Desire Me (26 page)

“And with the elixir,” Spencer commented.

Jennings’s eyes nearly glazed over as he stared at the vial Spencer held. “Yes, yes,” the man said. “With that, anything is
possible.” He took a step toward Spencer. “May I?”

“One small drop,” Spencer said.

Max and Sabine had no choice but to take time to bathe and change clothes before heading to the British Museum. While they
were at Max’s townhome, Max’s chief of security told him about some men who had been spotted outside the building. And they’d
also been seen outside Sabine’s shop. They matched the description of the men he’d fought with that night in the shop, the
same ones they’d evaded on the train. Whoever had hired those thugs had not relented in their search.

As Max and Sabine approached the museum, they saw that it was full of patrons today—evidently a new mummy exhibit had opened
recently and people were flocking to see it.

“Max,” someone called to him. It was a familiar voice, as Max knew only one Scotsman who would call him by his Christian name.

Max turned, and there walking toward him was Graeme Langford, Duke of Rothmore. A longtime member of Solomon’s, Graeme was
one of the few people Max trusted implicitly. They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

Sabine stopped moving as well, but stood a few paces ahead of them.

“What brings you to the museum?” Graeme asked. “I thought there was nothing of value here for your research.”

Max nodded to Sabine. “I was helping a friend. We are trying to locate a specific sword.”

“Or knife,” Sabine added. “Some sort of blade.”

A low whistle escaped from between Graeme’s teeth. “That’s quite specific,” he said, his Scottish brogue lilting on each vowel.
Graeme turned and looked at the museum doors. “They have a good armory here, but nothing compared to Mortimer Flynn’s,” Graeme
said.

“Flynn,” Max said, “I had forgotten about him. That’s an interesting idea.”

Graeme took a step closer to Max and lowered his voice. “He doesn’t live too far out of London. You might pay him a visit.”
Graeme eyed Sabine, then added, “Quietly.”

Max knew what the man meant. Mortimer Flynn was an exiled member of Solomon’s, and chances were he wouldn’t take too kindly
to anyone from the club paying a call on him. They would have to find an alternative means of entry. Not altogether unfamiliar
territory for Max.

“Thank you,” Max said.

“You haven’t been by the club in a few days,” Graeme said. He looked at Sabine again. “Busy?”

“Generally speaking. I’ll be by soon enough,” Max said.

“Is that the wee lass who shot you?” Graeme asked.

Sabine burst out laughing, but said nothing.

Graeme held up his hand. “That’s answer enough. I heard at the club that Marcus is nearing the end of his design. Are you
really going to ride in that sunken machine?”

Max eyed Sabine before answering. “If I can persuade him it’s a worthy journey.”

“Good luck then, Max,” Graeme said. “Oh, and should anyone need me, I’ll be in Scotland for a while.” Then he walked away.

“Graeme reminded me of a better collection we should start with. Besides, with the crowd here today, we’d be hard-pressed
to truly search as closely as we need to,” Max said. Max and Sabine walked to the carriage, which waited for them across the
street.

“What club was he speaking of?” Sabine asked as he lifted her into their rig.

“There is a club here in London specifically for people, like myself, who study and try to find ancient or mythical artifacts.”
The carriage rumbled down the street toward his townhome. Max had some investigation to do before they could go to Flynn’s
estate.

“That Scotsman is in this club of yours?” she asked.

“He is. As well as many others.”

She sat directly across from him, her eyes wide with curiosity and interest. “Are there others who study Atlantis?” she asked.

“No, I am the only one.”

“What is a sunken vessel?” she asked.

“You shouldn’t eavesdrop on others’ conversations,” he said.

“You should tell your friends not to talk so loudly. What is it?” She smiled sweetly.

“It’s a boat. An underwater boat.”

Her breath caught. “And you could take it to try to find what remains of Atlantis?”

“Something like that.”

A bump in the road shifted the carriage, and she fell forward. He caught her, pulled her close to him, and pressed his mouth
to hers. She had once kissed him to create a diversion, and he could bloody well do the same. He would not discuss the submersible
boat with her. As she kissed him, his motivation turned into something far more primal. Not to mention more enjoyable.

Her hands clasped his shoulders as she opened to the kiss. Her eagerness and greedy passion fueled his desire, and he pulled
her onto his lap. He deepened the kiss, plunging his tongue into her mouth.

His hand dipped into the bodice of her dress and cupped her breast. She leaned into his touch, and the tip hardened beneath
his palm. Hot, thick desire surged through him, pouring into his groin. His erection pushed urgently against his trousers.
He moaned into her mouth.

And then the carriage rumbled to a stop, but Sabine didn’t move, so he continued kissing her, caressing her, tantalizing her.
The driver tapped on the door.

Sabine sat up abruptly, then pulled herself off Max’s lap. She swiped at her mouth but would not make eye contact.

“Sabine,” he began.

But she leaped from the carriage and was up the steps
to his house before he could finish. Which might have been for the best,
because for perhaps the first time in his life, he had no idea what to say.

Johns stepped into the carriage Cassandra had waiting a block away from the British Museum.

“Well, did you find out anything?” she asked.

“They’re leaving tonight to see some man,” Johns said. “Mortimer Flynn. That’s all I heard. That Scottish bloke looked in
my direction one too many times. I didn’t want to get nabbed.”

“Truly?” Cassandra asked, not believing her good fortune. “Mr. Flynn lives only four miles away from my country estate. I
think it might be time for some refreshing air away from the bustle of London.”

G
raeme’s suggestion had been a good one. Mortimer Flynn, a former member of Solomon’s, was said to have one of the largest
and most extensive collections of unique weapons in Great Britain. It might be another futile search, but perhaps luck would
be on their side. Flynn’s estate was a two-hour drive from London, and exhaustion overcame Sabine during the ride. They hadn’t
gotten much sleep the past few days, and no doubt it was wearing her down. As the carriage rumbled to a stop, Sabine awoke.

Sabine looked weary, but so beautiful. Her hair was rumpled, and she had a hand imprint on her cheek from her nap. Still,
she stirred him.

“Where are we?” she asked, peering out the small carriage window.

He climbed down from the carriage and held his hand out to her.

“In Kent at the weapon collector’s estate,” Max reminded her. She’d evidently slept so deeply in the short period of time
that she’d forgotten their destination.

“Oh, right. And this man, you and your Scottish friend know him?”

Max looked out the window. “Not precisely.”

“Not precisely?” she repeated. “What does that mean?” She looked around at their surroundings, trees lining the small road.
“Why did we not pull into his drive?”

Max took that exact moment to check his pistol.

Her eyes widened as she eyed his gun.

“He used to be a member of my club,” he said.

“You’ve never met him, though.”

“No, he was gone long before I joined.” He shrugged. “But I know of him,” Max said.

“And you think that small affiliation will grant us an invitation into his home?” The pitch of her voice rose.

“Of course not.” He moved closer to a tree. “We don’t need an invitation.”

She followed. “Why is that?”

“We’re going to go in unannounced and look around.” He peered through a clearing in the trees. Flynn’s house sat straight
ahead of them, though they’d have to maneuver through the remainder of the trees and scale a stone wall to get onto the property.
Then it would be a matter of finding the right door.

“Do you ever go in through the front door with an actual invitation?” she hissed. “I should have known you were planning something
like this when we left London at such a late hour.”

“We need the weapon, do we not? Do not worry, he’ll never even know we were here,” he said.

They moved along the shrubbery, careful to conceal themselves in the darkness. The grand estate before them swept across a
hillside, staking a clear claim on all the land below. The gray stone looked dark and menacing in
the night sky. Ivy crept
up, covering one entire side of the building.

Soon they found themselves against the stone wall that surrounded the perimeter of the house.

“We should try a door in the back,” Max whispered.

Together they moved along the wall, across the front, and around the side. Max stopped.

He pointed to the single door on the west side of the house. “That’s even better. A servants’ entrance. He’ll never know.”

“And I suppose if we find the weapon we’re just going to borrow it,” she said tartly.

He thought a moment, then nodded. “Precisely.”

“Is breaking into people’s homes some sort of misguided hobby for you?” she asked.

“When the task calls for creative measures. Come.” He hoisted himself to the top of the wall. When he turned to help Sabine,
she was already halfway up. He assisted her the rest of the way, then jumped down and helped her land on her feet. They used
a grove of trees to maneuver closer without being seen.

“How are you not rotting in a prison cell by now?” she whispered. But he saw the hint of a smile teasing her lips.

“I am the Marquess of Lindberg,” he said simply. That, and he excelled at smoothing over bad situations. A smile here, a banknote
there, and people tended to forget their worries. He made his way to the door. At this hour, the servants would all be in
bed. With his tools, he was able to pry open the lock. He saw Sabine still hiding behind a tree. “Are you coming with me or
are you planning to hide out here?” he whispered.

Her lips tightened into a thin line. She said nothing as she strode past him into the house.

Max smiled and followed behind her.

They stood completely still for several minutes, allowing their eyes to grow accustomed to the dark room. It appeared to be
the kitchen, as the scent of bread permeated the area. Sabine’s warm breath breezed across his neck. She leaned in closer
and that same warmth blew against his ear.

“How do we know where to look?” she whispered.

Bloody hell, but he wanted her. Right here in this stranger’s kitchen. Pushed up against the cupboards, hot and fast or painfully
slow. He didn’t care which. Maybe both.

Quietly they crept across the kitchen and into the pantry area. Max held his arm out to stop Sabine’s forward movement. He
pointed down at their feet. There sleeping on the floor were two scullery maids. Sabine’s eyes grew large. Max nodded to reassure
her. He held her hand as they climbed over the girls’ sleeping forms. One of them stirred, and Max and Sabine froze. But she
turned over and continued to sleep.

They exited the pantry into a hallway with a staircase, because if they didn’t keep moving, Max just might take her on the
floor. “He keeps most of them on display in the great hall,” he said quietly as they began their climb.

She tugged on his shirt to stop him. “Then why couldn’t we have simply asked him if we could take a look?”

“On display for himself. He doesn’t like to share.”

“I see.”

“This way.” He grabbed her hand, ignoring the way it fit perfectly within his.

He led her through a darkened parlor into a hall and
across a marble floor. They walked slowly to avoid making too much noise,
crept up another staircase, and down to the right until they entered what Max thought to be the great hall.

Two large windows allowed the moonlight enough entrance to give them a clear view of the room. In addition, there were oil
lanterns flanking the sides of the huge mantel. Enough oil remained for another couple of hours, though Max suspected a servant
would be by in that time to douse the lights. They would have to work quickly. Suits of armor stood guard in all four corners
and display cases featured weapons from every era and country. Swords and knives and guns covered every surface, the larger
ones hung on the walls.

“Oh, my,” Sabine said. “I should hate to make this gentleman unhappy.”

If the rumors Max had heard of Flynn’s temper were true, then they certainly did not want to make the man angry, but he said
nothing of that to Sabine. “Let’s make quick work of this. You start over there.” He pointed to the right side.

“It could potentially take us three days to make our way through all of this,” Sabine said. “There are so many inventive ways
to kill a person.”