Desire Me

by Robyn DeHart

“Since we know very little of the prophecy,” Sabine began, “it has been challenging to prepare. But we know the Chosen One will rise and attempt to steal the elixir, thus destroying the guardians.” Sabine sat forward. “And, of course, we know the dangers of misusing the elixir.”

  Sabine paused while Madigan nearly collapsed in a coughing fit. He took a large gulp of whiskey, then nodded for her to continue.

  “Are you certain there is nothing we can offer you?” Sabine asked. “Surely you must know that Agnes is the Healer.” Perhaps he did not trust their abilities. No doubt word had spread about what had happened to Sabine’s father. It had taken years before anyone in her village had trusted the Healer again.

  “No, please continue,” he said.

  “We know that the Chosen One has a way to detect our presence, somehow sensing those who have used the elixir. So as a precaution, I came up with a way for us to hide in plain sight,” Sabine said. “Obviously, we can do nothing to hide ourselves or the fact that we’re exposed to the elixir. But we can change those around us. We’re selling the elixir,” Sabine said.

  Madigan straightened as best he could; a deep frown creased his brow. “Have you gone mad? That’s an invitation for danger,” Madigan said, then turned to her aunts. “How could you let her do this? You’ll lead him right to your door.”

  “We are not fools,” Sabine said. She reached over to Calliope, who handed her one of the glass jars. “It is no different than the healing concoctions, and we are very careful with the measurements.” She set it on the table in front of him.

  “‘Tobias Miracle Crème for the Face,’” Madigan read. “Are you quite serious?”

  She said nothing more, but sat quietly while he thought on what she’d told him. So far her aunts had said nothing. This had been her idea, a plan to protect Agnes. They had thought long and hard before agreeing and setting the plan in motion. Now, several months later, their products were successful, and the elixir was slowly being spread across London.

  He uncorked the lid, then held the jar of crème to his nose and inhaled. With the tip of one finger, he withdrew a small amount and rubbed it onto his arm. “It absorbs into their skin,” he muttered. His brown gaze lifted to meet hers. “So to him, we all look the same.”

  She nodded. “We also have other products. In fact, we’ve become somewhat of a sensation in the last few weeks. Society, it would seem, has taken notice.”

  “How much elixir do you use in each jar?” Madigan asked.

  “One single drop,” Agnes said.

  “I suppose the women in town are loving how well it dispels their wrinkles,” Madigan said.

  “Precisely,” Agnes said. “The more they use it, the more it throws him off our scent, so to speak.”

  Madigan was quiet for a few moments, then he nodded. “That’s brilliant. I had wondered why you’d relocated to London. It’s rather unorthodox for guardians to abandon their village.”

  “For their protection,” Sabine said. She’d known it was a risk to move Agnes away from their people, but it would have been an even greater risk to stay. They’d made arrangements for their people to come and retrieve the healing ointments and tonics and bring them back to the village.

  “Madigan, I don’t understand how you know the prophecy has begun. Have you spoken with Phinneas recently?” Agnes asked. “He has not mentioned it in his letters.”

  “No, not in the last month or two,” he said.

  Lydia stepped forward. “Did you find the map?”

  Generations of their people had searched for the map of Atlantis, as it was the only remaining place to find the prophecy in its entirety. But their hunts had been futile.

  “Not precisely found it, but I have located it,” Madigan said, then he coughed, a chest-rattling, body-racking cough that resulted in his wiping blood from his mouth.

  “Madigan, why have you not taken some of your elixir to clear your lungs?” Sabine asked. “Or allowed Agnes to assist you; she’s a wonderful healer.”

  “I told you, it is far too late for me.” He shook his head and was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “I couldn’t stop him. He hit me over the head, knocked me out. He took it.”

  “The elixir?” Lydia said.

  Madigan simply nodded.

  “How long have you been without it?” Agnes asked.

  “More than a day,” he said. Then shook his head. “I don’t know how long I was out, so I’m really not certain how long. I was so careful.” He gripped Agnes’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It has begun then,” Calliope said.

  That was why Madigan looked so ill. If a guardian lost his elixir and did not recover it within two days’ time, he would perish. She had seen it happen before with her own mother. It was a mystical connection that even Sabine did not understand, but there were some facts that you simply did not question.

  “Give him some of your elixir,” Sabine suggested.

  He shook his head. “Elixir won’t work for me now, at least none but my own. Besides, she needs her own.” He met Sabine’s eyes. “She’s the important one.” His breathing was labored and raspy. “I used my time getting here to warn you. Phinneas can look after himself. Though I did send him a message to warn him.”

  “What do we need to do?” Sabine asked. Whatever it took, she would do it to ensure Agnes and the rest of her aunts were safe. She would not lose anyone else. Madigan had used precious time to come and warn them instead of pursuing his own elixir. She owed him her gratitude.

  “You need the entire prophecy,” Madigan said. “You must have it to have any hope of destroying the Chosen One.”

  “The map,” Sabine said. “You said you located it.”

  He coughed again, took another sip of the whiskey, then released a weary breath. “A man, an Englishman, found it many years ago. He still has it now.”

  “Phinneas’s vision was right,” Agnes said. “He said a great one would find the map and lead the way to our salvation.”

  Madigan reached into his coat and withdrew a folded piece of parchment. “I’ve given you his name and address. Unfortunately that is all the information I have on him.” He placed his hand over Sabine’s. “It is imperative that you get that prophecy. Without the map, you have no hope of surviving the Chosen One.”

  Sabine made no move to unfold the paper once he’d placed it in her hand. He’d given her this task. He was trusting her to retrieve the one thing her people had sought for years. She kept her eyes on the man in front of her. He was a few breaths away from dying.

  “How long have you known about this?” she asked. “About the man who has possession of our map?”

  “Not long. Initially I only knew it was an Englishman. It took me awhile to uncover his identity,” Madigan said.

  “Will he sell it to us?” she asked.

  “No. I already tried that a couple of months ago,” Madigan said. He grabbed her hand. “You can do this. We must have the prophecy.”

  Sabine swallowed.

  He eyed her aunts. “We have no other choice.”

  Madigan had died that night in their storeroom, a most painful and terrible death. As a girl, Sabine had watched her mother die and now another guardian had perished. She would do whatever was necessary to keep Agnes safe.

  So she did what any lady in need would do. She hid in a darkened carriage outside the gentleman’s home and waited for him to go out for the evening. She knew he planned to go out, as he’d readied a carriage for himself an hour earlier.

  Madigan’s note had not given her much information about the Englishman in question, one Maxwell Barrett, Marquess of Lindberg. She knew where he lived and she knew that he had in his possession the legendary map of Atlantis. Madigan had been studying Mr. Barrett for a couple of months, but as it turned out the man was rather mysterious.

  Madigan had said the man would not entertain bids to purchase the map, which left her with two choices—she could break into the man’s home and, in effect,
steal the map. Technically she could make an argument that the map belonged to her and her people, yet she doubted that she would make much headway with the authorities should she get pinched.

  Or she could try to persuade him to allow her a peek. The latter seemed infinitely preferable to a small prison cell. One could not protect the world from a prophesied disaster if one were trapped in prison. But if tonight’s efforts proved to be a complete failure, then she would certainly reconsider the theft. A woman had to do what a woman had to do.

  He was a member of London’s illustrious Society; certainly that meant he was a reasonable fellow. She simply needed to make the gentleman’s acquaintance. Tonight seemed as good a night as any, plus she didn’t appear to have the luxury of time on her hands. If the ancient prophecy had already begun, then the hourglass had been turned, and the grains of sand were swiftly falling around her. Without the prophecy in its entirety, Madigan was right, they were basically fighting blindfolded.

  If she were to persuade a man to do her bidding, she knew there were certain distractions she could use to her advantage. One was beauty. Though she had never been particularly comfortable playing the role of seductress, she had done her best to dress the part tonight. She’d donned a gown the English would deem appropriately attractive, an ivory gown sewn of the most luxurious of silks. It fit her perfectly, which in itself was remarkable considering she’d purchased it from the display in the shop’s window. The cap sleeves edged with delicate lace revealed her upper arms. Then from fingertip to elbow, she wore matching satin gloves. The gown’s plunging neckline lifted and squeezed her breasts until they were practically bursting through the material.

  She’d also had Calliope do her hair up in light wispy curls that barely brushed her shoulders, just hinting at their softness. She very much looked the part of a proper English lady. She fidgeted with the necklace hanging around her neck. To others, it would appear to be a simple gold chain, but hanging from the necklace, and hidden beneath the bodice of her gown, was a crystal vial with a small amount of elixir. Agnes had given it to her months ago and instructed her to keep it with her always.

  From her vantage point, she saw a man in a greatcoat, the black wool stretched across his broad shoulders. He put on a top hat as he stepped off the last stair and into the waiting coach. Then it rolled out of the driveway. She instructed her driver to follow.

  She hadn’t yet figured out how she would sneak into the ball or soiree, or wherever he was going, without a proper invitation. Perhaps her lovely dress and a well-placed smile would grant her admission. She kept her eye on the carriage so she did not lose her man. But her driver stayed close. She wished she’d seen his face, though, as it seemed unlikely she would recognize him in a crowd. All men of wealth wore similar coats and hats.

  It took less than twenty minutes for them to pull up outside a three-story redbrick building. The man walked up to the black door and entered. Sabine noted there were no identifying markers indicating the type of establishment, though she assumed from the neighborhood that this was a business and not a residence.

  The street was quiet as she stepped down from her rig. Nerves fluttered wildly in her abdomen, and she pressed a gloved hand against her stomach to calm herself. Now was not the time for her to feel anxious.

  She had a job to do; it was plain and simple. With a pinch of her cheeks and a tight nibble at her lips to pinken them, she made her way to the door. She would mill about, watch for a while, then find the gentleman in question. The heavy door opened, and Sabine found herself standing in a smoke-filled gaming establishment.

  She nearly scoffed. The most prized artifact of Atlantis was in the hands of a gambler. She had half a mind to be utterly incensed, but perhaps this could work to her favor. With that thought, she went in search of the marquess.

  Chapter Two

  Max picked up his hand and glanced at the cards, a lousy combination that on its own would win nothing. It was why he loved this American game—for the bluffing. Even with a mediocre hand of cards, he could win.

  His table mates were a motley crew, and he had very little difficulty deciphering when they held good hands or when they knew they would lose. Two of the older gentlemen had made excuses and left the table when the betting had increased. Now only four remained. A grizzled man with a full shock of white hair and a voice deep and cracked. A young man, perhaps one could even consider him still a boy, as not even a hint of whiskers appeared on his chin. And the Earl of Chilton sat across from Max, a fine opponent when he wasn’t drinking. Tonight, though, the man had had one too many sips.

  The fourth player was, by far, the most interesting. A woman, dressed in a cream-colored confection with a plunging neckline that left very little to his well-developed imagination. She was the kind of woman one expected to see across a candlelit ballroom surrounded by suitors, not in a smoke-filled gaming hell surrounded by drunken fools. With her lustrous, mahogany-colored hair and her warm caramel eyes, she was nothing short of stunning. Though her darker complexion led him to believe she wasn’t originally from England, she had no accent to give him a hint of her homeland.

  Though he’d never seen her before, she certainly looked like a refined lady, but he wasn’t completely convinced. While she had the mannerisms down and the look just right, something was different about her. And he knew he had never seen her before, as she was not the sort of woman a man forgot.

  Initially Max had found her distracting, but after losing to her two hands in a row, he’d straightened his seat and kept his eyes off her tempting cleavage.

  Though she had won more hands than most of the men at the table that night, she was not an accomplished player. However, she proved, at times, difficult to read, almost as if she were an actress slipping into a role, and while in character, she became charming, flirtatious, and daring. But every now and then a veil would slip over her eyes, and Max would catch a glimpse of insecurity. He had yet to decide whether that was from the cards she held or something else.

  “I raise,” she said, her voice a warm, fluid honey. She arched a perfect eyebrow in his direction. “My lord,” she said.

  Max glanced around the table. He knew from Chilton’s smug expression that the man had a good hand. The old man had already laid down his hand, as had the young one. But what cards did the pretty miss hold?

  “Such a temptress,” Max said, never taking his eyes off her as he dropped his coins into the betting pool. “I’ll call your wager.”

  Chilton’s brow furrowed, and he grumbled something incoherent, then backed out of the game. Evidently his hand, as good as it may have been, did not give the inebriated man enough confidence.

  They had another quick round of betting before the dealer called for their hands, and Max flipped over his cards. Two pair to her three of a kind.

  “The lady wins,” the man said.

  With delicate gloved fingers, she scooped the coins in her direction, then stacked them neatly.

  Chilton stood. “Enough of this foolish game for me.” He eyed the lady at the table, then looked at Max. “You’ve got a lovely playmate tonight, Lindberg. I believe I’ll retire for the evening,” he said as he slipped away, though Max spotted him finding a new chair at a different game four tables over.

  Max collected his new hand and eyed the cards. As if they had been dealt by a deity, Max looked down on four kings.

  Again the other two gentlemen folded, leaving the hand down to Max and the lady, the mysterious and lovely woman with the caramel-colored eyes. This time, though, he could not lose. He had a brilliant hand.

  She picked up a few coins, then paused over the center pot, glancing at her cards before slowly raising her gaze to his. “A different wager, perhaps.”

  Intrigued, Max nodded. “What did you have in mind?” Immediately his mind conjured images of all the sinful acts he could do to her body upon this very table. It would take hours for him to explore every delectable curve. He’d start at that sweet spot directly below her
ear along the column of her neck. Then he’d work his way down.

  “Your map, Maxwell Barrett. I only want the map.” Her words came out slow and deliberate.

  Ah, she knew who he was, and she knew about his map.

  It was no great secret that he hid away. Still, he’d never broadcast it across Society. What would have been the point? It was popular to go in hunt of treasure or artifacts, but there was no scientific proof of the existence of Atlantis.

  He’d once thought the map would be the ultimate proof, but no one except the men of Solomon’s had paid much attention to his discovery. So now the relic simply hung on his wall. Why the interest now? And how had she known?

  Women talked, he knew that. And he’d had more than his fair share of women. And on occasion, he’d had one of them bent over his desk, though he wouldn’t have guessed many would give much thought to an old map. It would be quite the knock to his pride that one of those women might have noticed any element of his decor when he’d assumed they were more pleasantly engaged. The idea nearly made him chuckle.

  It was on his tongue to inquire how she’d heard of his map, but more important was why she wanted it. “What does a beautiful woman such as yourself want with a dusty old map?” he asked.

  She smiled, and it transformed her face from merely lovely into something much more. Her sheer beauty was like a kick in the gut.

  She tugged on one of her satin gloves. “Perhaps I’m a scholar. Like yourself,” she said with a delicately arched eyebrow.

  “I’m an adventurer, not a scholar.” If she legitimately knew anything about him, she’d know that. “And you don’t look any more like a scholar than I do.”

  Her shoulders shifted so subtly, one could hardly consider the movement a shrug. “Then perhaps I’m merely curious. Do you accept the wager or not?” she asked.

  Max looked back at his cards, then slowly slid his gaze up to her. “Tell me your name.”

  She nodded. “Sabine Tobias,” she said.

  Somehow in the midst of their exchange, a crowd had developed around their table. Low whispers flitted around as well as the occasional jab directed at Max. If Max wasn’t mistaken, a side wager had been established on who was going to win their hand. That was the one thing you could be certain of in Rand’s Gaming, people were always looking for a wager.