by Robyn DeHart
She did not have time to dally with this handsome man…
She tried to ignore Max’s muscular chest and concentrate on the task at hand.
She knew how strong he was, how firm his muscles were. It was the first thing she’d noticed earlier when she’d been pressed against him beneath the stairs. She’d felt his arm tighten and tense beneath her hand as she’d pinched him to end his unwanted kiss. It mattered not that it had been a most pleasant kiss. More than pleasant, it had been world-tilting. Still, it was completely unwarranted and unwanted.
“Why were you here tonight?” she asked. His gaze slowly rose to meet hers, and the full impact of his clear blue eyes nearly stole her breath away.
“Perhaps I came for that kiss,” he said, his mouth tilting in a smile.
PRAISE FOR
SEDUCE ME
“Robyn DeHart’s vibrant characters sweep the reader into a clever and sensual romp that is not to be missed.”
—Julia London, New York Times bestselling author of The Book of Scandal
“A rousing and rollicking romantic adventure! Robyn DeHart proves that falling in love is the greatest adventure of all.”
—Teresa Medeiros, New York Times bestselling author of Some Like It Wild
“Sizzling… and enticing.”
—Publishers Weekly
“4½ Stars! TOP PICK! With strong dialogue and fast pacing, her intricate plot is brought to life by characters that leap off the pages.”
—RT Book Reviews
“With its wonderfully matched and equally stubborn protagonists, captivating plot, and subtle wit, the first in a new series, based on lost legends, by rising star DeHart is a genuine treasure itself.”
—Booklist
“5 out of 5! I loved this book!”
—TheBookGirl.net
“It is an Indiana Jones–type of adventure with thrills, legends, and romance… This first book in the Legend Hunters trilogy definitely belongs on the keeper shelf.”
—FreshFiction.com
“Robyn DeHart writes top-notch historical romances.”
—Pamela Morsi, USA Today bestselling author
“I will be looking for more to come from Ms. DeHart and I will recommend her to anyone I know.”
—RomanceJunkies.com
“Fast paced… with plenty of action.”
—Midwest Book Review
“A fun, fast read… the perfect beach read. Enjoy!”
—Historical Novels Review
“Seduce Me is a sexy, thrilling adventure story that is very reminiscent of Indiana Jones.”
—RomanceNovelTV.com
“This is one of the best historical romances I have read this year… I read the entire book in one night. (Who needs sleep?)”
—HuntressReviews.com on Seduce Me
“An enthralling tale… Readers will find themselves unable to put the book down until the last page has been turned.”
—FallenAngelReviews.com
Also by Robyn DeHart
Seduce Me
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by Robyn DeHart
Excerpt from Treasure Me copyright © 2010 by Robyn DeHart
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Forever
Hachette Book Group
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New York, NY 10017
Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.
www.twitter.com/foreverromance.
First eBook Edition: June 2010
ISBN: 978-0-446-55869-3
Forever is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing. The Forever name and logo is a trademark of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
Contents
Copyright
She did not have time to dally with this handsome man…
PRAISE FOR SEDUCE ME
Also by Robyn DeHart
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
A Preview of Treasure Me
Prologue
THE DISH
To Kathleen Woodiwiss, Amanda Quick, Teresa Medeiros, and Johanna Lindsey, you are the reason I started writing historical romance, and what an amazing ride this is. Thank you for the wonderful stories.
And to Paul for more reasons than I can count, but mostly because you always think I’m beautiful even when I’m neck deep in a deadline and I haven’t put on real clothes in days. And for always saying, “You can do this.” I love you, baby.
Acknowledgments
Most good books are a collaboration of sorts, so I would be remiss if I did not thank several people. To my critique/brainstorming partners Emily and Hattie, I honestly don’t know what I’d do without y’all. You’re always there when I need to bounce around some ideas. I hear the beach calling. To my husband, Paul, who has always been a great supporter and fan of my work, you had some great ideas for this book. Thanks for sharing your brilliance. My amazing editors, Amy and Alex, who patiently hold my hand while offering feedback I so desperately need. You push me to be the writer I need to be. A huge thank you to Claire Brown and the rest of the GCP art department—y’all are unbelievable and so talented it’s ridiculous. Thank you for creating such beautiful covers for me and my characters. And last, but certainly not least, my wonderfully charming agent, Christina Hogrebe, who has talked me down off more bridges than I can count. You are a gem and I love working with you. Thanks for everything.
Prologue
On the coast of Cornwall, 1873
Maxwell Barrett lit his lantern, then moved into the damp cave. Behind him, he could hear the waves beating against the rock that surrounded the opening of the cavern. He didn’t have much time. It was that reason alone that drove him forward at this swift pace. Otherwise he would have meandered, investigating every nook and cranny he could reach. But he only had two hours before the tide rose to once again cover the entrance to the cave.
Two hours before he would drown.
Unless he had miscalculated, and then perhaps he had even less time. Either way, he needed to get in there and find the map, then get the hell to dry land.
The cave appeared and disappeared with the tides, which was why it had taken him nearly four months to locate the blasted area, and still it remained to be seen whether he’d find what he had sought for the past two years.
Beneath his boots, the uneven rocks—slick with moss and water—made his journey all the more harrowing. He’d slipped several times already, but he held firm to his lantern and kept moving forward. He knew he was right about this cave, he could feel it.
Today he would find the map of Atlantis.
He skidded across a wet stone, his weight
shifted, and he fell hard upon one knee. The rock sliced through his wool trousers, biting into his flesh. Fortunately, he managed to avoid shattering the lantern. Max got to his feet and inhaled sharply.
He could do this. Hell, when he was fifteen, he’d found a long-forgotten buried treasure of a pirate queen. He was seventeen now. He propelled himself forward, careful where he stepped. Still, it was Atlantis… finding the one and only map to the lost continent would certainly prove that Plato’s writings were fact and not fiction. If he did that, his parents would truly notice. Everyone would have to take notice.
Long stalactites reached down to him like ancient fingers. Max bent and twisted to avoid impaling himself, but he kept moving forward. Always forward. Still he could hear the waves behind him, like an hourglass reminding him he had a finite amount of time.
The deeper he traveled, the more constricted the air became. He sucked in a breath; his nose filled with the chalky scent that could only be found in earth’s little crevices. His heart beat wildly.
The tunnel before him split. The walls of the cave pulled in and formed two paths. One was big enough for him to continue walking, though crouched over; the other was not even large enough for a small child to pass through. The choice was made for him. The Atlanteans who had ventured here before him to hide the map certainly would have used the larger passage.
Still he hesitated.
The stalactites were a reminder that flowing water could grow rocks as well as break them down. He hoped time had not changed the constant flowing water and narrowed the correct path, thus forcing him in the wrong direction.
Only one way to find out. Max felt along the rock wall with one hand, and with the other, he held the lantern in front of him, though the pitiful amount of light made the exercise seem almost worthless. Beneath his fingers, the stone was cool and wet. Something slithered under his palm, and he jerked back his hand.
Again the area narrowed, so much that, in order to continue, he had to turn sideways. Drowning would certainly be a most dreadful way to perish, but drowning in this constricted channel would be even worse. He picked up his pace, unable to run, but moving quickly through the stone passage. The rock at his back brushed through his hair as he moved, and the stones in front of him would skin his nose if he wasn’t careful.
The darkness ahead of him grew thicker and blacker as he hiked farther into the cave. Finally the crevice he’d been moving through opened back up. He took a step, but found only air beneath his boot. His balance shifted, and he leaned forward, nearly falling, but he was able to grab the cavern wall to his right to steady himself.
He found himself standing on the ledge of an underground lake. He held the lantern out and bent over to peer into the pool. It was difficult to see, but the water must be several feet below him, and while it was not a fall that would likely result in death, he’d prefer not to test the fates.
The ledge encircled the water, and he could tell that the area to his right was far narrower than the one to his left. So Max moved to the left and followed the rim around. The opening he’d climbed through was the only break in the cavern’s wall around the lake, at least as far as he could see.
According to his research, this cave should lead him to where the Atlanteans had hidden their map. Everything he’d read indicated it would be sealed, dry in the midst of water. Max looked up, trying his best to scan the ceiling of the cavern. It seemed highly improbable that someone had climbed to the top, because the walls were slick with moisture. And there didn’t appear to be any legitimate hiding places above to stash anything.
Dim lantern light glanced off the walls, enough for him to see the shape of his own hand, but not much more. So it was possible more lay ahead of him. He kept moving.
The ledge narrowed. Nearly his entire boot hung off the edge; only a small sliver of his heel remained supported. He pressed his back against the cavern wall and slid himself across the small ridge. Suddenly the glow from his lantern revealed a large chunk of quartz, creating an eerie bluish light.
It was here, in this angle and in that lapis glow, that his lantern reflected off something in the center of the lake. A wooden pedestal jutted out from the water, and sitting atop it was some sort of container.
His heart quickened. That had to be it. The map was hidden in there. He was seconds away from slipping his feet off the ledge to jump into the lake when he noticed something moving in the water. He slid over to his right to position himself on a sturdier section of the ledge, and he once again bent forward with his lantern in hand.
There in the water drifted a decaying body. Nearly down to the bones, the corpse wore clothes that were shredded and hung like an ill-fitted suit. It swayed back and forth in a macabre dance of death. Through the abdomen of the man was a wooden spike. Then Max noticed several other similar spikes of different sizes and heights scattered around the wooden pedestal.
If Max had jumped, or fallen, into the water, that could be him now, skewered on a pole, waiting to bleed to death.
He stood up straight. “Interesting.”
Without a bridge from this ledge, how was he supposed to get to the map without skewering himself on the spikes? He looked around, scanning his surroundings for any material he might be able to use. Nothing.
The sound of water falling drew his attention to the crevice he’d crawled out of. Water spilled out of it, draining into the lake below. He watched as the dead body continued to undulate in the dark liquid.
Therein lay Max’s answer. The only way to get to that pedestal without impaling himself was to allow the lake to fill up until it reached the platform. Waiting that long, though, would significantly decrease his odds of getting back out of the cave alive.
There didn’t appear to be another way. It came down to two choices: walk away from the map and therefore any proof of the lost continent, or risk his life in hopes of creating fact out of fiction. He inhaled slowly and straightened his shoulders. If there was one truth about Maxwell Barrett—it was that he was relentless in his search.
He would get that map today or he would die trying.
Max had left his pocket watch on the shore when he swam to the cave’s opening so he had no true measure of time. However, nearly two feet of empty space stretched from the top of the water to the pedestal. So he guessed it would take close to thirty minutes for the lake to fill. He was a strong swimmer. He would have enough time, and he would make it out of here alive.
No spikes pierced the water immediately below him. Slowly he lowered himself from the ledge into the pool, the cold ocean water chilling him instantly. He trod water trying, in vain, to acclimate himself to the frigid water. Just a little more depth in the pool, and he could make his move.
He ignored the temperature and swam toward the pedestal. Water was now pouring over the ledge more rapidly. The surge of water pulled the dead man into the murky depths, but he bubbled back to the surface after a moment. A handful of spikes still breached the surface, but the water had swallowed most of them. He did his best to navigate around them. He accidentally kicked one with the tip of his boot, then swam right into another one. A sharp tip scraped across his shin, tearing through his trousers and cutting his leg. Age had done nothing to dull the danger of the wooden spikes.
With considerable concentration, he made his way to the center pole that held up the wooden platform. There was enough water in the pool now that he could heave himself up to reach the pedestal. Gazing down upon his treasure at last, shivering slightly in the cold, he held his breath, not quite believing his eyes. Upon closer inspection, Max could see that the container in the center was a glass tube. He tried to pry it off, twist it, pull it—anything to remove it from its resting place—but it would not budge.
He’d come too far to give up now. With a swift movement, he slammed his fist into the side of the glass, and it shattered. He retrieved the leather package, tucked it inside his shirt, and then jumped into the water, ignoring the cuts on his hand. He came within an
inch of hitting another spike. There was no time to be relieved, though; the water surged around him and soon the path he’d taken here would be completely submerged.
Quickly he climbed back onto the ledge and made his way back to the thin crevice he’d followed to the pool. The elevated water hit him just below his waist as he slid back the way he’d come, though this time with no lantern to guide him. He’d left it behind when he’d jumped into the pool, and there’d been no time to retrieve it.
Water lapped at his belt. Panic pulled at him with bony fingers of dread. He pushed the fear aside and moved forward, but his pace was sluggish as he fought against the water’s current. Eventually, though, he made it out of the tight crevice and back into the main part of the cave, just as the water reached his shoulders.
A wave crashed against the opening to the cave, and a moment later, as water surged in past him, he nearly lost his footing. He sucked in a huge breath as the water surrounded and consumed him.
Max swam.
Against the current and with the waves slamming into him, he swam with every ounce of strength he had. His lungs burned and screamed for air as he fought the water. Salt stung his eyes as he searched for light at the surface.
Finally he breached the surface and gasped for breath.
Yes, he could have given up and let death take him in that cave, but then he’d be as nameless as the corpse back in that lake. Finding this map would put his name on the lips of everyone in England.
He allowed the waves to rock into him as he floated and concentrated on breathing. A minute later, he was swimming again; this time to the rocks that climbed up to the shoreline above.
The cliff bit into his hand as he struggled up to the land. His damp clothes weighed him down, and the exertion from the swim had wearied his legs, but still he kept pulling himself upward. Ten minutes or so later, he stood at the top, his breathing labored and his heart pounding. He was exhausted, but exhilarated as well. He might very well have just changed history.