by Darcy Burke
Penn wanted to take her in his arms to reassure her. “I try to do that in these situations—it’s how I’m so successful.”
Gideon snorted. “Is that what you were when the dagger was stolen from you?”
They’d related that story to him last night over supper. Amelia was sorry she likely wouldn’t get the dagger back, but finding the “key” her grandfather had mentioned and solving this mystery would be enough. Or so she’d said.
Penn glowered at Gideon in response, which only made his half brother smile.
“Shouldn’t we get going?” Amelia asked. “I’d like to get this over with.”
“Yes, let’s.” Penn was eager to have the book in his possession and Amelia away from Forrest. It was going to take every ounce of self-control he had not to pound her husband into the floorboards.
“One more thing,” Gideon said. “The heart.”
“I’ll bring it with me to the cottage.” The two halves were nestled in Amelia’s saddlebag. They’d written down the code, then altered it on the stone just in case she had to give it to Thaddeus. Penn really had thought of and planned for everything.
Amelia turned her head toward him and gave him a soft smile. “Be safe.”
He nodded and watched as she and Gideon rode east toward Glastonbury. When they were out of sight, he put his mind to the task at hand—finding a way in to Forrest’s cottage.
Then he would wait.
* * *
Though she’d reviewed the plan in her mind a dozen times, anxiety pulsed through Amelia’s frame. She smoothed her hand along her skirt, finding the slight bulge of the small pistol she had hidden in her pocket. It made her feel marginally better. She’d shot Thaddeus once before, and she could do it again.
Maybe this time, he’d do her the courtesy of dying so that she could get back to the life she wanted.
She winced, hating herself for thinking such a thing. But really, contemplating a future in which she was tied to Thaddeus Forrest was enough to make her want to open the carriage door and retch.
The vehicle they’d obtained was a chaise. It was small and open at the front with a single horse drawing it, which Gideon—he’d instructed her to call him by his given name since he was no longer Viscount Kersey, at least as far as they knew—was riding postilion.
As they traveled down the lane that led to the cottage, her apprehension increased. It was a mild afternoon, but it might have been scorching hot given the beads of sweat trickling down the back of her neck.
She couldn’t show Thaddeus that she was nervous. She had to convince him she wanted to start fresh. No easy feat since at their last meeting, she’d shot him.
The vehicle slowed to a stop in front of the cottage. It really was a charming abode, with flowers blooming in front and a gable on one side. Their house had been smaller with a thatched roof and a single room upstairs—their bedchamber—accessible by a rotting staircase.
Nausea roiled in her gut. Why had she thought of their bedchamber?
Gideon climbed from the horse and came around to help her out. “Are you ready?” he asked quietly. “It’s not too late to change your mind. Penn and I can come up with another plan.”
She stared at him with pursed lips. “Now you sound like him. I don’t need to be coddled. I’m quite ready.” Maybe if she said it enough she’d believe it.
No, she could do this. She would do this. She’d had plenty of nerve when she’d pulled her pistol on Penn and Egg. Goodness, that seemed a lifetime ago now.
She picked up her reticule from the seat, and the pieces of the heart clacked together inside. Placing her hand in Gideon’s, she stepped down from the chaise. Lifting her chin, she walked to the door with far more aplomb than she felt.
Before she could lose her courage, she rapped sharply. A few moments later, an older woman opened the door. She had a kind face and a warm smile. “Good afternoon,” she said cheerily. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m here to see Mr. Forrest.”
The woman’s brow darkened. “He wasn’t expecting anyone. I’m afraid he’s not receiving visitors at present.”
Amelia summoned her grandest smile. “I’m certain he’ll see me. I’m Mrs. Forrest.” She gave the woman a conspiratorial wink.
“Oh!” The woman’s dark eyes widened, and her lips parted. “I had no idea. Please forgive me.”
“It’s quite all right,” Amelia said. “We’ve been…estranged. However, I saw him recently, and he invited me to come.” None of that was untrue.
“Come in, come in, dear.” She opened the door wide and ushered Amelia inside. “I’m Mrs. Jones, Mr. Forrest’s housekeeper. And cook. My husband is the caretaker. We live not too far from here.” She chuckled. “Just listen to me go on. You don’t care about any of that.” She peered at Amelia intently. “Or perhaps you do if you’re here to rejoin your husband. Hopefully, your presence will improve his disposition. He’s been in a terrible state since day before yesterday. He sustained an injury to his arm, and it’s made him quite disagreeable.”
Good. Amelia stifled her glee. “How unfortunate. Is that why he’s indisposed?”
“Yes, I believe he’s sleeping, but I’ll wake him. As you said, he’ll want to see you, I’m sure.” She looked Amelia up and down. “Aren’t you a pretty thing? I can’t believe he never told us about you.” She clucked her tongue before taking herself off toward a staircase at the back of the hall.
Mrs. Jones turned at the base of the stairs. “Forgive me. Make yourself at ease.” As soon as the housekeeper disappeared up the stairs, Amelia burst into motion.
To her right was a small sitting room and to her left was a larger room with several chairs and a settee—all from their house. Penn had been right about the creditor story being a ruse.
Fury bit at her as she moved inside and saw that the chamber opened to another room at the back. She crept toward the doorway and almost shrieked when she saw Penn climbing in through the window. She couldn’t meet Thaddeus in this room. She needed to “make herself at ease” in the other sitting room across the hall.
Except she didn’t get that chance.
Heavy footfalls sounded on the staircase. She reached for the door and drew it nearly closed, but stopped as it creaked. Damn, it was still ajar.
“Amelia?”
She briefly closed her eyes and conjured the nerve and composure she required to face Thaddeus.
Just before she turned, Penn met her gaze. He gave her an encouraging look. That was all she needed.
Pasting a smile on her lips, she spun about. “Thaddeus.”
He wore breeches and stockings with a pair of slippers. His shirt was open at the collar and was rather wrinkled, as if he’d been sleeping in it, which she supposed he had. It looked as though he’d hastily donned a waistcoat. The buttons weren’t properly fastened, with one extra button at the top and an extra hole at the bottom.
He didn’t look pleased to see her. On the contrary, his mouth pitched into a frown, and his brow furrowed. “What the devil are you doing here? Came to finish me off?” He went directly to the sideboard, where he poured himself a glass of something. Gin, she assumed. That had always been his drink of choice.
She noticed he used his left arm for everything, leaving his right arm bent at the elbow. She couldn’t discern his wound or any bandages beneath the volume of his sleeve.
She took a few steps away from the door at her back even as she strained to hear what Penn might be doing. “How is your arm?”
He threw himself into a chair near the hearth and glowered up at her. “You bloody shot me.”
She’d prepared a response for that. “You abandoned me.” She narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms over her chest—this part wasn’t an act. “The creditors took nearly everything. I was humiliated. I had to return to my family in shame.”
He sipped his gin and let the glass dangle from the fingers of his left hand. “I am sorry for that. I truly didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Then why did you do it? Why marry me in the first place if you planned to leave?”
“I didn’t plan to leave.” He shrugged. “But your father and grandfather were intolerable, and it was simply easier to bid you adieu.”
“Except you didn’t. You left while I was visiting my grandfather. I came home to an empty house. You didn’t even leave me a note. For all I knew, you could’ve died.” After a time, she’d begun to hope so.
He took another drink of gin, then set his glass on a table beside the chair. Leaning forward, he blinked at her. “Did you love me so much, then?”
No, she hadn’t loved him at all. She’d been infatuated by his charm and looks at first, but marriage to him had quickly proven to be anything but a happy ever after. He drank to excess, stayed out late—and sometimes didn’t come home at all—and spent too much money. How much money she hadn’t realized until after he’d left. He’d supposedly worked as a translator, but she rarely saw him work.
She couldn’t tell him the truth, not when she was trying to convince him she wanted to be with him again. She swallowed against the revulsion rising in her throat.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, avoiding his question about love. “I’m sorry I shot you. I was just so angry that you’d left me. And it seems you used me into the bargain. Did you marry me just to learn my grandfather’s secrets?”
“You’re far more astute than I gave you credit for, but then you’re several years older now.” His gaze traveled leisurely over her body. “More than just your mind has improved.”
She nearly gagged at the lascivious look in his eye. But then his gaze turned dark. “Still, you shot me, and the wound could fester.” He sniffed.
Feigning concern, she took a few steps toward him. “I’m terribly sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly—can you blame me?”
“I suppose seeing me was quite a shock for you. But damn, woman, I’d no idea you could shoot like that. Just nicked my arm, but it was enough to make me bleed like a damned gutted pig.” He picked up his gin and drank the lot, then held up the glass to her without a word.
This was something she remembered well—pouring him gin. She went to the sideboard and filled the glass as much as she dared. Perhaps she could get him drunk enough to lose consciousness, and then she and Penn could find the book easily and be on their way. However, if memory served, Thaddeus was particularly good at holding his drink.
She handed him the gin and tried not to flinch as his fingers grazed hers. Thank goodness she was wearing gloves.
He sipped the gin and narrowed his eyes as he contemplated her. “You going to stand all day?”
She pivoted and sank onto the settee, angling herself so she could see the partially open door to the other room. Thankfully, she’d closed it enough that they wouldn’t be able to see anyone moving around inside. They could, however, perhaps hear something if Penn wasn’t careful. And the door had creaked.
Suddenly, she wished she had a glass of gin. Maybe it would calm her nerves. No, she needed her wits about her.
“You seemed to know of the Camelot group,” he said, eyeing her speculatively. “How?”
“My grandfather told me about them,” she lied. She’d discussed various lines of conversation with Penn and Gideon last night so that she would be prepared. “They stole his dagger from me.”
“I heard it was from Penn Bowen, that damn treasure hunter. I followed you with him—first to London and then to Oxford.” He took another drink of gin. “You seemed quite…close.”
“He was a means to an end,” she said flippantly. “He knew things that could help me find what I sought. As you said, he’s a treasure hunter. Probably the best.”
Thaddeus snorted. “Probably. But not any longer. Where is he now?” His expression turned smug, and Amelia had to fight not to laugh.
Right under your bloody nose.
“Tell me, my darling, what is it you seek?” His endearment sickened her, but she kept her expression placid.
She didn’t want to say the book, for fear he’d go looking for it while Penn was trying to steal it. “I’m not certain anymore,” she said, trying to draw out their conversation. What was taking so long? That room Penn was searching wasn’t that large. Surely he should’ve found it by now.
Unless it wasn’t there. Which was why this plan had been launched in the first place. In the event Penn couldn’t find it, she’d have to flush it out.
She wanted to be sure to give him enough time. “How did you become involved with the Camelot group?”
“It was before we met. I was in Bath, and I met the man in charge of the group. He presented me with an offer I was loath to refuse.” He gave her a sad look. “I’m sorry to say it involved you. As you surmised, he wanted me to marry you so that we could get close to your grandfather and his secrets. I insisted courtship would be enough, but Foliot—Camelot’s leader—said I would need longer than that to gain your grandfather’s trust.” Thaddeus sipped more gin, then gave a hollow laugh. “Turns out no amount of time would have earned me that. Gardiner despised me.”
“Yes, he was quite pleased when you left.” She saw no reason to lie. “So your objective was merely to learn his secrets?”
“Specifically to find the dagger—we knew he probably had it. We just didn’t know where. Took a while, but the group got it in the end.”
“Where is it?” She couldn’t keep herself from asking. If it was here, she’d take it if she could.
He gave her a coy look and then laughed. “You want that dagger, don’t you, my sweet? Unfortunately, I don’t have it, but perhaps I can get it for you.” He set his gin down on the table again, then tapped his finger against his lip. “There would be a price.”
Her gut clenched as she imagined any number of prices she’d be forced to pay—all of them lurid and revolting. “What would that be?”
“Well, I already expect you’ve come back to resume your place as my wife. But that won’t suffice. Foliot will never relinquish the dagger, not without gaining the heart. He needs both items, you see. Rather, he needs something that’s on both items. Once he has that, I imagine he won’t care if you take the dagger back.”
This was excellent information. She wondered if Penn could hear it. “I would be most grateful. I miss my grandfather very much, and having his most prized possession would be a balm for my grief.”
“Did you by chance bring the heart?”
She picked up the reticule, which had been perched on her lap, and jangled the contents. Curling her lips into a saucy smile, she said, “I did.”
His gaze glowed with appreciation. “How cunning of you.”
He leapt up suddenly, surprising her, and snatched the reticule from her grasp. “Now, we just need the book to go with this, and I can take it to Foliot.” Nervous energy fairly pulsed from him, but he paused to stare intently into her eyes. “Thank you. You’ve saved me quite a bit of trouble. Come, we’ll take it straightaway. His house isn’t far—just a mile south.” He clutched the reticule and started walking toward the back room.
No! He was going to get the book. He couldn’t do that!
She jumped from the settee and grabbed his elbow. “Where—”
He howled in pain and swung around with a vicious glare. “Careful! That’s where you shot me.” He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to expose a thick white bandage.
She winced. “I’m so sorry.”
He grunted in response, then turned back toward the room where Penn was searching. Why hadn’t he found the damn thing yet? This was moments away from utter disaster. She had to warn him.
“Are you going into that room to fetch the book?” she asked rather loudly.
He paused, then pivoted to face her, his expression confused. “Yes,” he said slowly. “But I’ve just remembered that it’s in here.” He rolled his eyes, then tapped his finger against his temple. “Mind’s a little befuddled from the laudanum the physician gave me for the pain.”
Laudanum and g
in. It was a wonder he was still conscious.
He went to a desk in the corner near the front window. His gaze strayed to the window facing the drive. Shooting her a glance, he asked, “Is that your chaise?”
“Yes.”
“Why is it still here?”
She was ready for that question too. “I wasn’t sure if you’d allow me to stay. I did shoot you, after all.”
He turned from the window and gave her a seductive look. “It seems we both have things to repent for. I shall look forward to it.”
Thankfully, he turned his attention to the desk, because Amelia wasn’t able to entirely suppress the shudder that racked her frame.
He set the reticule down on top of the desk and opened the top drawer. Then he withdrew a book bound in white leather.
Amelia didn’t have to ask what it was. “The White Book of Hergest.” For a moment, all her apprehension and tension evaporated. This was what her grandfather wanted to find. The key to everything.
She realized she may not have spoken that loudly enough, so she repeated with more volume, “Is that the White Book?”
“Indeed it is. Foliot entrusted it to me a few years ago when he became concerned that someone would trace it to him. Now we shall take it, along with the heart, to Foliot directly so that he can put them together with the dagger and do whatever it is he’s wanted to do.” He tucked the book under his arm.
No, that wouldn’t do. She needed to take the book and leave without him. Perhaps she could shoot him again…
He reached up and touched his bare neck. “Damn, I suppose I should dress.” He turned toward the hall. “I’ll be but a moment. Unless you’d care to help me.” He leered at her, and she could see the gin had settled in to take effect. His eyes were less focused than they’d been a few minutes ago.
This was her moment. Shoot him and attract the attention of Mrs. Jones and Mr. Jones, assuming he was here. Or, find some way to get the book out of Thaddeus’s hands and get him upstairs.
Unfortunately, she could think of only one way to do that.
Swallowing her loathing, she sauntered toward him with a sultry smile. “Why don’t I help you dress?” she offered. “Or undress…” She took the book from his grasp and set it on the table next to his glass.