Penn opened the door slowly and only until it started to creak. Then he stopped and wedged himself through the space and stepped into the room Amelia and Forrest had just vacated. Anger and worry raged through him, and he had to stop himself from going after them upstairs. If Forrest laid a hand on her…

Hell, he already had. Penn had watched him kiss Amelia through the gap in the door. He’d nearly dashed into the room and thrown the blackguard to the floor. But they were so close.

And there it was—the book—sitting innocently on the table. Penn picked it up and flipped open the cover. A detailed illumination leapt from the page, making his heart race faster than it already was.

He glanced about and saw Amelia’s reticule on the desk. Why leave the heart with Forrest if they didn’t have to? He plucked that up and crept toward the hall, listening for any movement from the opposite corner of the house where the kitchen was located.

From his earlier reconnaissance, he’d ascertained there was a housekeeper and another retainer, perhaps her husband based on the way they’d spoken to each other. The man had left a while ago, but there were two other men who were of far greater concern. They were big, rough looking, and armed with pistols. Camelot henchmen, he guessed. Both had left on horseback shortly before Amelia and Gideon had arrived, but they could return at any moment.

Penn stepped into the hall and looked toward the stairs. He stood still as a statue, straining to hear the slightest thing, but only silence greeted his ears.

Perhaps he ought to go up. It wasn’t the plan, but the thought of leaving Amelia alone with Forrest was enough to make him shake with agitation.

The sound of a door closing and a singsong voice humming prompted him to dash for the front door and make his exit. He ran to the chaise and leapt inside, dropping the book and the heart on the seat.

Gideon, who’d been standing near the horse, came around to the side, his gaze falling on the White Book. “You got it.”

“Yes. But she’s upstairs with that snake. If she’s not down here in one minute, I’m going up. Give the damn signal.” His body thrummed with energy. He stared at the house, specifically the window in the gable. He’d no idea if that was where she was, but it was close enough.

Gideon’s birdcall rent the air.

They both watched the house, waiting. Images of Forrest kissing Amelia as he had downstairs filled Penn’s head. Along with Forrest touching her, undressing her…

Penn sprang out of the coach with a curse.

Gideon grabbed his arm. “Wait! Give her a moment. She’ll come.”

“What if she can’t?” Penn pulled his arm from Gideon’s grip.

Penn stared at his half brother, frenzied to make sure Amelia was safe. Gideon nodded. “Go.”

As he turned to go to the door, it opened, and Amelia stepped out, closing it carefully behind her. She rushed forward, her face a bit pale. “Let’s go! Mrs. Jones thinks I’m going back to town to fetch my things. That’s what she’ll tell Thaddeus when he wakes.”

Penn helped her into the chaise as Gideon mounted the horse. She picked up the book and her reticule and set them in her lap as Penn climbed in beside her.

“When he wakes? What happened?” he demanded.

“He’s been taking laudanum for his wound—the one I gave him,” she said with pride. “Then he drank quite a bit of gin. All it took was me pushing him over, and he lost consciousness. I’d forgotten how much I hated his snoring.” She shuddered and brushed at herself from shoulder to knee. “I’m so glad to be out of there.”

Gideon drove the chaise up the lane as fast as he dared, causing Penn and Amelia to lurch forward a bit. She nearly dropped the book, and he reached to catch it, his hand covering hers.

She turned her head, and their gazes connected. Relief and joy and love surged through him. Unable to stop himself, he leaned forward and kissed her. It was brief but wonderful, their lips clinging to each other for a delicious moment.

“I’m glad you’re out of there too.”

Amelia shot a glance back toward the cottage. “I don’t think he’ll follow us. He’s not capable.”

“There were a couple of Camelot henchmen hanging about earlier,” Penn said. “But I haven’t seen them return.”

“Do you think we can alter the plan and all go to the inn to retrieve our horses and things?” she asked. “We could look at the book there.”

Penn considered that. “We could, but I always find it best to keep moving in these kinds of situations. They may not follow us, but they’ll come looking, and I’d rather not be in Glastonbury when that happens.”

Gideon steered them to the copse of trees where Penn’s horse stood. When the chaise came to a stop, he turned to look at them. “I agree. We should continue as planned.”

Amelia looked to Penn. “Did you hear what he said about the dagger? We need it and Foliot has it.”

“Yes, I heard.” Penn had been so distracted by Amelia’s safety—as well as jealousy, if he was honest with himself—that he’d forgotten that bit. “It certainly sounded as if we won’t be able to complete our task without it.”

“I’ll get it,” Gideon said without hesitation. “You drive the chaise back to town and fetch the horses and our things.”

Penn leaned toward Gideon. “You can’t mean to go to Foliot’s on your own?”

Gideon shrugged. “Why not?”

“Isn’t he angry with you for not delivering the sword?”

“Perhaps, but Forrest didn’t deliver the heart either, and he was fine today, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Amelia said. “But he was clearly agitated about Foliot. When he learned I had the heart, he was quite pleased—relieved, actually. Said I saved him a great deal of trouble.”

“I have the sword.” Gideon inclined his head toward the bottom of the chaise where he’d fastened Dyrnwyn before they’d left the inn. “I can dangle it in front of him. He’ll be thrilled.”

Penn frowned. “You can’t give it to him.”

“I don’t mean to.” When Penn opened his mouth, Gideon held up his hand. “Will you allow me to do this?” It was less a question and more a demand. “I’ve much to atone for. I will get the dagger—and I won’t have to forfeit the sword to do it. It may take me some time, however.” He stroked his chin a moment. “Instead of meeting at the abandoned cottage, go to Wells. There’s an inn on the west side of town—The Stag and Hare. Go there and wait for me. It’ll be far more comfortable.”

Penn appreciated Gideon’s determination or bravery or whatever it was. It didn’t alleviate his concern, however. “How long do you suspect?”

“Depends on if Foliot is home, which he usually is. He prefers to have minions do all the work of the Camelot group.” He dismounted and walked toward Penn’s horse, stroking the animal’s neck. “I’ll go with the sword and tell him I’m back with the group. He’ll likely invite me to dinner, then he’ll disappear with one of his mistresses for a bit. That’s when I’ll get the dagger.”

“One of his mistresses?” Amelia asked.

“He’s not as uncouth as my father was, but they share many of the same appetites.” He climbed onto Penn’s horse. “I wouldn’t expect me before midnight. But it may be later than that. Try to get the room in the corner. It’s the nicest and easily accessible from the backstairs. If not, I’ll find you regardless.”

Penn climbed out of the chaise and looked up at Gideon. “You might be good at this treasure hunting.”

A short laugh escaped Gideon’s mouth. “We’ll see. Don’t get separate rooms. It’s best if you’re together.” With a nod, he turned the horse and set off in a trot.

Penn turned back to the chaise. “This is frustrating.”

Amelia set the book and reticule on the seat beside her. “Why, because you can’t go with him?”

“Yes. He’s doing what I do. It’s as if our roles have already reversed, and I’m stuck being the bloody earl on the periphery of all the excitement.”

“Some would argue that being an earl is plenty exciting,” she said softly. “But not for you.”

His gaze found hers, and he felt a pull to go to her. But he didn’t. “No, not for me.”

The air grew thick around them, and everything seemed to fall away. She was the one who broke the spell. “Can we go? I’d like to get as far away from Thaddeus as possible.”

“Yes, of course.” Penn climbed onto the horse and drove the chaise toward Glastonbury. All the way there he wondered how in the hell he was going to inhabit a single room with her at an inn and keep his hands to himself.

* * *

By the time they walked into their room at the inn, Amelia was a bundle of nervous energy. She was anxious to look closely at the White Book. She and Penn had discussed it earlier, and both were excited to find the palimpsest and see what they could make of it.

But it was more than that. There was a current of tension stretching between them. It was neither good nor bad, but it felt as if they were each waiting for something to happen. She supposed it was normal for them to feel awkward after everything that had occurred. And given the way their future had been altered by Thaddeus’s appearance. Again, Amelia regretted that her bullet had only wounded him.

And again, she admonished herself for such awful thoughts.

“I’m sorry to have made you wait to investigate this,” Penn said as he set the book on the table situated near the window. “I’m afraid I was ravenous for dinner.”

“It’s fine. I was too.” Plus, dining downstairs had postponed the inevitable—the two of them sharing this small space.

Gideon had said it was the inn’s nicest room, and it was quite charming, with a well-dressed four-poster bed, an armoire they wouldn’t use, and a decent-size table that would allow them to complete their work. Two lamps lit the space, and Penn had obtained a third from the kindly innkeeper who believed they were husband and wife, which he’d set on the table.

Next, he fetched parchment and a pencil along with the paper on which they’d written the code from the broken heart. He set these on the table and waited for Amelia to take a seat before he joined her. They sat on adjoining sides of the table with the book set at an angle near the center between them.

They both stared at the book, neither moving.

“You should open it,” she said.

“No, you should. For your grandfather.”

She took a deep breath and opened the front cover. A brilliant illumination greeted them, and she smiled. “He would have loved this. I know how much he liked illuminated manuscripts.”

“He would’ve loved my father’s library.”

“Yes, he would.” Amelia looked at Penn askance, wishing she’d had more time to investigate Rhys Bowen’s shelves.

She carefully turned the pages, going slowly so they had time to study each page. All the while, she was incredibly aware of Penn’s presence. Thankfully, he wasn’t close enough to touch her. It was good they weren’t right next to each other, and the sides of the table weren’t long enough to support that.

Nearly halfway through, they came across the tale of Ranulf and Hilaria. Amelia’s pulse sped, and the concerns weighing her mind faded to the background. “There it is.”

“My father said this is the earliest recording of it—as we know it now. Every extant version is based on this.” He leaned over, bringing his head close to hers. “It was written by Lewys Glyn Cothi.”

“That was the monk at St. John Priory in Carmarthen?”

Penn nodded as he scanned the page. He brought the lantern closer to the book, and light splashed over the page. He squinted, then lowered his face to the parchment. “I see it,” he breathed. “It’s Old Welsh. I don’t find this terribly often.”

“Can you read it?” She knew he could read Middle Welsh.

“Yes.” He was silent another moment, during which her anticipation crested.

“Penn?”

He gave her an apologetic smile. His eyes were so animated, his excitement so palpable, she would’ve forgiven him anything. She probably would’ve forgiven him anything anyway. Wasn’t that what you did for those you loved?

“Sorry, I’m afraid I got wrapped up reading it,” he said. “Let me translate. It says the heart was hidden because it caused too much pain. The fake heart was created along with a dagger and the myth that a witch had designed it to counteract the heart, thus nullifying the power of the heart.”

“That seems like a great deal of trouble when they could just have destroyed the heart.”

“They didn’t want to. The Order—of course it was them—sought to preserve it, so they hid it and created the false objects as well as the tale of Ranulf and Hilaria.”

“So the story I grew up loving is a creation of the Order?” That left a distinctly bitter taste on her tongue.

“So it would seem. Which means Lewys Glyn Cothi was either a member or, at the very least, associated enough with them that they had him create the tale.” He looked over at her. “I’m sorry. That does rather take the charm out of it.” He bent his head once more and continued. “The location of the heart is encoded on the objects that were created.”

He leaned even closer to the paper. “There, I think that’s the cipher.” He nudged the book toward her and pointed to a spot near the bottom of the page.

She could barely make out the palimpsest. What she could see looked like a jumble of letters. In a completely foreign language. “What does it say?”

“It says heart at the beginning. I think they’ve used a keyword—in this case—heart to set up the alphabet. Then I see ‘left five.’” He lifted his head as a broad smile split his handsome face. “That’s the cipher.”

His glee was infectious, and she couldn’t contain her laughter. “I have no idea what that means.”

“Let me show you.” He pushed the book away from him and picked up the pencil and parchment. After scrawling what looked like an alphabet, he repeated it underneath. Only the second version was slightly different.

He pointed to the top line he’d written. “This is the Old Welsh alphabet. And this”—he pointed to the line beneath it—“is the alphabet with the keyword. The keyword is ‘heart,’ which makes sense, and this is the Old Welsh word for it. Those letters have been taken from the alphabet and moved to the front for the cipher. The rest of the letters follow in order, minus the letters that were moved.”

She began to understand. “Do these alphabets then match up against each other as a key?”

He stared at her in obvious admiration, causing her to blush. “You’re rather brilliant, you know. It’s one of your most attractive qualities.”

The blush spread through her, heating parts of her body that were better left forgotten as they sat here together. Alone together.

“So yes, you’d use these two alphabets to decipher the code. But we’re missing a step.”

She recalled his translation. “The ‘left five.’ Whatever that means.”

“It’s a cipher Julius Caesar used. Since this employs two different kinds of ciphers, we must take another step. We must shift each letter in this bottom alphabet to the left five spaces.”

He scratched the pencil over the parchment, writing the new alphabet at the top of the two lines he’d drafted previously, rearranging the letters as he described. “Now, we can use this to decipher the message on the heart.”

She reached for the paper with the message and set it closer so he could see it, anxious to see what it read. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

He lifted the pencil again, then paused, turning his head to look at her. “There is no one I would rather share this discovery with than you. In fact, I’d never considered sharing discoveries with anyone. Now…” He didn’t finish but dropped his head to focus on his work as he deciphered the letters from the broken heart.

Broken heart.

Yes, that described this situation perfectly. The two pieces of that stone could very well be the ruptured halves of her own heart.

He set the pencil down with a pensive look.

“What does it say?” She could hardly stand it and found his reticence frustrating. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

He turned his head with a twinkle in his cobalt eyes. “The Vale of Neath.”

“Where is that?” she asked, hoping it wasn’t terribly far.

“The valley of waterfalls. It’s the most beautiful place in the world.” His tone was rapturous, his gaze equally so. “It’s about two days’ ride from here, maybe three if the weather doesn’t cooperate.”

“That is where the heart is?”

“So it would seem. The vale is quite large, however, so we’ll need to decipher whatever is carved onto the dagger to define the exact location.”

She thought of Gideon’s quest to obtain the dagger and hoped he was all right. “I hope Gideon can find it. And that he’s safe.”

Penn’s forehead pleated with concern. “I hope so too. I should have gone with him.”

She put her hand over his forearm. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

His brows arched briefly, and she removed her hand. She shouldn’t touch him.

“It’s all right for you to court danger, as you did this afternoon with Forrest, but I am not to do the same?” His tone held a playful edge, but she wouldn’t let his teasing go unanswered.

“It was dangerous for you too. I had to stop Thaddeus from going into that room. He would’ve seen you for certain.”

Penn’s gaze took on a steely glint. “I wouldn’t have minded. Would’ve given me an excuse to fight him.”

Gone was his lively tone and replaced with something darker. Stress speared through her, and she worked to hide it from him lest he only grow more upset.

He turned his chair, angling his body toward hers. “What will you do, Amelia? With Forrest?”

“Do? Nothing. Hopefully I won’t see him again.”

“He’s your husband. He may decide he wishes to claim his rights—”

She jumped up from the chair and paced toward the bed. “Must we discuss this?” Anguish spiraled from her belly, prompting her to wrap her arms around her midsection.

Turning, she startled to find Penn just a foot away. He’d moved so quickly. And silently.

“No,” he said. “But I can’t help it. I’m in agony thinking of what your future may hold.”

She was too. And in that moment, she didn’t want to shoulder that burden alone. “Penn,” she asked softly. “Can we pretend to be what the innkeeper thinks? If just for tonight.”

He looked momentarily confused, his brows pitching over his eyes before realization struck and his pupils narrowed. “You want to be my wife.”

She nodded, unable to speak as emotion poured through her.

He lifted his hands to her face and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, dragging them down to her lips where they met in the center. She opened her mouth and drew them inside, her tongue sliding over the thick pads.

He inhaled sharply as his lids drooped. He pushed one thumb farther inside. She closed her lips around him and sucked hard. He slipped his free hand around to the back of her neck and began pulling pins from her hair. When the mass was loose around her face, she relinquished his thumb. And he immediately replaced it with his mouth.

The kiss was rough and desperate, a perfect expression for how she felt inside. If she couldn’t have this night with him—just one more time in his arms—she thought she might perish.

She wouldn’t, of course, and even thinking such melodrama was the height of idiocy. But she was helpless. He’d talked of her future, and right now, it was a dark, hazy unknown. Tonight, she wanted light and comfort, to bask in the knowledge of what she knew to be true—that Penn was the only man she’d ever loved, and the only man she ever would.

He explored her mouth with deep thrusts of his tongue and excited her with nips and sucks, tugging on her lower lip until she gasped with want. Then he began to strip his clothes away with great urgency. She helped, untying his cravat and unbuttoning his waistcoat.

She still wore her riding habit, which she’d put on after returning to the inn in Glastonbury. It, like the gown she’d brought and worn to Thaddeus’s cottage, could be donned and removed without the assistance of a maid. Since, of course, she’d left Culley at Hollyhaven.

When he went to the chair to remove his boots, she unbuttoned her jacket and tugged her arms free of the snug-fitting garment. After hanging it on a hook, she began to unfasten her skirt.

Penn had returned, clad only in his shirt and breeches. “Let me,” he murmured, covering her hands with his and working, effortlessly, to remove her skirt.

He helped her step from the fabric, then hung it on the hook with her jacket.

She drew her shirt over her head, and once more, he provided assistance. Again, he took great care with her clothing, hanging it up with the rest.

“You could be a ladies’ maid,” she said.

“Only yours.” He drew her against his chest and renewed their kiss. This time was gentler, slower. They took their time studying each other’s reactions and offering up new methods to drive the other to distraction.

She pulled away to tug his shirt up over his head. When she made to hang it on the hook beside hers, he said, “You needn’t take the same care with my things.”

She hung the garment and gave him a saucy stare. “I’m doing what a wife ought.”

“Amelia.” The word was part growl of desperation and part heartfelt plea.

She knew what he wanted. She wanted it too.

They moved more quickly, removing the rest of their clothing until they were bare to the other. He stared at her a long moment, as if he were memorizing every inch of her flesh. She thought so, because that was what she was doing to him. From the muscular plane of his shoulder to the flat expanse of his abdomen to the jut of his shaft to the slope of his thigh, she would remember him always.

She lunged for him, unable to be apart from him for another moment. He caught her against him, kissing her soundly as he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. It wasn’t far, and he laid her gently on the mattress before climbing up beside her.

She turned on her side and they lay facing each other. He stroked her collarbone and trailed his fingertips down to her bicep before cupping her breast. Sensation bloomed from his caress, making her breasts feel heavy and her sex pulse.

He lowered his head and licked at her nipple, softly at first, then he closed around her and sucked, just as she’d done to his thumb. She gasped and thrust her fingers into his hair, holding him to her. Nothing had ever felt so good, so right. She clung to the moment, to the sensation, to Penn.

His mouth didn’t leave her, but his hand traveled down her side, leaving a trail of heat and want until he found her sex. He stroked along her folds, but their positions didn’t allow for her to open her legs. And she wanted to feel him inside her.

Pushing on his shoulder, she flattened him to his back and rolled on top of him. As she rose up, he was forced to relinquish her breast. He stared up at her with curiosity and intense desire.

“You seem to have a plan of your own.”

“Not particularly.” She’d never been on the top, but she knew it was done. “You’ll have to show me.” She straddled his hips and moaned as soon as his cock grazed her sex.

“Are you certain? You seem to be doing quite well on your own.”

She’d closed her eyes briefly, but now opened them again to see what she should do. He watched her, his eyes slitted, as he clasped her hips.

“It’s not all that different from riding a horse,” he said.

A laugh spilled from her lips in spite of the intensity of the moment. “I should hope it is. I don’t ever plan to ride a horse without clothing.”

“You don’t want to reenact the tale of Lady Godiva? Remind me to show you the copy of the book, in which the story is contained, by Roger of Wendover in my father’s library.”

She instantly sobered, thinking again that she wouldn’t be spending time in his father’s library. He seemed to realize it too, for he curled his hand around her back and drew her down. “Kiss me.”

She did, opening her mouth over his and spearing her tongue inside. She liked this angle. She was very much in control and in command. He seemed to like it too, if his moans were any indication. Along with the rise and thrust of his hips. With each pulse, his cock stroked her sex, and she whimpered with need.

She drew back enough to whisper. “Show me.”

He put his hands between them and gripped his cock. “Guide me inside. Sit up so I can watch.”

She straightened, looking down at where his hand was wrapped around the base of his shaft. Putting her fingers over his, she lifted her hips and brought him to her entrance.

He let go of his cock and stroked her folds, opening her as he pushed inside with her assistance. “Bring yourself down on me.” His voice was tight and strained, echoing the extreme urgency she felt.

She pushed down, going slowly as he filled her sheath. She gasped when she was flush against him, his length buried inside her body.

“Now move.”

She looked at his face, still awash with delicious tension. His eyes were still open and focused on where their bodies joined.

“How?” she asked, sounding breathless as pleasure spread through her. She was content to just be like this, having him a part of her.

“However you want.” He rotated his pelvis, gently thrusting. “Slow like that. Or fast.” He held her waist as she withdrew part way, then snapped his hips up, driving deep. Lights danced behind her eyes.

“Oh.” She decided this could be a bit like riding a horse. She pulled up, lifting herself off his shaft, then bore down again, taking him as far as she could. Over and over, she repeated the motion, relishing not just the acceleration of pleasure but the feeling of control.

“Faster.” His fingers dug into her hips. “Please.”

She increased her speed, but incrementally, after a handful of strokes. His hands skimmed up her ribs and cupped her breasts. He ran his thumbs over the tight nubs, then squeezed his fingers around them. There was no pain, just a delicious burst of sensation and a sudden urge to move.

She rose and fell more quickly now, grinding down against him as he massaged her breasts. She’d never been more aware of how his touch could make her feel. Beautiful. Rapturous. Powerful.

He began to urge her on with words, commanding her speed and her direction, extolling her beauty and prowess. Then his thumb was on her sex, stroking that most sensitive place at the top—her clitoris—and she was lost. Her muscles tightened as her climax crashed upon her. She cried out and moved in a frenzy to satiate the desperate need inside her.

In a fluid movement, he pulled her down against his chest, then flipped her to her back. “My turn,” he murmured before taking her mouth in a long, wet kiss.

She clasped at his back and wrapped her legs around him. She dug her heels into his backside, never wanting him to leave her.

But he did. Just barely and only to drive home once again, his cock filling her and prolonging her orgasm. The sensations rioting through her were mad and wonderful. She gave in completely to the need to feel everything he would give her, putting her mind and body utterly in his power.

He took it. And with the greatest care. He slowed for a moment, letting them both catch their breath. He ended the kiss so that he could kiss along her jaw and nip at her ear. She felt spent, but not for long. He began to move more purposefully again, and soon, pleasure began to build once more.

“Move to your side.” His words against her ear didn’t make sense.

“How?”

“Roll slightly.” He guided her to her left side, pinning her left leg beneath him. “Bend your leg.” He clasped her right thigh and showed her what he meant.

She brought her knee toward her chest and this opened her to him in a way she never imagined. The position brought him against her mound, sparking a delicious sensation that prompted another climax. Her keening cries filled the room, but she was incapable of stopping herself.

He pumped into her again and again, sending her so far over the edge of reason that she wasn’t sure she’d find her way back again. His shout joined her chorus, and she was aware of his thighs tensing between hers. Ecstasy claimed them both as he rode her into the storm.

It was several minutes before calm returned. She felt boneless but wonderful as he rolled from her and sprawled on his back. Amelia stayed on her side while a smile of satisfaction curved her lips.

She was suddenly so tired. A yawn assaulted her, and she brought her hand to her mouth.

“We can sleep for a while,” he said, pulling back the coverlet and helping her slide beneath it.

She ought to clean up, to put a night rail on at least, but she was too exhausted. Too sated. And far too comfortable as Penn drew her against him. He lay on his back, and she curled into his side, her hand splayed over his chest.

Floating between consciousness and sleep, dreams began to invade her mind. “Maybe I can divorce him.”

Lips pressed against her forehead. “That would be difficult, my love.”

“You still couldn’t marry me,” she murmured. “An earl can’t have a divorced countess.”

“I won’t be an earl.”

She sighed. “You don’t know that.”

“We could leave Britain.” His voice sounded so far away, as if she stood on top of a tower and he was at the base. They were a prince and a princess in a fairy tale.

Only theirs didn’t have a happy ending.