Chapter 26
Gwen
I kissed him.
Oh my ever-living—
I kissed Arthur Penn.
Or he kissed me?
Or we just kissed, like some sort of magical, magnetic spell took over and our lips couldn’t do anything but meet.
I closed my eyes, remembering his hand in my hair and his muscles under my fingertips. I could have stood there for hours, kissing that man. If the sauce had burned and the pasta boiled off entirely, I wouldn’t have cared. So long as I kept kissing him.
The car engine started in the driveway.
Don’t just stand there! Go get him!
I ran to the side door and threw it open, landing in the driveway. The night air was cool, the street quiet. The Land Rover was gone. I walked to the end of the driveway. No taillights anywhere. No engine noise.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
Why did he leave in such a hurry?
Because he felt it, Gwen. The doubt. The questions.
But I was right to doubt him, wasn’t I?
Arthur was powerful. Commanding. The kind of man who entered a room and rearranged its gravity. He decided where I slept and when I traveled. He decided whether I was allowed to walk outside alone.
Lionel had been the same. Different arena, same effect.
Keeper of Arms and Armor at the Marlcombe Collection, he’d been my post-doc supervisor.
He was the gatekeeper of my research, the voice that would make or break my career.
He’d been powerful and commanding, too. And I’d been drawn into his orbit in ways I shouldn’t have.
I’d mistaken his pull for love, and he’d used it to destroy me.
Arthur is not Lionel, and you shouldn’t have been thinking about Lionel when you were kissing Arthur.
But what if this was simply the same pattern?
What if I was falling for another man in a position of authority, who held my fate in his hands? What if it was all a mistake? What if it was nothing but adrenaline and proximity?
I’d been the silly girl with stars in her eyes, accepting late-night meetings in Lionel’s office.
He’d been handsome, too, in a Professor Jones sort of way.
Somehow those meetings turned into a relationship.
At least, it turned into a sexual relationship.
Maybe I’d been too naive to realize all Lionel wanted was to let off a little steam, and there weren’t any emotions behind it.
Maybe it had all been about my low-cut shirts and pretty smiles, after all.
What if kissing Arthur was the same thing? Another late night spent researching an ancient sword—this time in France instead of England, with Arthur instead of Lionel. What if Arthur was only interested in sex, too?
Except Arthur cooked for me. He took his time and crafted real food. Lionel would never have walked beside me in the rain, holding an umbrella over me while he got rained on. He never would have bothered to cover me with a blanket while I slept.
Was there more between Arthur and me?
I put a hand over my stomach to settle its churning.
If Arthur had felt my doubts, was he giving me space? Was this about respect? If that was why he’d left, he wasn’t anything like Lionel. Lionel wouldn’t have even noticed. He would have pressed, and we’d be in bed right now.
Stop it, Gwen. Go turn off the food and wait for him to come back. Guessing and spiraling won’t help anything.
A car turned onto the street, lighting up the narrow road.
He was already back. His ridiculous excuse about the car and the T-shirts didn’t get him anywhere.
I rubbed my hands up and down my arms to calm the goosebumps. Whether they were from the cold or from the thought of seeing Arthur, I wasn’t sure. There would definitely be a ‘What are you doing outside?’ discussion, but hopefully it would be followed by, ‘I want to kiss you.’
The churning in my stomach moved lower, evolving into a more pleasurable sensation.
Was that a sign or biology? Did my body care if he was like Lionel or not? A pulse ran between my thighs. Nope, my body didn’t care. It wanted more of him.
The headlights moved slowly on the far side of the street. Too slowly? As though the driver was searching for an address. It rolled under a street lamp, so I saw it was a sedan, not the Land Rover. Maybe Arthur had found somewhere to swap vehicles? He wouldn’t steal one, would he?
It pulled alongside me and stopped. The driver’s window came down, and a man waved to me. He was broad through the shoulders. A jawline and presence that reminded me of Arthur and Lance.
I stepped backward.
“Excusez-moi, madame. Est-ce que vous savez—” His voice was deep. He winced and tried again. “Pardon, ah… Parlez-vous anglais?”
Where was Arthur? I checked both directions on the street, as though he’d appear exactly when I needed him.
“I’m looking for a hotel, or a chambre d’h?tel?” The man smiled sheepishly. “I’ve been driving for hours, and everything’s closed.”
It was at least ten at night and pitch black, other than the street and house lights.
“Désolée.” I took another step backward, up the driveway. I held my hands out, hoping it read as my not understanding.
“No worries.” He waved, and the car began rolling forward as he called out, “Sorry to bother you.”
I turned and walked to the side door.
Don’t run. Don’t look back. Listen for his tires, in case he slows or comes back.
I turned the knob, stepped inside, and shut it behind me. Locked it.
And I ran for my phone.
Arthur picked up before the first ring had finished. “What’s wrong?”
“A man just stopped his car next to me.” My words tumbled out. “He started in French, and switched to English. Said he was looking for a hotel.”
“Take it easy.” His voice sounded mostly calm, but his words came faster than usual. “Describe him to me.”
“Big. Strong. Like you and Lance.” I hurried to the front of the house and peered out the window. “He felt wrong.”
“You said he stopped next to you. Where are you?”
“I’m inside the house. But I…” Fuck, Gwen. “I was in the driveway.”
“Why were you outside?”
Because you kissed me and left, and I couldn’t breathe in this kitchen. “I needed air.”
“Pack everything.” In his background, the turn signal clicked over and over. “Laptop, sword, and all your things. Be ready at the door in two minutes. I’m coming back.”
“Okay.”
“Two minutes, Gwen.” The turn signal stopped. “Are you packing?”
“Um…” I couldn’t stop watching the road.
“Move,” he said. “Now.”
“Okay.” When I reached the little dining area, I flipped the phone to speaker and tossed it onto the table. Laptop into the messenger bag. Notebook. Pen.
“Did you turn the stove off?”
Right. Stove. “Doing that now.”
The sauce was bubbling lightly and hadn’t burned, but the pasta was a glob in the boiling water. I shut them both off and returned to the table. I didn’t have much to pack—almost everything I’d brought from New York was still in Champagne.
“You didn’t recognize him, did you?” asked Arthur from the phone. “Even if it was a little voice in the back of your head saying he was familiar?”
“I don’t think so.”
The man hadn’t been the kind who flew under the radar.
He’d been attractive, but the lethal quality under it made him stand out.
It was the same thing with Lance. I’d seen him at a pub I used to frequent every weekend for a month before I talked to him.
He just… he stood out. The same way Arthur stood out.
I tossed my messenger bag over my shoulder and grabbed the sword. I paused for a second, staring at the mess we were leaving for the rental owner to clean up.
That’s where you kissed him.
If I’d focused on the kiss and hadn’t let my brain spiral, we’d still be there.
Or making out on the sofa? Or in bed?
“I’m ten seconds out, Gwen. Come outside and get straight into the car.”
“Okay.” I picked up my phone and headed for the door. I opened it a crack as light swept up the driveway.
The Land Rover pulled in, and Arthur got out. “Gwen?”
I hung up our call and shoved my phone into my bag as I rushed out to meet him.
He didn’t offer me any gentle words. He just opened the door behind the driver’s seat and reached for the sword case. “Get in the passenger seat.”
I handed over the case. “Did you see him?”
“No.” He closed the rear door and waved me around to the other side. “Hurry up.”
“I’m sorry,” I said as I rounded the car. “I don’t know what I—”
The sound of an approaching car caused us both to turn. It was coming fast. Headlights lit the road. A dark sedan swung across the end of the driveway and braked hard, skidding to block our exit. The driver’s door opened, and the man who’d been asking for directions launched himself out.
Arthur stood with one hand on his driver’s door, gaze fixed on the man. “You.”
You? They knew each other?
“I’ve got a whole team searching for you.” The man slowed his approach, flexing his fingers as if he were readying himself. “Imagine my fucking fortune to be the one who found you.”
“Get in the car, Gwen,” said Arthur, not looking away from the man.
“Arthur, who—”
“I said get in the car.” His shoulders squared, his weight shifted forward, and his hands balled into fists.
“Don’t worry, princess, I won’t hurt you.” The man slowed. “The prodigal son, on the other hand?”
“Are you working with them, Rick?” Arthur edged his way down the length of the Land Rover, forcing the man to swing farther out. I was on the far side of the car, but Arthur made sure he was between me and the threat. “Whoever the fuck came after us this afternoon?”
“I need the sword.” Rick closed the distance. “And her research.”
“You’re not getting either,” said Arthur.
Rick threw the first punch.
Arthur blocked it and drove a counter into Rick’s ribs.
Rick absorbed the blow, barely moving. “Still leading with your left. Some things don’t change.”
Arthur reset. “Who are you working for?”
Rick threw a combination. Arthur slipped the first, took the second on his forearm, and fired back. Rick was already moving. The punch hit air. But Rick’s fist connected with the bandage on Arthur’s right arm.
“Fuck you!” Arthur growled through gritted teeth. His guard dropped, and Rick drove through the gap into Arthur’s body.
“Your father would have sent a team.” Rick landed a hook and put a knee into Arthur’s side. “That’s what a man who knows how to use his resources would—”
“I’m not my father,” Arthur spat out as he dodged, then jabbed. He was slower than he had been when the men attacked us at the archive. Either slower, or Rick was that much better than three men coming at him.
“No. You’re not.” Rick caught Arthur’s counter and twisted his right arm, forcing Arthur into the side of the Land Rover. Arthur hissed in pain. “He’d name a price and sell me what I wanted.”
Arthur threw an elbow into Rick’s jaw, snapping his head sideways. Rick stumbled.
Was it over?
No, Rick wiped his mouth and came back with a blow to Arthur’s head, knocking him into the SUV again.
I hadn’t budged from the open door. The knife, which had lodged in the sword’s case, was in the back seat. Where? Could I find it in time? Would it help?
Rick’s foot found Arthur’s thigh, and Arthur went down.
Do something useful!
Ten feet away, a cluster of stone planters sat, their flowers long since dead.
Arthur grunted, but got up and kept fighting.
Somewhere, deep in my soul, I knew Arthur Penn would never let anything happen to me. He would do everything to protect me, including sacrifice himself so I could escape alone.
And I couldn’t let him do that.
I darted for the planters. Grabbed one. It was so heavy!
Maybe Arthur saw what I was doing, maybe he didn’t, but he exploded off the car, using his momentum to drive Rick toward the house.
But Rick pivoted them both. He slammed Arthur against the wall, his forearm landing across Arthur’s throat. “Give up, Penn.”
“Fuck you.” Arthur tried bringing a knee into Rick’s side, but it lacked strength.
I hefted the planter, the stone rough against my palms. I aimed for his head, but wasn’t strong enough. It cracked against his neck, and he staggered forward, collapsing on Arthur, then to the ground.
Arthur shoved himself off the wall, gasping, but brought a foot down hard on the man’s back, below where I’d hit him, and another couple into his side.
Rick stayed down.
Arthur put a hand in front of me, pushing me backward. “I said get in the car, Gwen.”
“You always needed someone else to fight for you, right?” Rick rolled onto his side, clenching his teeth. “First Uther, now your girlfriend?”
Arthur stiffened, but continued herding me toward the car. “Who are you working for?”
“You’re carrying a dangerous secret, Penn.” He didn’t move from his spot on the driveway, but clutched his side where the second or third kick had landed. “Give me what you have, and no one has to get hurt.”
“Really?” As we moved together, Arthur held his arm out, steering me toward the car. “Because they already threatened to kill her.”
Rick tried to sit up and grimaced. “I’m sure we can negotiate a mutually beneficial—”
“Not a chance, asshole.” Arthur reached his door, but didn’t get in. He must have been waiting for me.
So I got in on my side and closed the door.
Arthur immediately dropped into the driver’s seat. Blood ran from his lip, and more of it slicked his hand—his knife wound must have reopened. He threw the car into reverse.
“Seatbelt,” he said, and one breath after I had it across my chest, the Land Rover slammed into Rick’s car.
The sudden stop threw me forward against the belt. Arthur pulled forward, then rammed Rick’s car again. The sound of crunching metal was deafening, and from the side mirror, I watched Rick’s car slide this time. One more hit and the gap opened enough for Arthur to back onto the street.
He shifted into drive so fast, I was pinned against my seat. At the first turn, he banked hard, tossing me into the door.
I clutched my seatbelt for dear life. “Who was he?”
“Not now.”
“Arthur—”
“Not. Fucking. Now!”