“The study,” Eamon repeated. He had no idea where that particular room was.
“Third floor, sir.” Singleton carefully folded Eamon’s coat over his arm. “In the back of the house.”
“I will attend at once.”
Eamon’s anticipation rose as he hastened up the stairs, wondering whether Caro was inviting him into another unused chamber for more of what they’d done the other day. She could be wickedly delightful, all the while beguiling him with her innocent smile.
The memory of holding her on that chair for some of the best lovemaking of his life quickened Eamon’s pace. They could celebrate the vanquishing of Rudyard with great enjoyment.
As soon as he opened the door, he realized that Caro, though she wore the diamond and gold necklace he’d given her, had nothing of the sort in mind.
The study was small and cluttered. Bookcases filled with old and worn tomes lined the walls, and smaller shelves held similar items. None of them worth much, Eamon decided with a calculating gaze, though he’d have to examine each to be certain.
The desk Caro reposed behind was piled with ledgers and old papers that begged an efficient secretary to put in order.
Caro had four ledgers spread open before her. When she glanced up at Eamon’s entrance, did she smile in welcome? Open her arms and beg him to come to her? Even thank him for sending Rudyard packing?
No, she regarded him with impatience, excitement in her eyes.
“I’ve been waiting ages for you,” she exclaimed. “Come and look at these. I believe they are the answer to everything, but I might be wrong. I don’t know antiquities as well as you do.”
Mystified, Eamon crossed to the desk and gazed down at what lay on the ledger Caro turned around to show him.
He ceased breathing.
Glowing up at him with heart-stopping colors and the gleam of gold, was a manuscript page. Not just any manuscript page, but an illuminated gospel with a massive, decorated capital letter entwined with flowering vines and stylized serpents. Gold-leafed interlace patterns lined the margins, hailing from the centuries before William of Normandy sailed over from France to try his luck at being king.
A few Latin letters flowed after the initial capital, reawakening the language in Eamon’s brain that had been drilled into him by relentless Hallbridge tutors.
In the beginning was the Word …
It was the only line on the page, fit in among the riot of decoration. Once upon a time, a monk in a cold monastery on an Ionian island had traced these letters and drawn these glorious pictures, the colors as vivid now as they had been the day the ink had first dried.
“Gah …” Eamon’s words lodged in his throat and wouldn’t come out.
“There are more.” Caro turned back the leaves of another ledger, and another, and another, revealing pages as pristine and beautiful as the first. Some papers held more writing—one bore only a glorious initial capital—each page a tumult of color and design.
Eamon found a chair beside the desk and collapsed into it, his eyes never leaving the beauty Caro had uncovered.
“The lost gospels of St. Columba,” he whispered.
“They are real, then?” Caro asked anxiously.
“Oh, they are real.” Eamon sat up, allowing himself to touch the beautiful, ancient, and smooth vellum. “You can feel them, here.” He tapped his fist to his chest, right over his heart. “This manuscript was created on Iona in a monastery set up by St. Columba. The monastery is a ruin now and many of the pages have been lost for centuries. And your husband had them stashed here in his study?”
Caro nodded. “He used them to bookmark pages in his ledgers.”
Eamon regarded her limply. “Used them to bookmark pages …”
“They were very important pages,” Caro said, her eyes wide.
Eamon fell back into his chair again. And laughed.
He let his hands dangle over the arms of the chair as he abandoned himself to joyousness he hadn’t felt in many years.
Caro’s golden laughter joined his, the sound filling the room. It felt so good to simply laugh after so long a time of emptiness, resignation, and uncertainty.
“Are they as valuable as they look?” Caro asked when they both had regained their breaths.
