by Darcy Burke
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.”
