by Robyn DeHart
Sabine’s heart contracted at the show of kindness. As much as he tried to prove otherwise, Sabine knew Max was a good man.
“Morning,” Agnes said. She took a seat next to Sabine. “I’m not hungry, but I wanted to join you. I think I may have found something.”
Sabine pushed her own breakfast away from her, making room for Agnes to set down Phinneas’s book.
“This is from entries he recorded sometime last year. He plainly says in order to locate the dove, you must go where it all began.” She looked up at Max and then Sabine. “I think he’s speaking of where the first ship from Atlantis landed. Lulworth Cove. See the part where he refers to the ocean’s door?” She pointed to the next page. “That’s what our people called the rock formation that looks like an arch. It’s near the chapel that overlooks the cove.”
“Durdle Door,” Max said.
“What?” Sabine asked.
“That’s officially what it’s called. That rock formation,” he said. “Durdle Door.”
Sabine read through the words in the book. It wasn’t very much to go on, but it was a place to start.
“That makes sense,” Lydia said. “Our people began there, though the village has long been abandoned.”
“There is more, Sabine,” Agnes said. “In other sections, he kept mentioning these numbers. I didn’t know what they were at first. I’m not certain he knew what they meant, but he recorded them several times.” Her eyes met Sabine’s. “Your birthday.”
Sabine frowned. “What does my birthday have to do with anything?”
“It is coming up,” Calliope said.
“When?” Max asked.
“Next week I will turn twenty-five,” Sabine said. “But I don’t understand the significance.”
“I think it might be a timeline,” Agnes said.
“Or a deadline,” Max suggested.
“You think the prophecy is somehow attached to my birthday?” she asked.
“Perhaps it is merely a coincidence,” Lydia said. “Or the numbers are something else. An address or a location of some sort.”
“Perhaps,” Agnes said. “But I don’t think so. I just want you to be careful.” She squeezed Sabine’s hand.
“Of course,” Sabine said. “I’m always careful.”
Max rose to his feet. “You should go pack.”
Sabine nodded.
“I have much to do to ready for the journey.” He held his teacup up in a salute. “I hear Lulworth Cove is beautiful this time of year.”
Shortly after breakfast, Sabine left with Calliope for the shop. It was quite evident that it was far too dangerous for Agnes to venture outside, so they had decided to take turns packaging the remedies for the villagers and handling the local patrons. Sabine and Max had plans to leave London later this afternoon, so she had taken the opportunity to help her aunts, and to get some much-needed distance from Max. The more time she spent with him, the more she craved his affections. She was on a slippery slope, and she knew it.
Sabine sat at the back table, measuring and combining the necessary ingredients, all but the elixir, which Agnes would add later. Spending so much time with Max was weakening her defenses, tempting her to think of not merely what her flesh wanted, but what her heart wanted as well. One night in his arms hadn’t been enough, as she’d foolishly thought. But with Max came more than simply passion. No, there were faint whispers from her heart, asking, What about love?
She shoved those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. The shop was rather busy this morning, with the tiny bells at the door ringing again and again. But Calliope had been taking care of the customers.
Calliope stepped around the curtain. “Sabine, there’s a man out here. Says he won’t leave until he speaks with you.”
Sabine finished adding the rose oil to her potion, then closed the jar. She stood up from the table and made her way out front.
She entered the shop and immediately spotted the man who’d requested her, as he was the only male in the room. She watched him examine every product on the display. He opened the bottles and jars and sniffed the contents, and he held the glass containers up to the light. The poor soul looked utterly lost, no doubt searching for a gift for his wife, or worse, sent on an errand for her. Still, that was something her aunts were perfectly capable of assisting him with.
“May I help you with something?” she asked.
His frame was slight, and he had thinning hair. He eyed her from behind his spectacles, and his mouse-colored mustache twitched. “I would like to speak to the proprietor of this establishment,” he said, his voice pinched and nasal.
“Yes, my aunt mentioned that. Are you looking for a product for your wife?” she asked.
He cleared his throat. “Are you the proprietor?” he asked. He clutched a satchel to his chest.
The back of her neck prickled with awareness. Sabine took a deep breath. There was no need to automatically assume this man was the Chosen One, and it did seem rather improbable considering how ineffectual he appeared. While he might make a worthy opponent against some women, it seemed unlikely she would not be able to fend him off. And both Madigan and Phinneas were strong men, certainly large enough to have defeated him. No, this man could not be the Chosen One.
“I am the proprietor. Is there a problem?”
He smiled at her. At least, she suspected that slight twitch was his version of a smile. The lasciviousness of that one small movement sent fresh chills across her arms. She rubbed them and hugged them tight to her body.
He picked up a jar of the Tobias Miracle Crème and held it up. “Is this an old family recipe?”
They had put the elixir in all of their products, even the hair tonic for men. Not only that, but Calliope was selling bread to a local bakery, infused with herbs they’d watered with the elixir. They had spread the elixir, covering the largest territory possible, trying to ensure the Chosen One would have a very difficult time homing in on them in their little shop at the edge of Piccadilly Square.
“It is, actually,” she said. In truth, they had done nothing more than find a recipe for a facial crème in an old book and added the elixir and some scented oils.
“Interesting.” He leaned in closer. His breath reeked. “I’m in the business myself. A chemist by training.” He pressed his card into her hand. “Tell me, do you use lanolin?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss the recipe of any of our products. You understand,” she said firmly. She needed to make certain he knew that she would not give away any information.
He looked around the room, fidgeting with the buttons on his coat, when she realized he was missing two of them. He pulled the worn fabric closer around his lean body. “Of course.”
He took a step closer to her. A slight twinge of body odor tweaked her nostrils, but she held her ground. There were other customers around, and she could not appear inhospitable. They needed people to continue buying and using their products until the Chosen One was caught.
“It works, you know,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?” Sabine asked.
“The crème. It works. Makes women look younger, more supple, lovelier.” His watery brown eyes scanned her face. “I see you use it.” He reached up with one finger as if he would touch her, but he brought his hand down. “Not a line to be seen on your perfect skin.”
She repressed a shiver. “I do not use it,” she said. “Sir, I believe I have other customers to whom I need to attend. If you will excuse me.”
He nodded, but before she could walk off, his bony hand grabbed her elbow with surprising force. “Any sum you require,” he said, his voice shaking with nerves. “I will pay you any sum if you would sell me the recipe.”
She attempted to break free from him, but his grip held fast. “I will do no such thing,” she said, trying to remain calm and keep her voice low.
“I’ve tried,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’ve taken apart several jars of this”—he glanced down at the crème in
his other hand—“and still I cannot pinpoint all of the ingredients. There is something I simply cannot identify. And I must know what it is.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to remain disappointed, as I will not share our ingredient list. Good day.” She jerked her arm free and went to the opposite side of the room to a group of ladies looking at the hair rinses.
The man wandered around the store awhile longer, perusing the materials, and every now and then glancing in her direction. She made certain, though, that she was always with a customer so that he could not approach her again. Eventually he left the shop, though he lingered a moment outside the window before he walked on.
She wondered briefly if she should mention the visitor to Max, though it would seem the man was harmless, probably nothing more than a competitor trying to improve his own products. Still, Max had told her to be on the lookout for anything peculiar, and that man had most definitely been odd.
She eyed the card in her hand—Mr. Bertrand Olney. When she looked up, it was to see Mr. Olney standing across the street watching her.
Chapter Twelve
That evening Sabine and Max were in a coach on their way to Dorset to find some sort of hidden weapon, if in fact the dove was a weapon at all. They had decided to go by coach this time, since the trip was shorter, and they wanted more flexibility in case they encountered another clue and had to travel elsewhere. Not to mention that being in an unmarked coach made it easier for them to be anonymous. Someone was after them.
Max was right. It made far more sense to try to locate the dove, the thing that would supposedly destroy the Chosen One, rather than trying to uncover his identity.
They had essentially no clues to his identity. And Scotland Yard had not had any luck either. Max had received a note from Justin saying that they had followed a lead to a disgruntled former military man, but he had only just returned from a trip to the continent and had been absent during two of the murders.
If they found the Chosen One without the dove, they would not be able to stop him. What bothered her most, though, was that she’d never even heard a rumor about a special weapon or anything that might be the dove. Her people had not had access to the prophecy for many years, but it still seemed that sort of secret would have been passed on through the generations.
Where should they go once they got to Dorset? She knew of the chapel on the cliff overlooking Lulworth Cove. She’d heard her aunts and other villagers speak of it. Historically, Atlanteans had made a pilgrimage there once a year, but during the Crusades it had become too dangerous, so the tradition had ended.
She watched her travel partner sitting casually across from her. He seemed far more accomplished at locating hidden objects than she was. Her people had searched for that map for centuries, and he’d found it when he was little more than a boy.
“It makes sense that something would be hidden at Lulworth Cove,” she told him.
“If he’d located the dove, why didn’t he go and get it, or at least tell the other two guardians the location, so that they could retrieve it?”
“Perhaps he intended to reveal the location, but he was interrupted before he had the chance. Or he kept it secret for protection. He said the dove was safe for now,” Sabine said.
“Meaning at some point it will no longer be safe,” Max added.
Of course, neither Phinneas nor Madigan had thought to tell Agnes any of this. Had they planned to simply fight the Chosen One without her? Had Phinneas kept her uninformed in order to protect the woman he loved?
A few moments later, they pulled up to a very old tavern and inn. A few torches lit the drive and the walkway to the front door. When the coach rambled to a stop, they both climbed out. An old wooden sign hung above the door, but only one of the chains remained, so it drooped to the right. The Tudor-style building boasted one stable and a small dining room, which they passed through on their way to the front desk, and they discovered only one remaining room for the evening.
Max paid the grizzled old man, then he and Sabine made their way to their room. Inside they found one narrow bed with shabby, dingy linens.
“This is a child’s bed,” Max told the man carrying their bags.
He just grunted in return, then closed the door behind him.
“It should be a restful night,” Max said wryly.
Sabine stood at the window and pulled back the threadbare curtain and peered into the dark night sky. Only a handful of stars were visible through the evening clouds. “Perhaps it’s too dark for us to do anything tonight,” Sabine said.
“That’s what lanterns are for.” He leveled his steely gaze on her. “The night will not be wasted.” He sauntered closer to her. “Unless you have something else you’d prefer we do.” He eyed the bed with a smile.
She released an unladylike snort. “As if we would both fit in there,” she said, pointing to the small bed.
“Did you want to give it a try?” he asked.
“Absolutely not,” she said. A complete lie. Narrow bed or not, she knew there was passion to be found within Max Barrett’s arms.
She had felt the touch of another man, but with Max she knew it was different. He was a man she intensely desired, a man whose touch made her ache, a man who made her want more than a tumble in bed.
“Do you want to do this or not?” he asked.
More than anything.
But of course, he was talking about exploring the chapel.
“Yes, certainly.”
She pushed aside her more lascivious thoughts and considered instead the joys of sneaking around deserted churches in the dead of night. If her birthday marked some kind of deadline, they didn’t have much time. Not to mention there was a killer after them—a killer who’d already taken the lives of two other guardians and five of England’s military leaders. She ignored the fear bubbling inside her. This was not the time to be cautious. She’d been cautious her entire life. Now was the time to take action to protect the ones she loved.
“I asked the boy at the stable to gather some tools for us, including a shovel. It’s been my experience that a shovel can be used for a multitude of purposes, including a weapon, should the need arise,” Max said. “And here.” He handed her a small stack of folded clothes. “It will make our traipsing around in the dark easier on you if you don’t have to lug around forty yards of material.”
She explored the stack of clothing he’d handed her. “You want me to wear trousers?”
“Don’t you see that it will make our tasks less cumbersome?” He leaned against the wall and crossed his feet at the ankle. “Especially if any of the people who’ve been chasing us return, and we must again be on the run.”
She eyed the clothes warily, then turned and stepped into the dressing corner behind a pitifully short screen. The room had indeed been designed for a child, as her head and shoulders stuck out above the screen.
It was on her tongue to argue, but she bit back the words. He was right, of course. Wearing trousers and a shirt would be infinitely better than trying to navigate an old churchyard and cemetery in her wool dress. She unfastened her dress and slipped it off her shoulders. It fell to the floor in a pool.
Max never took his eyes off her. He stared blatantly at her bare shoulders; his bold perusal warmed her skin.
“You could be a gentleman and avert your eyes,” she said. Her voice came out cool and crisp, completely opposite to the warmth his lusty stare shot through her body.
“I’m not a gentleman, Sabine, and I’ve never pretended otherwise.” His smile was purely wicked. “I’m standing here wondering precisely why I’m not tossing that screen aside and pressing you up against the wall.”
She swallowed hard. “Not a gentleman, but what of your title?” Her words came out in a stammer. “Do you not have responsibilities to your family name?”
The muscle in his jaw twitched, and the desire burning his eyes seemed to ice over. “My family is dead. And while I don’t give a damn how anyone percei
ves me or my actions, there’s not really anyone left who pays much attention either.” With that, he turned away from her. “I’ll be outside getting our supplies. Meet me there.”
She nodded, even though he could no longer see her. His admission had startled her, and for a few moments after he’d closed the door, she simply stood there—unable to think, unable to move. It was quite evident he did give a damn, despite his protests. He was obviously a man who cared passionately about a great many things. Otherwise he wouldn’t bother with the prophecy or her aunts or her. A lesser man would have walked away from his quest to find Atlantis years ago.
Once she had collected herself, she dressed quickly. The shirt and trousers felt unfamiliar. She’d never encased her legs in anything but stockings, but the pants were surprisingly comfortable. Thankfully she’d brought along her travel boots, so she didn’t have to borrow anyone’s shoes. She pulled the pant legs over her boots, then rolled them up twice so they wouldn’t drag on the ground.
As soon as the clothes were properly fastened, she stepped around the screen and sat at the small dressing table. Quickly she wound her hair up into a knot, then tugged the cap down onto her head. She stood in front of the chipped mirror to get a look at herself.
The masculine clothes hung on her but did nothing to hide her feminine curves. Her waist might not be perfectly accented, but the trousers did not hide her rounded hips, and the suspenders held up the pants but highlighted her breasts. In the light of day, there was no way she’d pass for a man, but by the shrouded evening light, one might not notice with only a cursory glance.
She made her way out to the front of the inn and caught up with Max near the stable. As she stepped into the barn, the color drained from Max’s perfect face as he took in her new look. He visibly swallowed.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. She smoothed the fabric at her hips, then crossed her arms over her chest.
“There is a reason women wear dresses,” he growled. He shifted his stance. The stable boy also stood gawking at her. Max popped the boy on the back of his head. “Keep your eyes to yourself.” Then he turned and headed out the door.
