown eyes were round as dinner plates for a moment before her features began to relax.

He realized she held something in her hands. “What do you have there?”

“My father wanted me to bring you some whiskey.” She held up a bottle and a tumbler between them.

“That was very thoughtful of him.” Before he let go, he searched her expression. “Do you have your footing, then?”

She blushed and looked away, a small smile teasing her lips. “Yes, thank you.”

He removed his hands and took the whiskey and the tumbler from her. “Now I don’t have my hands free to rescue you, so look sharp.” He winked at her.

Holding up her hands, she wriggled her fingers. “My hands are free now. Mayhap I’ll rescue you. I do owe you—twice now, I suppose.”

“You do not owe me anything, Etta. It was my pleasure to take you down from the tree all those years ago.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “It makes me feel a bit like a hero.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Because you are. You’re my hero.” She stepped onto the landing with him and before he realized what she was about, she kissed him.

And it wasn’t a quick brush of her lips against his. No, she pressed her mouth to his and laid her hands against his chest.

Shock froze him to the spot, and since his hands were full, he couldn’t very well push her away. Not that he wanted to do that given he’d just saved her from tumbling down the stairs. Pull yourself together, he admonished himself.

He took a small step backward. “Ah, Etta. Miss Jessup,” he amended, thinking they’d been far too familiar over the years.

Scarlet flooded her face, and she pivoted so that she presented her profile. “Forgive me, I thought you might like me to do that.” She shook her head vigorously. “No, I wanted to do that.” She turned back to face him. “I’ve wanted to do that for some time.”

Apparently so. She’d called him her hero. Hell, had he encouraged her somehow? “Et—Miss Jessup, I apologize if I’ve given you the wrong impression. You are quite, er, young for me.” That was certainly true. Or it seemed to be—in his mind, she would likely always be the young girl he’s rescued. “I care for you a great deal, as if you were part of my family—like a sister.”

Her features fell as if he’d just told her that her dog had died. Penn felt terrible. But if Jessup found out about this… Penn straightened. “Let’s keep this between us, shall we? No one need know you gave me a thank-you kiss for saving you. Twice now.”

Now she looked relieved. “That’s an excellent idea. Thank you.” She tipped her head to the side. “Twice? Does that mean I should give you a second kiss?”

Penn stepped back again, moving so quickly, he almost dropped the bottle and tumbler. “No, that won’t be necessary. Your gratitude is quite noted. And appreciated.” He smiled and held up the items in his hands. “Thank you for the whiskey. Good night.”

Then he turned and fled to his room as quickly as he could. And locked the door for good measure.

* * *

Amelia surveyed herself in the glass. She looked calm and serene, her hair perfectly dressed by Culley, who was now packing up the last of their things.

Inside, however, Amelia was a tumult of emotion.

After Penn had pulled away from their kiss last night, Amelia had gone into her room with a sense of relief. However, the desire he’d awakened in her had quickly chased that relief away. Deciding she did want to be a bold adventurer, she’d turned and opened the door intent on inviting herself back to Penn’s room—that would have been a necessity since Culley would be sleeping on a pallet in her room.

Only Penn had no longer been in front of her door.

Peering down the corridor toward his room, she’d seen him at the top of the stairs, his hands clasping Henrietta Jessup rather intimately. Then she’d given him the bottle and cup she’d been holding only to put her hands on him.

Then she’d kissed him.

And that was all Amelia had been able to tolerate. She’d closed the door—quietly so as not to alert them to the fact that she’d opened the door in the first place. She regretted it entirely.

What had she expected? Penn’s reputation with women was apparently well-known. Culley had told Amelia all about it after hearing quite an earful from Penn’s housekeeper. It seemed women flocked to him, finding him irresistibly attractive. For the most part, he kept to himself, but he was a man, after all, and conducted discreet liaisons from time to time.

Had he turned to Henrietta after deciding it was best to keep his relationship with Amelia professional? It was her own fault for insisting they do that. Except, she’d made light of it when he’d kissed her in Oxford, and… And what? They hadn’t discussed any expectations and whether they would kiss again. Then he’d asked her last night, and she’d felt certain they were of a similar mind.

Apparently, she’d been wrong. Or he’d changed his mind. Perhaps she was just really skilled at driving men away.

Gritting her teeth, she turned from the glass. Culley had just finished buckling up her valise. She gave Amelia a bright smile, blissfully ignorant of the turmoil rattling in Amelia’s head.

“Ready, then?” Culley asked.

Amelia took a deep breath to cleanse her frustrating thoughts. “Yes. I imagine someone will fetch our luggage—whoever brought them up.”

“That was Egg,” Culley said.

Giving Culley a nod, Amelia departed the chamber and made her way downstairs. As she descended, her body tensed. She didn’t particularly want to see Penn this morning. Perhaps she could go directly to her coach. He did say they wouldn’t be lingering for breakfast.

But no, there he was standing near the door speaking with Mr. Jessup, his hair combed back from his handsome face, and his shirt and cravat almost blindingly white against his dark tan skin. He smiled at something the innkeeper said, and Amelia’s insides twisted with want.

Damn him.

How many times had she thought that curse in reference to Thaddeus? Too many. But at some point, she’d realized she was better off without him, even if his abrupt departure had been devastating for a time.

A thought occurred to her—she ought not carry on any sort of liaison with Penn Bowen. She was, legally, still a married woman. Thaddeus had to be missing seven years to be declared dead, and it had only been five.

Did any of that really matter? It wasn’t as if her marriage to Thaddeus had turned out all that well. Aside from the fact that he’d left her, their union hadn’t been the grand love affair she’d hoped it would be. He’d swept her off her feet when she’d been barely twenty-one, and for the first few months, she’d believed he loved her in return. Then he’d stopped coming home at night. Then he’d stopped coming home for days at a time. Then he’d stopped coming home at all.

Then the creditors had come and taken most of what they’d owned.

Oh, she knew marriage could be a happy estate—her parents and grandparents had demonstrated that. Still, she wondered why hers had gone so horribly wrong.

Grandfather had said she chose poorly. Well, she didn’t mean to do that again.

Penn’s gaze found hers, and his mouth lifted at the corners in a half smile. It didn’t reach fruition, however. Instead, his eyes darkened and his brow creased.

Perhaps because she hadn’t returned his expression of happiness.

Extricating himself from Mr. Jessup, Penn came over, his gaze now wary. “Good morning.” The greeting held a bit of a question.

“Good morning,” Amelia said, hoping she didn’t sound as stiff as she felt. She didn’t want things to be awkward since they had to work together.

He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Are you upset with me?”

She blinked at him and kept up an air of nonchalance that was quite at odds with the thundering of her heart. “No. Should I be?”

Yes.

He hesitated before slowly answering. “I hope not.” He pressed his lips together. “I apologize for last night. I got carried away, and that wasn’t well done of me.”

Just as she suspected, he regretted it. “Yes, well, we won’t do that again. We’ve behaved professionally for the majority of our association, and I expect we can do so again.” She squared her shoulders. “Are we ready to depart?”

“Nearly. I’m just waiting for Henrietta to bring our breakfast so we may take it along with us.” His gaze tripped past her toward the back of the inn. “Here she comes.”

Anger flared in Amelia’s chest. Rather than turn and see the woman Penn preferred to be kissing, she said, “I’ll be outside.” She stalked quickly from the inn. Outside, the summer morning was bright and warm. She inhaled deeply, willing the scent of grass and wild rose to banish the ire burning through her.

Their two coaches were ready and waiting in the yard. Amelia’s coachman, Horatio, stood speaking with Culley, while Egg leaned against Penn’s coach, eating an apple.

Penn came from the inn, a basket in each hand. He frowned slightly as he approached her. “Are you sure you’re not angry? You looked angry.”

“I’m not angry.” She tried to sound blithe. “I simply didn’t wish to come between you and Henrietta saying your good-byes.”

After a flicker of surprise in the darkness of his eyes, they narrowed slightly. “What does that mean?”

Amelia shrugged. “I thought you and she shared a special…connection.” She tried to keep the acid from her tone, but failed. How she hated sounding like a shrew.

Understanding dawned in his features. “You saw… You’re jealous.”

Apparently. “I am not.” She hated sounding like a liar even more.

He smiled then, taking her off guard. “Henrietta does have a tendre for me, as it happens. I believe she has a bit of hero worship from the time I saved her all those years ago.” He shook his head. “I never knew. Last night, she kissed me. It was…awkward. I’m afraid I crushed her sensibilities. I felt terrible.”

Now Amelia felt terrible. “I’m sorry to hear that happened. It’s just…”

“I kissed you, then left abruptly.” He cocked his head to the side. “How did you happen to see me with Henrietta?”

Heat rose up Amelia’s neck, and she hoped the blush didn’t spread to her face. She wasn’t going to tell him why she’d really opened her door again. He might not have been willfully kissing Miss Jessup, but the entire event had given Amelia more than enough reason to recall that their relationship was supposed to be strictly professional. “I forgot to ask you about the plan to retrieve the dagger. I know we’re going to see your father for help regarding the White Book of Hergest, but how will that point us toward the dagger?”

“That will depend on what we learn. You’ve reminded me that we should discuss how I will introduce you to my parents.”

She blinked at him. “As your partner in recovering the dagger. How else would you introduce me?”

“No other way.” He searched her gaze for a moment before handing her one of the baskets. “Here is your breakfast. Jessup tucked a small bottle of ale inside.”

“How thoughtful of him.”

“Are you sure you’re not angry? Or jealous?” The last seemed to carry a hopeful tone.

“I assure you I am not. You are correct in that we were carried away last night, and we mustn’t let it happen again.”

“I rather liked kissing you,” he said softly. “But I didn’t wish to take advantage.”

“I appreciate your behavior. You’re a true gentleman, and I’m glad I can trust you.” She offered him a bright smile as a butterfly flitted over their heads. “As nice as kissing you has been, I think it best if we return to our original arrangement. We have an important objective, and we should be focused on that.” She sounded so convincing that she almost believed herself. And yet, a part of her, the romantic that had hoped for the grand love affair with her husband, sagged with disappointment.

“As you wish,” he said, his tone now a mixture of disappointment and frustration. “We’ll be in Monmouth early this afternoon. Enjoy your journey.”

“You too.” She turned and went to her coach and wondered if a return to their original arrangement was even possible. Despite what she’d said, she couldn’t help but think of his lips covering hers, his hands caressing her, his hips thrusting forward…

Amelia opened her basket and found dark brown toast inside. A smile crept over her mouth as she realized only Penn could be responsible for that. Damn, she couldn’t even have her breakfast without him intruding.

She took a large bite of the deliciously scorched bread. Best to keep herself occupied, or it was going to be a very long trip.