Desire Me

by Robyn DeHart

  She didn’t know how long she stood there searching every inch. It was hard to focus on her search because she was so distracted by the details within the map: Poseidon’s palace, military barracks, farms and cottages, and the three guardian temples. She forced herself to count each ring, her eyes moving along the circles searching for any words. But she found none. Then a symbol in one of the trees caught her attention. She looked closer.

  “The seven rings of Atlantis will fall by fire and steel, opening the path for the army of one.” Max’s voice came from behind her, but she stood utterly still, afraid if she moved, he’d stop. “Empires will crumble and crowns will melt. The three will lose their blood unless the dove can bring salvation.”

  The words flowed over her like an ancient incantation, as if her very soul recognized them. She braced her arms on the cabinet below only to realize it was a large glass case enclosing a long spear. It was blackened and charred. She was just turning around to face Max when his arms splayed on either side of her, anchoring her in front of the map.

  “Find what you were looking for?” he purred.

  She looked up and met his gaze. His blue eyes were so clear, so beautiful, she nearly winced. Those were the kind of eyes that could pierce a soul, find hidden secrets and unveil them with little effort. For her, that meant nothing but danger.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly. “I was merely admiring the map. It’s really quite stunning. So unique.”

  He leaned closer to her, his eyes scanning her face. “Yes, beautiful,” he said softly.

  She ducked beneath his arms and moved away from him.

  “You know about the prophecy. That’s why you wanted the map,” he said more to himself than her.

  He’d said the word “prophecy,” and her heart nearly stopped. Damn him, but he was making it nearly impossible for her to keep any secrets. She barely needed to say anything, and it was as if he could see inside her and pick out her very thoughts. Still she kept her mouth closed.

  “You were quite serious before? About your family being descendants of Atlantis?”

  “Yes, I was very serious.”

  “Then certainly you would already know of the prophecy.” He leaned forward and pointed to the clump of trees she had discovered. “It’s all there. Wound up in the map in various places.” He identified another area in one of the water rings. Another below the palace.

  She moved closer to the map, following his finger as it pointed out the inscriptions. Written in Greek, the words moved in and out of the images effortlessly. It was a wonder he had ever discovered them.

  “It took me a very long time to find them all.” He fell into his desk chair. “Why the interest in the prophecy? That’s my second question.”

  She was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Of course we know about the prophecy. But this map is the only remaining place you can see the prophecy in its entirety.” That was the complete truth, and it annoyed her how the knot in her stomach seemed to dissolve at her honesty. “It was also in an ancient text at one time, but the pages were stolen hundreds of years ago.”

  “And this is why you were after my map? To see the prophecy?”

  She took a cleansing breath, closed her eyes, and nodded. “Yes.”

  “What do you know of the recent activities here in London?” he asked.

  Activities? Could he possibly know about Madigan? Panic seized her heart. “Nothing,” she said. She stepped around the desk.

  “I think someone is trying to fulfill the prophecy,” Max said.

  She turned abruptly to face him, but she said nothing for fear of revealing too much. Instead she sank into a chair.

  “There have been murders,” he began.

  “Madigan,” she whispered. But then his words sank in. “You said murders. As in plural?”

  “Five of our military leaders. With a promise for more. I’m guessing at least two, if we’re going by the number in the prophecy,” he said.

  Military leaders, but that didn’t include Madigan. She gathered a fistful of fabric from her skirt. “A promise?”

  “He left a note. With the bodies.” He shook his head. “Damn. I’m not supposed to even know this, but I was consulted by a friend from Scotland Yard because of my interest in Atlantis.” He picked up a stray coin from his desk and rolled it between two fingers. “Does the term ‘guardian’ mean anything to you?” he asked.

  Sabine knew her expression changed, and though she quickly looked down, it seemed unlikely he wouldn’t have noticed.

  “It does.” He leaned forward. “What does it mean, Sabine?”

  “I can’t,” she said and shook her head for emphasis.

  “Whoever this guardian is, he’s in danger. Tell me what you know, and I can protect him.”

  “What do you mean, he’s in danger?” she asked.

  “The note left with the bodies was addressed to the guardian. It warned that the killer is getting close and that what he protects will soon be his.”

  Agnes and Phinneas were in danger. But she had known that. Now that she knew the prophecy, she needed the Seer’s guidance to help decipher it. She needed Phinneas. She had to leave as soon as possible.

  “Sabine, I can help. Trust me.”

  “The guardians guard the elixir,” she said before she could reconsider. She eyed his face to see if she’d said too much.

  “Elixir? What is that?” he asked. He flipped the coin in the air and caught it.

  “No.” She shook her head fervently. “I’ve said far too much already,” she said. “You’ve asked your two questions.”

  “Can you tell me how many guardians there are?” he asked. “Scotland Yard is working on the case, and I’d like to be able to have the police protect them.”

  She met his eyes. “There were three. Though only two remain.”

  All his questions brought her doubts pouring down on top of her. Seeking the help of an outsider. She was violating one of the sacred rules of her people. A guardian would never have done this—further proof the selection of Agnes had been correct, and she did not deserve to be guardian. It was a significant risk to trust him, but he knew about the map and the prophecy, information she would need in order to protect Agnes.

  She had to do what she felt was right, and at the moment, she needed this man’s assistance. So for now, she had to trust herself, and to an extent, trust Maxwell Barrett.

  Chapter Eight

  Long after Sabine had left his study, Max stood staring at the map. He’d always assumed the inscription buried within the map had been a prophecy foretelling the destruction of Atlantis. But first Justin and now Sabine. It seemed rather impossible that this could be a coincidence. The murders, the letter to the guardian, and what of Sabine and her aunts’ being descendants of Atlantis?

  Perhaps the girl was mad. Caught up in a fantasy world she’d created after reading about Atlantis. But what if? That niggling feeling dug at him. What if she wasn’t delusional? What if she was telling the truth, and not simply what she believed to be true, but the actual reality? If Sabine and her aunts were descendants of Atlantis, then that was his proof. Real flesh-and-bone people whose lineage flowed back to a land that no longer existed. Of course, there was no scientific measure to show their lineage.

  “The guardians guard the elixir,” she’d said. Elixir. It didn’t jar any memories. So much about this prophecy didn’t exist in any of his sources. Then again, in the past he’d focused on proving the existence of Atlantis. He’d paid less attention to Atlantean culture. He pulled a few books from the shelf and dropped them on his desk, including the newest from that odd American who claimed Atlantis was the birthplace of civilization. Max didn’t consider the man a true scholar on the subject, but he needed information, and right now he’d take it from nearly anyone.

  He opened another book, an ancient text written in Greek, and caught a glimpse of an illustration, a four-tiered fountain in the center of Poseidon’s palace. Som
e legends claimed that it was the fountain of youth, a wellspring of immortal life. He’d never given much thought to that theory one way or another. Was this the elixir the guardians protected?

  Again he stood and read the prophecy, even though those words were imprinted on his brain. He looked down and caught sight of the stitches on his all-but-healed gunshot wound. The pain had completely disappeared. She’d said it was an old family recipe. He just bet.

  That ointment she’d used on him was nothing short of amazing. He glanced down at the illustration of the fountain. Fountain of youth… elixir.

  “Son of a bitch.” This probably meant that one of her aunts was a guardian. Which would certainly explain the thugs at their shop the other night.

  He ran his hand over his stitches, marveling at his healing. That elixir could be the proof Marcus required for use of his submersible ship. Somehow Max needed to get his hands on it. Starting tomorrow, he would find a way to borrow some from her.

  She certainly had said all the right words to pique his curiosity. From the wager to everything she’d told him tonight, he was utterly intrigued. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she was quite likely the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  If someone were to design the perfect woman to distract him, wouldn’t she be just like Sabine, though? Beautiful, aloof, full of mysteries and contradictions. And involved with Atlantis. She was almost too perfect.

  In one swift movement, he reached over the glass case to the map and heaved the frame off the wall. It slipped from his hands as he was pulling it away and slid down. The corner of the frame struck the glass case, and it shattered. Glass fragments poured over his feet, and the noise echoed through the room.

  His butler came running into the study. “My lord, are you all right?”

  “Fine, I just broke the bloody case. Have another one commissioned next week to replace this one. We can’t have this rusty old spear exposed where someone might hurt themselves.” He grabbed the frame again and moved it over to his desk.

  He looked up to find his butler still standing in the doorway, a frown furrowing his already wrinkled brow. The old man cleared his throat. “Yes, most certainly, my lord. Anything else?”

  “No, that will be all.”

  He wasn’t normally so clumsy. He was tired. Thoughts of the little minx had certainly troubled his sleep the previous night. However, he was a grown man and could certainly manage his desires. He was less prepared for having his intellectual pursuits stymied. When he encountered a puzzle, he solved it. When he needed answers, he got them.

  Furthermore, people generally followed his orders. Sabine did not. She did whatever she damn well wanted, regardless of the consequences.

  In this instance, she’d insisted on returning to her shop, despite the obvious dangers. There was a killer on the loose, and unless Max was mistaken, the next target was one of Sabine’s aunts. Therefore, the four women should obviously accept his protection until the danger had passed. It was only logical.

  But were they here now, at his house, where they would be safe? No. They were not. They were at their shop, where unknown customers came and went throughout the day and countless bumbling thieves trespassed at night, and where their only defense was a single gun in the possession of a woman with poor aim.

  The situation was intolerable. He removed the map from the frame and folded it into his bag. He eyed his mantel clock. It was late, but damned if he would get any sleep unless he took care of this tonight. When had he become so bloody protective? She hid secrets he wanted answers to; that was his only interest, he reminded himself. That, and he wouldn’t mind getting her into his bed. He would have to go retrieve the women himself. If Sabine wouldn’t see sense, then her aunts surely would.

  Max didn’t bother going to the front door of the shop, as the store had long since closed. Instead he went directly to the back. He knocked. A moment later, Sabine opened the door.

  “You decided to knock tonight, how unusual,” she said. She did not move from the doorway or invite him inside.

  “Most amusing. Might I come in?” he asked.

  “Very well.” She stepped back then closed the door behind him. “Let us sit down here then,” Sabine said, eyeing the staircase. “I’d prefer not to worry my aunts with more talk of death and destruction.” She pulled a chair out from the small table and motioned for him to take it. Then she proceeded to clean up the supplies that were scattered across the tabletop.

  “With a murderer on the hunt for the guardians, don’t you think you and your aunts would be safer at my townhome?” he asked. “What if this man comes after them here?”

  She swung around to face him. “I never told you that one of my aunts was the guardian,” she said.

  “Do you deny that you are all in danger?”

  But she said nothing, merely pursed her lips and looked away. She continued putting away her supplies, jars and ribbons and whatnots.

  “I think it’s foolish to risk it. It would be prudent for you and your aunts to come and stay at my house for the time being,” he said.

  Again she made no comment.

  “It is quite evident that there is a killer after someone in this house; otherwise, you wouldn’t have reacted in such a manner earlier when I mentioned the guardian. I can provide appropriate security,” he said.

  She released a heavy sigh. “We have a business to run. And we are not without skill to protect ourselves.”

  “Right, the candelabra, a most effective weapon,” he said.

  “He’s right, Sabine,” Agnes said as she came down the staircase. Her two sisters followed. “We cannot ignore the prophecy.”

  “It would be nice to feel more secure,” Calliope said. “Especially with you leaving town.”

  Max sat forward. “Leaving? Where are you going?”

  Sabine glared at her aunt. “To see an old friend. Nothing to concern yourself about.”

  He might have imagined it, but he could have sworn Calliope winked at him.

  “What do you think about this, Lydia?” Sabine asked.

  “We do not belong there.” Lydia’s voice was tight.

  “Go stay in a fancy townhome full of servants and luxurious linens.” Agnes sighed dramatically. “I can see how that might be taxing.”

  Max couldn’t help himself and laughed heartily.

  “We’ll go gather our belongings,” Agnes said. “All of us.”

  “I’ll wait right here,” Max said.

  Sabine nodded, then left the room. Calliope waited until her other sisters had gone. “Tomorrow morning she’s taking the train to Cornwall. She needs protection.”

  “Consider it done,” Max said with a smile.

  The following morning Sabine stood, waiting in line, at Victoria Station. She had snuck out of Max’s townhome very early that morning to avoid detection. Currently, there was a family in front of her, a sweet couple and three young children. The smallest girl kept looking shyly at Sabine from behind a wooden doll. Sabine smiled and waved, which made the girl giggle and hide her face.

  The family received their tickets and headed off in the direction of their platform. Sabine stepped up to the ticket counter.

  “I need a ticket to Cornwall, please,” she said. She counted out her money and placed it on the counter.

  “Sorry, miss, but we’re all sold out for that train today,” the clerk told her.

  “Sold out?” Sabine eyed the schedule. “How is that possible?”

  “Yep, some bloke bought a whole train car.” He shook his head. “Never seen that before.”

  “Splendid. Well, can you tell me when the next train leaves for that area?” She had to get to Phinneas, and soon. Of course she could hire a coach, but that would likely take two days’ travel. The train would be so much faster because she wouldn’t have to stop to change horses.

  “Not until tomorrow. Sorry, miss.” He shrugged his shoulders and gave her a sheepish smile. Dimples pierced his ruddy cheeks. “Oh, look there
, that’s the bloke who bought the car.” He pointed a fat finger over her shoulder.

  She turned and found none other than Maxwell Barrett leaning against a column. He smiled and waved.

  She quickly gathered the coins she’d placed on the counter, scooping them up and dropping them into her purse. “Thank you,” she muttered to the man. Then she made her way over to Max.

  “Precisely what do you think you’re doing?” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Are you following me?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I had need to go to Cornwall, and I prefer to have my space.”

  “You knew damned well that I was going there today.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, you will have to share your space with me. And don’t think to argue with me because I won’t have it.”

  He held his arms up in defeat. “As you wish.”

  An attendant wearing a starched black uniform with matching hat met them on the platform.

  “This way, my lord. We have your car waiting for you,” he said. He led them down the arched corridor to an opulent car toward the front of the train.

  Sabine stepped up into the car. The plush seats faced one another in groups of four. Wood paneling covered nearly every other surface save the windows. Luxury in motion, though at the moment the train idled at the station.

  “If I can be of any further assistance,” the man said. When Max shook his head, the man bowed and stepped back onto the platform.

  “I did not realize one could purchase an entire train car for oneself,” Sabine said as she sat on the velvet-cushioned seat.

  “It’s not customary,” he said. He sat directly opposite her and smiled broadly.

  But he had paid for it, and now for the next several hours, they’d be completely alone. She needed to do her best to stay on guard. He was charming and devilishly handsome, and she could not afford to slip and allow his wit and seductive glances to distract her. Especially not now. He might find all of this entertaining and amusing, but for her, for her family, this was about survival.