Captivating the Scoundrel

by Darcy Burke

  He wanted to do that with her and so much more.

  Starting with the more. He plundered her mouth, tasting every part of her, and stroked his hand down her collarbone until he found the soft globe of her breast. Dragging his thumb over the taut peak, he cupped her. She dug her fingers into his shoulders in response.

  “Gideon! It’s time to come downstairs!”

  Gwyneth’s voice broke through his sexual haze, forcing his head up. He scowled and swore. “We’re ignoring her.” He bent and licked Daphne’s nipple.

  She shuddered. “Gideon.” His name was an urgent whisper, and he could interpret it many ways. He chose to think she was urging him on.

  But she tugged at his hair. “We need to get dressed! Don’t you want to talk to her about the de Valery manuscript in the chest? The sooner we find the location of Gareth’s final resting place, the sooner we can return the treasures.”

  And the sooner they could part.

  He stilled and sat up. He didn’t want to contemplate what came after their quest. He wanted to lock the door and spend eternity in bed with her.

  She scrambled to sit up, and he leaned forward to kiss her hard and fast.

  Her brow pleated, as if she were rethinking going downstairs. Then she smiled and bounded from the bed. “Let’s go.”

  He watched her pluck her dressing gown from where it lay forgotten on the floor along with her hairpins and then go into her chamber. Reluctantly, he got dressed, each movement feeling as if he was marching toward some inevitable doom.

  When he was garbed and combed, he picked up the chest and went into her room. She perched on a padded seat in front of a dressing table and was finishing her hair.

  He came up behind her, and she met his reflection. “Ready?” she asked.

  He nodded, and she stood, smoothing her gown. As they left her room and made their way downstairs, Gideon had the sense that last night and this morning had been a stolen time and likely couldn’t be repeated. They’d leave here and go to Ashridge Court. Who knew what awaited them there?

  Gwyneth was waiting for them in the library, seated at the end of the long worktable. Her gaze snapped to the chest in Gideon’s arms, and she smiled. Then she lifted her eyes to Gideon’s and apologized. “I didn’t mean to interrupt a blissful morning. However, I do have a schedule to keep. You’re both welcome to stay as long as you like. Now, let me see this chest.”

  Gideon ignored her comment about their morning and set the chest down in front of her, curious if she would find something they could not. “There’s a manuscript written by Edmund de Valery—one we weren’t aware of.”

  She stood and opened the chest. “Sit, both of you.”

  Gideon and Daphne exchanged a look before they each took the chairs on either side of her.

  “I am aware of this de Valery manuscript, but I’ve never seen it, of course. I haven’t ever seen anything in this chest.” She removed each item, giving special care to the Anarawd text. Cracking open the cover, she exhaled in wonder. “How magnificent.” She turned partially toward Gideon. “I wonder if you might consider allowing me to study these items for a short period of time.”

  “Of course I would consider it.” He trusted her. “I assume they would be safe here.”

  She looked around the room. “You see what we keep, what we’ve protected for centuries. It’s amazing what women can get away with. Men pay no attention.”

  Daphne giggled, her eyes sparkling, and Gideon couldn’t help but smile.

  Gwyneth picked up the de Valery manuscript last and waved for Gideon to scoot the chest back. Then she sat and placed the book on the table in front of her. “These are a collection of fables.”

  “They’re variations on tales in the other de Valery manuscripts. Rhys Bowen and I found them perplexing. They seemed to be embellished versions.”

  “Yes, that’s precisely what they are. The hope was that this book would be copied and those copies circulated and these would become the accepted ‘history.’”

  “But it hasn’t ever seen the light of day,” Gideon said. Rhys had certainly never heard of it before.

  Gwyneth nodded. “The supposition is that it contains something it shouldn’t. That de Valery included information or a…clue that led to…something.”

  Daphne leaned forward, intent on the book but glancing toward Gwyneth. “Do you have any idea what?”

  “No, but let me look,” she murmured, opening the cover. She drew in a sharp breath and touched the illumination on the first page.

  “Shouldn’t you wear gloves?” Gideon asked.

  Gwyneth speared him with a condescending stare. “We are very careful, and we are…special. No, I shouldn’t be wearing gloves. You, however, probably should.”

  “I do when I handle the manuscript,” he said, feeling admonished.

  “Excellent.” She beamed at him. Yes, she was most peculiar. And endearing.

  She quietly flipped through several pages before looking over at Gideon. “Goodness, this could take me quite some time. Perhaps you should go back upstairs and finish what I interrupted.” She moved her gaze to Daphne and smiled benignly.

  Daphne’s ears turned that adorable shade of pink again, and Gideon resisted the urge to do as Gwyneth suggested. Instead, he gestured toward the book. “There’s an odd story included. It’s about St. Gildas.”

  Gwyneth’s gaze snapped to his. “St. Gildas? Where?”

  “Toward the back,” Gideon said. Gwyneth flipped through the pages until he recognized the page. “There,” he said.

  She leaned over the tome and read. It was a handful of pages long, with illustrations.

  “It just seemed strange to have a story about St. Gildas amongst everything else about the knights and giants and the like.”

  She frowned at the book, then cast her head back to stare at the ceiling. She’d done that on their last visit too, and he recognized she was thinking.

  “St. Gildas was a monk in the late fifth and early sixth centuries. He was born the same year as the Battle of Badon Hill.”

  “So he was a contemporary of Arthur,” Daphne said.

  “Yes, though he refers to him by another name. He wrote a rather interesting history of the Britons. He ended up in Brittany as abbot of Rhuys.”

  “Didn’t he spend a great deal of time in Ireland?” Daphne asked, sparking Gideon’s continued admiration for her vast array of historical knowledge.

  “Yes, he traveled quite extensively, especially for that time. He was born in present-day Scotland. He was quite prominent in early monasticism in Wales—and here. He visited Beckery Chapel, and there’s mention of him in the Beckery Texts.”

  “Why is he in this book?” Gideon asked. He’d begun to think this was vitally important.

  “I’m not entirely certain.” Gwyneth stood and went to one of the bookshelves to remove a tattered volume that he recognized from their last visit as one of the Beckery Texts. She set it partially in front of Gideon and opened the cover. She was hasty but careful as she thumbed through the pages until she found a rather short entry along with a drawing.

  Gideon’s heart began to beat faster. He came partway out of his chair as he leaned forward. “Is that an island?”

  “Yes. Flat Holm, I believe. Let me just read it…”

  It was Latin. Gideon could read it too.

  Ynys Echni, which was actually Welsh and meant Flat Holm, was an island in the Severn Sea.

  Gideon peered up at Gwyneth. “Is the Severn Sea Bristol Channel?”

  “Yes. Flat Holm is between Weston and Lavernock.”

  Gideon went back to reading. Gildas had lived there as a hermit for several years. And during his stay, he’d presided over a burial. Gideon felt a hand on his right shoulder and looked up to see that Daphne had come to stand next to him.

  The most wonderful excitement surged within him. “Read it,” he said to her.

  He sat back in his chair to allow her better access.

  Gwyneth pa
ced away from the table and then came back. She stared down at him. “You think the burial was for Gareth.”

  Gideon’s body thrummed with barely contained enthusiasm. “Don’t you?”

  Tipping her head to the side, Gwyneth shrugged. “It’s possible.”

  “De Valery put St. Gildas in his book for a reason,” Daphne said, pivoting from the book. She’d apparently finished reading. “Gwyneth, you said de Valery included a clue to something.”

  “I didn’t say that. But that is what has been presumed. I always reserve my judgment until I can read something for myself.”

  Gideon sat up in the chair, straightening his spine. “You have to admit the presence of that story doesn’t fit.”

  Gwyneth tapped a finger against her lips. “It is odd.”

  “If it is a clue,” Daphne said, “then it’s pointing us to St. Gildas.”

  Gideon gave Gwyneth a long, hard stare. “You read the story just now. It mentions Gildas spending time at a monastery near Ynys Witrin. Do you know where Ynys Witrin is, or do we need to scour the library looking for it?”

  “Ynys Witrin is thought to be an early name for Glastonbury. He could be talking about Beckery Chapel.”

  “Which takes us to the Beckery Texts,” Gideon said, his heart still beating a rapid pace. “Where Gildas is placed at a burial on Flat Holm Island. I think de Valery was telling us where Gareth is buried.”

  “It’s a bit of a leap,” Gwyneth said, frustrating Gideon.

  Gideon sat back in the chair and rested his hands on his lap. “It’s all we have.”

  Gwyneth bustled back to the de Valery text at the head of the table. “It’s not enough. There has to be a way to confirm it.”

  “And what if there isn’t?” Gideon stood. He needed to expend some of the energy pulsing through him. He paced the length of the bookshelf. At the end, he turned back toward the table where Daphne and Gwyneth both watched him. “I’m certain he’s there.” He just knew it in his bones.

  “Then let’s go.” Daphne’s simple belief in him made his chest expand and his heart soar.

  “We have to get the Heart of Llanllwch and Dyrnwyn.” Gideon’s mind was already planning ahead.

  Gwyneth braced her hands on the table on either side of the de Valery manuscript. “You’re taking a chance. He may not be there.”

  “It’s the best lead we have.” Besides, he was certain.

  “When do you want to leave?” Daphne asked.

  “As soon as we can.”

  Gwyneth straightened. “You shouldn’t go alone, especially after you anger Daphne’s father when you take the other treasures.” She glanced toward Daphne, whose expression had gone stoic.

  Gideon agreed, but Penn was at Oxford, and that was three days from here. “I don’t think my—help can arrive in time. He’s at Oxford.” He’d almost said half brother, but he wouldn’t reveal that, not if there was a chance Penn didn’t have to be the earl.

  Gwyneth’s mouth split into a wide grin. “You’re in luck. We have pigeons who fly to Oxford.”

  Both Gideon and Daphne gaped at her. “You do?” Daphne asked.

  Nodding, Gwyneth went to her writing desk situated near the windows and came back with a small piece of paper. “Write your message on this.” She inclined her head toward a pen and inkwell farther down the worktable.

  Gideon moved to draft a note to Penn. As he sat down, he glanced up at her. “How will he get it?”

  “There is a small group of us—just three women at present—at Oxford. They conduct research there, and we often correspond about important findings. Sometimes I require information from them, and sometimes they require information from me. We’ve been using this system for a few centuries now. It works wonderfully.”

  Amazed, Gideon picked up the pen to write.

  “I think I would like to live here,” Daphne said wistfully.

  “I doubt he’ll let you,” Gwyneth said, inclining her head toward Gideon.

  “It won’t be up to him,” Daphne said with an edge of hauteur.

  “No, but you won’t want to either.”

  Gideon worked to ignore their conversation—both because he wanted to focus on what to say on such a small piece of paper and because he didn’t want to think about the future just then.

  Once he was satisfied with a succinct message, he scrawled it on the paper and stood to hand it to Gwyneth.

  “Who is this for?” Gwyneth asked.

  “Penn Bowen.” Gideon had asked him to meet at Weston as soon as possible. He calculated that he would arrive in three to four days’ time. That should give them ample time to do what they needed at Ashridge Court.

  “He’s the Assistant Keeper at the Ashmolean. Our women will ensure he gets it.” Gwnyneth took the paper and went back to her desk, where she wrote on it as well. “I’ve just put his name on the other side. I’ll deliver this to Edward—he manages all our animals, including the pigeons—as soon as we’re finished. First, I want to hear your plan to retake the heart and sword.”

  “It involves the cloak,” Gideon said.

  “Oh yes! In our haste to look at the de Valery manuscript, I neglected to study the garment.” She went to the chest, where it was still folded in the bottom. Before she reached inside, she looked over at Gideon. “May I?”

  “Of course.”

  Carefully, she withdrew the cloak, and Gideon could already see that its magic worked for her. Where the garment touched her hands, she became invisible.

  “Marvelous,” she whispered, pulling it around her shoulders. She fastened it around her neck and now looked like a floating head. She looked down, and her brow creased. “It must be rather short on you.”

  Gideon moved around the table to look at her feet, but of course he saw nothing. “It was just the right length.”

  Gwyneth laughed. “Morgana thought of everything with her enchantment.” She removed the garment and folded it before handing it to Gideon. “This should serve you well. Will you leave the chest and the other items here?”

  “That seems safest. I don’t think I will need any of the other contents.” He couldn’t imagine needing the texts, and he’d looked through the loose papers, most of which were genealogical records and other notes regarding family history that didn’t pertain to Gareth. He didn’t recognize the jewelry, but Rhys hadn’t thought that any of it was older than the thirteenth century, meaning it wasn’t from Gareth’s time.

  Gwyneth narrowed one eye at Gideon. “If you do find Gareth’s tomb, what do you plan to do?”

  “Leave the treasures there.”

  “So that anyone can come along and find them again?” She shook her head. “You’ll need to do a bit more than that if you want to keep them from being found.”

  “Is there a way to hide them forever?”

  “Yes, an enchantment, and since you’re a direct descendant of his, I believe you can create it. Give me a few minutes.” She’d already started to move away from them. “Prepare your things, and I shall meet you in the hall.” She turned from them, and though they hadn’t discussed their plan for Ashridge Court, Gideon knew they’d been dismissed.

  He guided Daphne from the library and back up the stairs toward their chambers.

  “She thinks you can do magic,” Daphne said. “Like Morgan.”

  “She was apparently my relative,” he said, trying to think how he could possibly work magic. And yet he already had, in a way, when he’d used the sword and the cloak.

  “My envy is great.” She gave him a warm smile. “What is our plan when we arrive at Ashridge Court?” she asked him as they walked along the gallery overlooking the great hall.

  “I’m not certain—it depends on your father’s reception. Have you any idea what that will be?”

  “He’ll be happy to see us wed but angry that he was excluded from the ceremony. Honestly, us missing the jousting tournament may have upset him the most.”

  Her father was bizarre as well as despicable and mad.
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  He walked her to the door to her chamber and opened it so she could go inside. “And how will you be? Will you confront him about lying to you?”

  “I want to—I’m still furious. But that could jeopardize our endeavor. We’ll have to endure a celebratory dinner with whatever guests still remain from the festival. How quickly do you want to take the items and leave?”

  As quickly as possible, but they had to be careful. “We have to come up with a plan to do that. I need the keys to the vault.”

  “He keeps them on his person at all times. Unless he’s sleeping.”

  “Do you know where they are, then?”

  “In his chamber, right next to his bed. I know that because I went in there one night—many years ago—when I had a nightmare. When he got up to take me back to bed, he put the keys in the pocket of his dressing gown.”

  Gideon wiped a hand over his face and pulled on his chin as he thought through their options. “I could go in there in the cloak—after he’s asleep. Then I’ll go down and go into the vault.” He muttered a curse. “Except he has guards there at all times.”

  “I was just going to ask how you’d manage to get in without the guards seeing you. You’d be invisible, but they’d see the keys go into the locks and the doors move. We’ll have to distract them. I can do that.” She seemed pleased to have a job.

  “I’d feel better if you stayed out of this entirely.”

  She pursed her lips at him in a half frown. “We’re in this together. You need me.”

  It would be easier with her help. “How will you distract the guards?”

  “There are two ways to get a man to forget what he’s about.”

  Gideon knew what at least one of them was. “You’re not doing the first one.”

  She grinned. “Your jealousy is quite satisfying. But not that. Food.”

  Laughter bubbled from Gideon’s lips. “Food? You think you can distract them with food?”

  “I think that when I put a sleeping agent in the keg of ale, our task will become quite easy. You’ll get the treasures, return the keys to my father, and we’ll leave. When he awakens the next day, he won’t even realize the treasures are missing—unless he goes to the vault and checks them every morning.”