After pushing dinner back an hour, Penn had furiously read through Jonathan Gardiner’s journal. He could see why Amelia thought there was nothing informative inside, but one thing in particular stood out to him, and he looked forward to discussing it with her.

He met her at the top of the stairs and was once again struck at how he ever could have mistaken her for a man. She wore a dark green evening gown with black trim that draped her quite feminine frame to perfection.

“Good evening, Mrs. Forrest. You look stunning.”

“You shouldn’t say such things. But thank you.” Her gaze trailed over him, and while she didn’t repay his compliment, he caught a flicker of appreciation.

“I only speak the truth. My I escort you to dinner?” He offered her his arm.

She curled her bare hand around his sleeve. “I didn’t see the point in wearing gloves.”

“Me neither.”

As they started down the stairs, she launched right into what he most wanted to discuss. “Did you manage to read all of the journal?”

“I did.” It chronicled several years from his time at Oxford as a young man to when he settled on his farm and started his family. Penn wondered if there were more volumes. “Is this his only journal?”

“No, but it’s the only one that contains anything to do with the treasures,” she said. “There does seem to be a gap, however.”

“Years when he didn’t keep a journal?”

She nodded as they reached the bottom of the staircase. “Starting in 1777—when my father went to Oxford. The next journal picks up in 1780.”

Penn wasn’t sure what that meant, but they had to treat it as important. “If it’s not in his library—and I’m assuming you’ve looked extensively—where could it be?”

“I’ve no idea, which is quite frustrating.”

“Mmm, yes. Well, we’ll keep it in mind. I wanted to ask you about something in the journal I read. Your grandfather writes about his studies at Oxford. He traveled to Wynnstay in Wales.”

“Yes, I recall him telling me about that. He went to see the gardens. They were designed by Capability Brown.”

“Are you certain that was the reason he went?”

They moved into the breakfast room, and she withdrew her hand from his arm, turning to face him. “He told me so. Are you saying—again—that he’s lying?”

He reacted to the note of irritation in her voice. “No, no. I only meant to make absolutely sure. Wynnstay boasts an extensive library, much of which was once owned by William Maurice. He was a collector and antiquary.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “You think my grandfather went there to conduct research.”

“Perhaps. I find it rather coincidental. And I always investigate coincidences.” He moved to the small table. “I hope you don’t mind dining here. It seemed silly to use the formal dining room for just the pair of us.” He held her chair in invitation.

“I don’t mind at all.” She took her seat, and the footman poured wine for both of them. “Do we need to go to Wynnstay?”

Penn sat but didn’t immediately answer. He waited until the footman departed. “Forgive me, but I wish to conduct our discussions out of earshot of the staff. I wouldn’t want them reporting what they’ve heard to Septon.”

She gave him a shrewd look. “You’re rather suspicious. I like that.”

Penn didn’t try to contain his laughter. “Do you? I’ll keep that in mind. To answer your question, no, we don’t need to go to Wynnstay. At least, not yet. I’m trying to recall what is in their library.”

She stared at him. “You know the contents of their library?”

“Some of it. Remember, my father is an expert on rare and ancient texts. I know far more about books and libraries than anyone would probably care to.”

“I’d care to. I find all this fascinating.”

“Do you?”

They were interrupted by the arrival of the footman with the first course. After serving the soup, he took himself off once more.

Penn studied her as they ate. She was a remarkable woman, unlike most he encountered. Oh, there was no shortage of women who wanted to spend time with him, but those who actually shared his interests were few and far between. “What is it that fascinates you?” he asked.

She thought for a moment before answering. “The mystery, I suppose. And learning new things. I always thought it would be marvelous to go to university. My father and grandfather loved studying at Oxford.”

“Did you attend a school?”

“Not formally. My father and grandfather took a hand in educating me. I’m afraid you’ll find me more bookish than most females.”

“How utterly charming,” he murmured while a smile curved his lips.

A faint blush stained her cheeks, and she directed her attention to her soup.

“Your grandfather didn’t share his love of antiquities with you? Or is it just that he didn’t share information about his discoveries of the heart and dagger?”

“He did share them with me, but I was more passionate about botany and medicine.”

“Such as the salve you gave us. You specialize in such things?”

“Yes, I suppose I do.” She set her spoon down. “I keep meaning to ask how Egg is faring.”

“He’s as cantankerous as ever, which means he’s just fine.”

“Where is he now?”

“Visiting his sister. When I come to Septon House, he always swings a bit south to check in on her. He’ll join me in a day or two unless I send for him sooner.”

“How did he come to work for you?”

Penn swallowed the last of his soup as he nodded and set his spoon beside his bowl. “We met at a pub in Oxford and became friends, if you can imagine. He worked as a cabinetmaker, and when I went on my first excursion in search of an artifact, I needed someone to act as groom. He was agile and wiry and slightly better tempered than he is now. He’s worked for me ever since. I suppose he’s a sort of valet too.”

She laughed softly. “Now, that I have trouble imagining.”

Penn grinned. “He hates it when I call him that.”

The footman came back and removed the first course, then replaced it with the second—lamb chops with peas and potatoes.

Once the footman had gone again, Amelia asked, “Is there something of import in the Wynnstay library? Something my grandfather would have been interested in?” She cut into her lamb.

Penn spared some attention for his meal but found he was far more interested in conversing with his lovely companion. “Probably a great many things, but we are, of course, focused on the heart and the dagger—the tale of Hilaria and Ranulf.”

“Aren’t there other tales involving the heart and dagger?”

“Actually it’s the only one that contains the dagger and the legend behind it.” As he chewed a bite of lamb, he pondered the story’s origin.

“You look very serious all of a sudden,” Amelia said, drawing his attention.

He sipped his wine. “I was just trying to think of where the story came from—the first time it was recorded. Many old texts were written down by monks and then copied by other monks—and sometimes antiquaries.”

“When was this story recorded?”

“I’m not entirely sure. My father would know.” He searched his memory but came up blank and frustrated.

“Should we go back to the library and see what we can find? Surely Lord Septon has something that would at least spur your memory.”

“Actually, what we should do is go to his secret library upstairs.”

She paused in eating, a spoonful of peas arrested on the way to her mouth. “Secret library? And you have access to this?”

“I know where he keeps a key.” He was suddenly impatient to be done with dinner.

She finished swallowing and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Would it be terribly rude if I asked if we could go now?”

His admiration for her grew. “Not at all. In fact, I was hoping you would say that.” He stood from the table and held her chair while she got to her feet.

As they were about to depart, the footman entered, his brow arched in silent question.

“We weren’t terribly hungry,” Penn said. “But it was delicious, thank you.”

He escorted her from the room and started quickly toward the stairs. She kept up, and when they reached the first step said, “You are far less formal when you’re in a hurry.”

He winced, realizing he hadn’t offered her his arm. “I spend a great deal of time away from polite society. It’s not a fair excuse, just an explanation. My apologies.” He presented his arm.

She laughed softly, the sound tickling the hairs along the back of his neck. “It’s not necessary. I was merely making an observation. Please, let us continue.” She started up the stairs without taking his arm. He couldn’t decide if he was disappointed or appreciative.

At the top, she looked at him. “Now where?”

“This way.” He led her to the left along the gallery to a branch of corridors. They continued along until he turned to the right. At last, he held open the door to a small office. Light from a sconce in the hallway filtered into the room, but Penn would need to light a candle or a lantern. “Septon has a larger office downstairs, but he uses this one for more private discussions and research.” He went to the desk and found a lantern, which he lit with alacrity. The room illuminated, and he saw Amelia standing just inside, her gaze sweeping the chamber with interest.

“This is his secret library?” she asked.

“No, I need the key for that.” He went to the desk and reached beneath it for the hidden button. Finding the small depression, he pressed, and a slender compartment opened from the underside. Inside the velvet-lined drawer lay a key. Grasping it between his fingers, he withdrew the brass implement and moved out from behind the desk.

“Where is it?” She turned back toward the door.

“This way.” He strode to a large painting painted in the last century featuring a man surrounded by his hounds. He found the keyhole—hidden in one of the dog’s eyes—and slid the key inside. Feeling the mechanism click, he withdrew the key, then gently pushed on the frame.

“It’s here?” Amelia had come up behind him. “How clever. Or suspicious.”

Penn laughed. “I’m sure it’s a bit of both. Septon guards his secrets quite closely.” And those of the Order. Penn still had to work out how to take the dagger back from them. Though it was fake, he’d promised Amelia he’d get it back for her, and he meant to do so.

The secret library was little more than a closet. There was no window, and it was dark save for the light from the office behind them. “We need the lantern.” Penn quickly returned to the desk and fetched the light. Bringing it back into the library, he set it on a locked trunk that also served as a table.

She gestured to the trunk. “What’s in there?”

“I don’t know, actually. Septon invited me into this library for the first time just after I started at Oxford. A few years later, he showed me where the key was kept and invited me to use it for research, while also swearing me to secrecy.” He hadn’t even told his sister, though she’d learned of it herself. Septon hadn’t been so generous with his knowledge with her, nor had he invited her to make use of it. They’d discussed this when he’d seen her last, and Penn regretted that he’d kept it from her. He’d told Septon to stop treating her as if she wasn’t as smart or committed to antiquities as they were. Since she’d found the lost sword called Dyrnwyn, Septon had finally—and thankfully with enthusiasm—agreed. He drew his attention back to the present. “He’s never showed me the contents of the trunk.”

She peered at him. “Doesn’t that make you especially curious?”

“Of course, but I’ve been unsuccessful in trying to open it.”

“You’ve tried?” She shook her head. “Of course you have.” She looked around the small space. “What are we looking for?”

“Anything to do with the Thirteen Treasures.” He went to one of the shelves and pulled down a book from the midsixteenth century that was in remarkably good condition. “This was copied from the Red Book of Hergest. It’s not the entire contents, but much of it. I recall that it contains Arthurian romances.”

She stood close to him—there was no other choice in the tight space. “They’re all love stories? I didn’t realize that.”

“Oh no, that definition is more recent. The term romance is used in this way to specifically describe a story that recounts the adventures of a knight—it comes from France in the twelfth century, I believe.” He suddenly recalled that Septon kept a list of Arthurian romances and where they originated. He turned and went to a different shelf, his gaze traveling over the spines until he found what he sought. It was a slender volume with black binding, if he remembered correctly.

Seeing one that matched that description, he pulled it down and flipped it open. But it wasn’t the right book. Stashing it back on the shelf, he continued his search.

“What are you looking for now?”

“A list of Arthurian romances.” Another thin black book drew his attention. He pulled that down and, when he peeked inside, smiled. “This is it.” He went back to the trunk and, seeing the other text, handed the black book to Amelia. “Hold this.” After he returned the sixteenth-century book to the shelf, he took the list and opened it atop the trunk.

She moved very close to him so that their sides touched. “I can’t understand some of this.”

“It’s Welsh, some of it quite old. Septon is a stickler for using the original name of a text, even if it’s been translated into English, but see, he also lists the other names it might be known by.” Penn pointed to one particular entry, his fingertip barely touching the parchment, which had the Old Welsh name followed by medieval Welsh, French, and English. “And this is the text where it originated.” Penn moved his finger across the page to the name of the book.

“And this is who wrote it?” She pointed at where it said “By” followed by a Welsh name.

Their fingertips collided, and they both looked at each other sharply, as if a magnet had drawn their gazes to connect. The moment held, and ultimately, Penn forced out a “Yes.” He was unaccountably warm all of a sudden.

They returned their attention to the list, both withdrawing their hands to their sides. It wasn’t long before her indrawn breath filled the space and sent Penn’s pulse climbing.

“Look.” She pointed at one of the entries near the bottom of the page. It read “Ranulf and Hilaria.” Their eyes must have traveled across the page at the same time, because they both read the originating text aloud: “The White Book of Hergest.”

“That’s it!” She sounded so buoyant, so excited… Penn didn’t remember sharing a moment of discovery that was more alluring. But then Egg wasn’t Amelia. In any way.

He turned toward her slightly, his gaze meeting hers. At this proximity, he could see the scattering of gold flecks shimmering near the inner ring of her emerald irises. The book on the trunk fell away, and right now, the only thing crowding his mind was her. “You have the most extraordinary eyes.”

She blinked, briefly shuttering them to his view, and he realized he’d said that out loud. Damn. He’d meant what he’d said earlier about not having much experience in polite society. Sometimes he said things he really oughtn’t.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “You know so much about all this. I feel rather…dull.”

He leaned closer. “I just said you were extraordinary, and you feel dull? How can that be?” Her lips parted to respond, and he realized his error. “I complimented your eyes, but it’s much more than that. We haven’t been acquainted long, but you strike me as an exceptionally intelligent person. In that way, you remind me of my sister. It’s a pity Oxford doesn’t allow women.”

She looked up at him, the light of the lantern splashing across the elegant planes of her face. “I can’t even imagine having that opportunity.”

“And that is a crime.” The smallness of the space, and their proximity, infused him with heat. Or maybe it was just because of her. Rather, his attraction to her. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her.

“What is the White Book of Hergest?” Her question should have jolted him away from his errant thoughts, but he was too far gone.

Even so, he could answer. Maybe if he did, he could stop himself from doing what he wanted. “An old Welsh text, similar to the Red Book—they’re named for the color of their bindings.” He was intent on her mouth and its color, so pink and lush. Her lips had to be soft as down. Softer maybe.

“Is it here?” she asked, sounding rather breathless, which only fed Penn’s desire.

“The Red Book is at Oxford. I’m not sure where the White Book is, but we’ll find it.” At the moment, he could barely remember why…

Penn bent his head as her lids began to sink, and her delicious lips parted…

The sound of a man clearing his throat—loudly—filled the room like an explosion. Penn jerked back and noted that she did the same, moving to the other side of the trunk.

Worse than being caught in a near kiss, the interloper, though he wasn’t really one at all, was none other than the owner of this secret library: Lord Septon.