by Robyn DeHart
As Sabine crossed in front of him to one of the display shelves, he placed a hand on her shoulder. Suddenly it was as if all the air in the room had been removed. His warm fingers held tightly to her sensitive skin, and she knew he could feel her pulse racing beneath his touch.
She pulled free. “Sir, I do not know you and would prefer you not handle me in such a manner.”
A few customers shot them questioning looks.
“I do wish you’d leave,” she whispered.
He chuckled. “Not before you tell me why you were after my map.”
With less grace than she would have liked, she stepped away from him. “There is nothing to tell. I have a fondness for maps. You could say I’m a collector. I heard you had a rare one in your possession.” She shrugged and hoped she looked casual. “ ’Tis all.”
His eyebrows quirked. “You would have me believe you are merely a simple shopkeeper with an interest in an extraordinary map?”
She was nothing but a simple shopkeeper. That he thought her more both thrilled and saddened her. “Yes, indeed, quite simple.”
Tonight while he was out, no doubt losing more of his fortune in frivolous games, she would sneak into his house and take what was rightfully hers.
“And you just happened to learn about my map?”
“Purely by luck,” she lied.
He eyed her suspiciously, clearly not believing her poor attempt at deception.
“Pardon me, ma’am,” a woman said. “I have a question about these products.”
“I’ll be right with you,” Sabine said, then turned her attention back to Max. “I have customers to attend to. If you’ll excuse me.” Sabine stepped away and gave the woman her attention, but she remained oh-so-aware of Max’s presence. When she glanced back to where he’d been standing, he was gone. He’d vanished with a stealth she found unsettling.
The customer, who realized Sabine was no longer listening to her, cleared her throat loudly. “Is something wrong, miss?” the woman asked when Sabine turned back to her.
“No, it was nothing.” Sabine forced a smile.
Max was a distraction she could not afford. She could only hope that’s all he was, for she had the feeling he would be a most formidable foe.
Cassandra St. James climbed into her carriage with a smile on her face. She opened one jar and inhaled the rich herbal scent. There were definite hints of rosemary and jasmine, perhaps lavender, but she was unsure. With the end of one polish-tipped finger, she scooped a bit of the crème and smeared it across her cheek. The luxurious crème slid over her skin, absorbing immediately.
She had heard the gossip around town about the new beauty crème and had noticed a marked difference in several of her friends’ complexions. But this could be even better than she’d hoped. This could be what she’d been searching for—the fountain of youth, jarred, and on sale in the heart of London.
What other reason would Maxwell Barrett have for being in such a shop? He would never purchase such a personal gift for another man’s wife. No, his presence there could mean only one thing.
Atlantis: that mythical land that he had once told her had been the home to the fountain of youth. Somehow that Tobias woman had made the ultimate discovery, and Cassandra would definitely uncover whatever beauty secret the woman hid.
She was an odd woman, dressing in a boring, ill-fitted gown of gray wool. Yet somehow, instead of making the woman appear drab and dull, the steel-colored dress had contrasted nicely with her darker complexion. Her dress, though, was not what interested Cassandra.
She had to find a way to get into that shop to see what ingredients that woman was hiding. If she had found the Atlantis secret to eternal beauty, Cassandra wanted it for herself.
Tonight she would send Johns and his men to see what they could find.
Chapter Three
What was the lovely Sabine Tobias hiding?
She was a woman of mystery. Last night at the poker game, she’d been a temptress. Her dress had been daring with its plunging neckline. Yet today when he’d gone into her shop, she’d been dressed plainly, though her thick chestnut locks had been unbound, draped around her shoulders. Rather inappropriate for a young woman, though Max found it utterly appealing.
If she wouldn’t be forthcoming with him about why she wanted his map, he’d find out on his own. There were other ways to uncover such information. But for the time being, he had decided a little covert investigation of his own was the appropriate choice.
Which was why he was currently hiding in the darkened alleyway behind Miss Tobias’s shop. He withdrew a tool from his pocket and slid the sharp point into the keyhole of the shop’s back door. A few moments of maneuvering the piece, and he heard the lock give way. He pushed open the door, and it moved without a sound.
The room was dark and quiet and clearly served as a storeroom. He stood still for a moment, allowing his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. Fortunately, the two windows against the back wall allowed enough light to give adequate visibility.
It was a tidy space, sparsely furnished. A large shelf lined the far wall and various ingredients and empty jars crowded the surface. Herbs tied in bunches were hung to dry above the windows. Ahead of him was the curtained doorway to the front of the store, and on either side of that doorway were some cupboards. To his left was a stairwell. His preliminary research indicated it would lead up to the living quarters above, where Sabine and her aunts had resided for the past seven months. It was not an uncommon practice among merchants.
Max moved farther into the room. He wasn’t even certain what he searched for specifically. But Sabine Tobias must know something about Atlantis. Why else would she be so secretive about her desire for his map?
He knew there were other people, besides himself, who sought the lost land. Some searched for treasure, as it was said that Poseidon had built the entire central palace out of gold. Some searched for ancient texts with secrets to medical cures, because Atlanteans were rumored to have achieved advancements in all areas of science. Still others sought the fountain of youth or healing waters that were rumored to flow through the canals in Atlantis.
Max, though, wanted it all. He wanted to find the actual city. Just as Pompeii had been lost beneath mounds of ash, so he believed Atlantis survived beneath the waters of the Atlantic Ocean. He was not foolish enough to believe it would have remained unscathed. Water erosion certainly would have altered much of the rumored land. But something existed below the surface, and he intended to find it.
He couldn’t resist pursuing the possibility that there was a new clue, especially not when it came wrapped in the tantalizing package that was Miss Tobias.
He crept forward to better examine the items on the shelves. Along with dried herbs and oils, he found lanolin and glycerin and all other manner of ingredients. A basket of ribbons sat next to the empty jars.
What was the crème Cassandra had purchased? Some fashion of smoothing crème. And Sabine wanted his map. She, too, sought treasure, though of a different sort. She was after the fountain of youth; that had to be why she’d come in search of him.
He continued sifting through the shelves, but there were no secret texts or books or anything that would hint at what Sabine might know of the map.
Thus far his search had been futile. He should probably turn and leave. Chances were if Sabine had something to hide, she kept it upstairs in the living quarters, and he couldn’t risk sneaking up there. But he’d never been able to walk away from a worthy puzzle, and it would seem that Sabine Tobias might be the most interesting mystery he’d come across in a long while.
He took steps toward the front of the shop. Perhaps there would be something hidden in those cupboards. The floor creaked beneath his weight. He stilled. There was yet another noise.
The doorknob jiggled from behind him. Someone else was trying to get in. Perhaps Miss Tobias returning home late from another game of chance? Quickly Max moved to the other side of the stairwell and hid in
the narrow cubby beneath.
The door jerked open, and two men lumbered in. Max could hear a third voice outside the door. Three men, one outside to keep watch. Sabine Tobias’s shop was certainly gaining in popularity. What a pity he hadn’t thought to bring along a couple of thugs himself. Max withdrew farther into the shadows.
If he hadn’t been certain before that Sabine Tobias was hiding something, now it seemed quite evident. From beneath the stairwell, Max couldn’t see much of what the men were doing, but he could make out a few words of their hurried whispers. They didn’t sound educated, and they didn’t seem to know specifically what they were searching for. They’d obviously been hired to break into the shop. In Max’s experience, “employees” of that nature were highly unreliable. They took no personal interest in their assignments and generally proved to be rather unmotivated. Not to mention a bit dim. No doubt their search would not be thorough.
Max settled his back against the wall, prepared to simply wait them out. However, when the stairs above him shifted slightly, Max moved to the edge of the cubby to get a better glimpse. Delicate, pale ankles attached to feminine bare feet crept down the steps.
Bloody hell! Miss Tobias. Did the woman have no sense at all? What was she doing sneaking down to investigate? Surely she did not intend to fight off would-be thieves in nothing more than her nightrail.
He craned his neck, looking for the thugs in the unlit storeroom. Thank goodness, they were busy rifling through the cupboards. He positioned himself, and once the lady came within reach, he clamped a hand across her mouth and pulled her into his hiding place. Her muffled protests were punctuated by those delicate feet kicking into his shins. He stifled a groan of his own.
He turned her around to face him, careful not to uncover her mouth. Sabine Tobias stared up at him, her eyes wide and angry. He frowned at her, then leaned close to her ear.
“Kick me again, love, and I’ll let the wastrels get you,” he warned in a whisper.
Her lovely, expressive face tensed.
He nodded to the noise around the corner from them, then pulled them farther into the darkness beneath the stairs, thankful that the thugs were making enough noise to cover the sounds of his own struggle with the little minx. Idiots to think they wouldn’t be discovered, making all that racket.
He put one finger up to his lips. “Shhh.” Once she nodded, he removed his hand from her mouth. But he made no move to release her. She had enough fire in her to do something foolish in the name of bravery. If she let on to their hiding place, she could get them both hurt. He’d taken on two men in a fight before, but three was asking a bit much. So he held her firmly against him.
While he wasn’t visually able to enjoy Sabine’s flimsy nightgown, pressing her this close against him left little to his imagination. She was plump where a woman should be, rounded hips, lush breasts, soft bottom. He tightened his grip on her narrow waist, enjoying the feel of her soft curves. She smelled of fresh herbs and warm bread and felt just as delicious. He inhaled slowly.
One of the men ran into a shelf and a glass fell to the floor, shattering. Sabine sucked in a harsh breath and nearly said something.
Far be it from Max to miss an opportunity. So with that thought, he threaded his other hand into the back of her lustrous hair and pulled her face to his. A moment later, he tasted her just as he’d done the night before. This time, though, her soft lips opened, probably more from shock than desire, but an invitation was an invitation.
He deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue between her gently parted lips. She tasted of chocolate and cinnamon. He’d intended only to kiss and quiet her, but the feel of her made desire surge through his legs and into his groin.
Her hand slowly slid up his arm. He cupped her bottom and pulled her closer, pressing her to him. Then she pinched the skin at his bicep. It was not enough pain to cause much damage, but he did jerk back from her.
She glared up at him, then opened her mouth to say something.
But before she could, the man at the door stuck his head in. “Hurry.”
If the man had looked a little to his left, he would have been able to see the white of Sabine’s nightgown billowing out from beneath the stairs. Max grabbed the fabric and cinched it by her hip. No doubt her lovely leg was nearly completely revealed, but at least her nightgown was no longer waving surrender from beneath the stairs.
“We go upstairs,” another of the men said in a harsh whisper. “We haven’t found nothing yet.” He started up the staircase.
A choked sound squeaked from Sabine’s throat. Her eyes widened with fear, and her mouth formed two silent words, “My aunts.”
Bloody hell! Looked as if he was going to have to take a chance with those odds after all.
Max grabbed both of Sabine’s arms and switched their places. “Stay,” he whispered. Then he crept out from his hiding place and grabbed the leg of the man on the lower stair. Max pulled sharply. The thin man fell onto the stairs, hitting his head on the hard wood. The other man turned and ran back down the stairs, heading straight for Max.
It took one solid blow to the man’s nose to bring him down. Blood sprayed as the bone and cartilage shifted.
“You broke my nose,” he howled. “You son of a bitch.”
“Watch out,” Sabine cried.
But it wasn’t enough warning for the punch to Max’s left kidney. Pain radiated up his back and down his hip. He groaned, but shook it off and turned to meet his assailant. Another punch headed his way, but he was able to duck and slam himself into the man, knocking the thug off his feet.
By this time, the noise had awakened the other household occupants, and ladies’ voices came from the rooms overhead.
“What the devil is going on?” one asked.
“Sabine?” another said.
The first man Max had struck was now attempting to get to his feet, but Max was able to hit him on the head, and he sank back to the floor. The one with the bloody nose struck Max on the jaw, rocking him backward. Max would be lucky if the punch only resulted in a blackened eye and didn’t also bruise the entire side of his face.
The other man made a direct line toward Sabine.
Three older women came rushing down the stairs, their nightrails flowing behind them. They all carried makeshift weapons: a fire poker, a heavy candelabra, and a small, jeweled pistol.
Excellent. He was getting the shit beat out of him, and Sabine was about to be rescued by the fairy godmother brigade.
Max took another hard blow to his shoulder before he managed to grab the third man and slam his head against the doorframe.
A shot rang out. “Get out!” the woman shrieked. “Out, out, out!”
The three thieves wasted no time in scrambling out the door.
“You, too,” she said to Max.
But Max did not move. Instead he simply stared at his chest, where a bloodstain grew across his coat.
“Lydia, you shot him!” Sabine said.
Chapter Four
Damnation,” Agnes said.
“Oh, no,” Calliope said.
Panic seized Sabine. Her mind stumbled over several scenarios in which Max bled to death on their floor. But then she caught sight of his crooked smile. Damned man was too stubborn to die of a piddling gunshot wound.
She took several steadying breaths. Agnes was here; she would ensure all was well.
“Let’s get him upstairs,” Sabine said. She braced herself against him, wrapping her arm around his waist. “Don’t get any foolish ideas,” she warned, remembering their heated kiss under the stairs. She herself tried to ignore his taut abdomen and firm back.
He chuckled but allowed her to lead him up the wooden staircase.
They stepped into the small kitchen, and she helped lower him into one of the chairs. She was painfully aware of how confined the space felt with his large masculine form there. Her aunts immediately went about gathering the items they needed: a small bowl of water, tweezers, a clean rag, and some makeshift b
andages. For a moment, she was back in the kitchen in their cottage in Essex preparing to care for one of the villagers who’d had an accident with a hoe or who had gotten into a brawl after imbibing too much whiskey. There everything had been peaceful, but here in London, life moved at a much quicker pace. Though she had always considered herself a calm person, the bustle kept her on edge.
But they weren’t in Essex, and this man was not one of their own. He did not know of their ways or of their capabilities. And she would risk much in sharing them, but his complexion had paled, and his coat was heavy with his blood loss. They had no choice; they certainly couldn’t risk his bleeding to death or developing a life-threatening infection.
“Don’t forget the salve,” Sabine said.
“Truly?” Lydia asked. Her three aunts exchanged looks.
“Yes,” Agnes said. “We will need the salve.”
Lydia would not question Agnes. As the guardian, she was the Healer, and the elixir would be used as she deemed necessary. They would never have even paused to consider its use on a villager. But this stranger would notice when his wound healed twice as fast as it ought.
While Agnes gave further instructions, Sabine pulled Max’s coat off his shoulders and down his arms.
Blood stained his white shirt, coloring a large section of his chest beneath his right shoulder.
“Damn,” he swore.
Calliope stepped forward with a glass of deep-red liquor. “Here, this should help with the pain.”
“A lady after my own heart.” He raised the glass in a toast, then winced. “Thank you.” He downed it in one gulp.
He tried with one hand to unbutton his shirt, but he took too long, so Sabine swatted his fingers out of the way. “Here,” she said. Her deft fingers worked the buttons swiftly, though she would have sworn she’d felt them shaking ever so slightly. There would be no reason for that, though. On more than one occasion, she’d helped Agnes tend to men’s wounds. She pulled the shirt the rest of the way off and exposed his wound.
