Desire Me (20 page)

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.

T
hat 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 perceives 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.