Desire Me (17 page)

She allowed him to lead her back up the stairs to the small bedchamber. He handed her the stack of clean linens, and then
went about making a pallet on the floor for himself. The blanket that had been draped over the chair became a flat and rather
sad-looking bed, but it would work for the night. And his coat, folded over several times, made a serviceable pillow.

After her bed for the evening was prepared, she sat on the edge looking around the room. “I wish I had known him,” she said
softly. “I feel as if he was a member of my family.”

He said nothing. He had no words of comfort to offer, even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. The impulse he’d had to comfort
her earlier had unsettled him. He could easily shock or amuse. He could seduce a woman with only a few words. But comfort?
No, comfort was not for him. The urge to console her was too tender an emotion. Too delicate. And entirely too close to something
deeper.

He couldn’t risk letting her get too close. Couldn’t allow her to touch that part of him he’d buried long ago. He knew all
too well the pain of losing someone he loved.

He could seduce her. He knew she’d respond to his touch, and damned if he didn’t want her. But touching her now could be mistaken
as sympathy. No, he just needed to get some sleep.

With that thought, he peeled off his shirt and tossed it on the chair. Then he removed his stockings and boots. He lay on
the pallet on the floor and was very aware of Sabine’s breathing. Even as tired as he was, he was able
to conjure an image
of her beckoning him to the bed.
Damnation!

He folded his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. His breathing and her paper rustling were the only sounds. He
noted each page she read as the parchment brushed when she turned the pages. She said nothing, just continued to read.

After about an hour had passed, he rolled to his side. She sat cross-legged in the bed, the candle next to her nearly burned
completely down. The book rested in her hands, and she mouthed silently as she read.

“You’re about to lose that candle,” he said.

She started at the sound of his voice. A quick glance at the candle, and then a smile played at her lips. “I suppose you’re
right.”

“Anything yet?”

“Not yet.” She set the book on the table next to the candle, then took a deep breath.

“Good night, Sabine,” he said.

She pursed her lips and blew out the candle, shrouding the room in near darkness except for the moonlight casting shadows
across the floor. He remained on his side watching her as she reached behind to unhook her dress. She slid out of the wool
fabric, then sat on the bed again to remove her stockings. Though he couldn’t see much detail, the outline of her leg as she
rolled the stocking down was enough for him. The silhouette of her lush body fired lust through his blood. That simple image
was far more erotic than the entire nude bodies of some of the other women he’d been with. His imagination could fill in the
remaining details—her warm olive skin, the delicate curve of her calf down to her dainty ankle. Yes, he could imagine every
last inch of her.

* * *

The moon peeked in through the worn curtains on the small window in Phinneas’s bedroom. Sabine had been tired when Max found
her in the kitchen, exhausted really, but with the discovery of Phinneas’s book, sleep had evaded her. She’d read as much
as she could, but could not make sense of much of it. And then there was the letter she’d found stuffed inside a cushion on
the sofa downstairs.

Sabine listened for several moments before she moved. She wanted to make certain that Max was sleeping before she snuck back
into the kitchen where she’d hidden it. It seemed Phinneas must have been working on the letter when he’d been interrupted.
Perhaps by the killer. He’d hidden it, which led her to believe it might have sensitive information within, perhaps the identity
of the third guardian. She wanted to be certain before she shared it with Max.

Her feet were bare, and she wore only her shift. Without the blanket covering her, the cool night air from the opened windows
created gooseflesh wherever it touched.

She paused to allow the blackness around her to fade as her eyes adjusted. Max’s even breathing from his pallet on the floor
let her know he still slept. She stood over him a moment, unwisely admiring the way the cover drifted down to bare his chest.
As softly as she could, she tiptoed past his sleeping form, then padded her way down the darkened stairs to the kitchen below.
Once downstairs, she was able to light a candle, and the soft glow filled the tiny space.

When she’d first stumbled upon the letter, she’d nearly had the first half read when Max had come into the kitchen. So she’d
shoved the parchment into a jug of flour
for later. Now as she fished it out of the powder, she heard the stairs creak behind
her. She stilled.

“What are you looking for?” Max asked, his voice darkly seductive in the candlelight.

Her heart felt as though it had fallen into her belly, and there it pounded in her gut. She took a quick breath as guilt pinched
and prodded her. He had found that group of letters as well as Phinneas’s book, and he had shared both with her.

No one was to know Agnes’s identity as the guardian, and Sabine had already trusted Max with more information than she should
have. But that secret she had to protect, and until she knew for certain it wasn’t mentioned in the letter, she could not
share it with him.

Before she turned to face him, she shook the flour from her hand, then tucked the letter inside the folds of her undergarment.
“Nothing,” she said.

When she met his glance, she could not miss the heat of his gaze as it traveled the length of her. She knew he was appraising
her, seeing more of her curves. Wanting her. Sensations of his hands on her body, his mouth on hers, flooded her. She wanted
him, too, but she knew now that when it came to Max, she was playing with fire.

However, his desire for her could provide the perfect distraction and give her a chance to escape without his discovering
the letter. She sauntered over to him. She reminded herself of all that Agnes had taught her about men and their ways. They
were easy to manipulate and manage if you used the right touch, the perfect tone. She’d seen that with Max during the card
game. When she’d first sat down, he’d been so distracted by her presence that he’d lost more than one hand. With determination,
she relaxed
her shoulders and reminded herself of why she was here, of her duty to her family.

With one finger, she traced down his bare chest, something she’d longed to do since the night she’d tended his wound. She
tried her best not to notice how firm and well muscled he was. But as his muscles tensed beneath her touch, she wanted nothing
more than to splay both hands across his torso and feel every hard inch of him.

“I couldn’t sleep, and I was merely looking to see if there was anything to eat.” She smiled sheepishly. “I got hungry.”

“And?” he asked, his eyes a steely blue from this close. “Did you find anything appetizing?”

She allowed her own glance to trail down to his waist. His abdomen was perfectly sculpted. Her mouth went dry. She looked
up at his face. “Nothing.”

“You’re certain about that?” He stepped ever so close to her and dipped his head near her ear. His hot breath scattered chills
over her flesh.

She was unable to tell if he was merely flirting in return or if he suspected something. So she did the only thing she could
think of to deter him from further questioning. She kissed him.

His soft lips responded immediately as she leaned her body into his. She kissed him passionately, trying to convince him that
this kiss had been her intention all along. That it was the only reason she threaded her fingers through the back of his hair.
It was surprisingly soft; a sharp contrast to his solid and toned neck.

She did not enjoy his warm hands cupping her bare arms. Nor did she enjoy how molten his kiss was when he coaxed her mouth
open and swept his tongue against her own. And she certainly did not enjoy the coils of pleasure
that were springing from
her abdomen and winding up around her to tease and tingle her breasts.

As their tongues molded to each other, desire surged through her body, peaking her nipples. She was losing control of the
situation and herself. Kissing him was not the goal, only the means, she reminded herself. But her body did not want to listen.
Her body wanted to wrap her legs around him and have him make love to her right up against this cupboard.

His lips trailed to her ear, then down her throat. He cupped her breast, and she arched into him.

Yes. She wanted this. She wanted him.

“You are exquisitely beautiful,” he whispered against her hair.

She’d been flattered before, but coming from him, the words seemed to actually hit their mark, as if she were being told for
the very first time that she was pretty.

But it wasn’t the first time, and he was an experienced charmer merely toying with her. As much as that should have warned
her to step away from him, she didn’t move.

Then his kisses stopped, and he held a finger up to her lips to keep her from speaking. He snuffed out the candle, immediately
shrouding them in darkness. It was then that she heard it—the noise that had caught Max’s attention. Someone was at the front
door.

T
ogether they crept toward the back door. “Faster,” Max whispered. They had nearly reached the door when she paused.

“The letters,” she said. “They’re still upstairs.”

Max swore. Once again, he handed her his pistol. “Go outside and wait for me.” With that, he tore up the staircase.

She slid out the back door, and he closed it behind her. He made his way up the stairs as quietly as possible and grabbed
his bag where he’d already tucked the letters. He shoved the book inside, then swung the strap over his shoulder. There was
no way to know who it was at the front door, but if it was the men from the train, Max knew they’d be armed, and he was outnumbered.

He heard the front door open while he was still upstairs. Now he was stuck, with no way out. The window on the second floor
was far too narrow for a man his size. And to simply walk back down the stairs seemed foolish. Max looked around the room
for a makeshift weapon.

The stairs creaked. Max grabbed the only thing he could find, the heavy candleholder from the bedside table. He hid next to
the doorway and waited for the intruder to pass through. The shadow of a man entered the room, and Max slammed the heavy metal
down upon the man’s head. It clattered to the floor, and the man grunted in pain.

Max jumped down the short staircase and had barely hit the floor when the man crashed into him from behind. The room was dark
so Max couldn’t make out his features, but he knew that this man was taller and thinner than either of the men who had chased
them on the train. Max rammed his fist into the man’s back. A fist came down hard on Max’s shoulder, nearly bringing him to
his knees. But he recovered and ran headfirst into the man’s gut, crashing him into the wall. The man’s breath came out in
a hard whoosh. Max hit him in the face, knocking him to the floor.

Escape time.

Max ran out the back door and grabbed Sabine by the hand. She screamed and tried to pull away from him.

“It’s me,” he said through his teeth.

She picked up her pace and together they ran. Max turned once to see whether the man followed, but there was no sign of him.
Perhaps Max had hit him hard enough with that last blow to knock him out. On the other hand, he could have gone around to
the front of the cottage to retrieve his horse or carriage to chase them.

So they didn’t slow, they just ran.

Damned bastard nearly broke one of his ribs. Spencer shook his head as he came to his feet. He made it out the back door in
time to see the man, along with a woman, run straight into the woods. For a fleeting moment, he could
have sworn the man was
Maxwell Barrett. He tore back through the house, then out the front door, and hopped on his horse to chase after them.

Chances were if the Seer’s book had been here, it was gone now. The horse’s hooves threw dirt up behind him as he galloped
toward the woods. They were on foot, so there was no possible way they could outrun him. But half an hour later when he still
hadn’t found them, he was beginning to believe otherwise. Perhaps they’d had horses nearby. Or knew of hiding places in these
darkened woods.

Spencer slowed his horse to a gentle gait and tried to listen to the noises around him. They were gone.

If that was the marquess he’d seen, then Spencer would have to find a way to retrieve that book. He already had all the information
required to fulfill the prophecy, but he didn’t want to run the risk of the remaining guardian’s getting his hands on the
book and possibly discovering a way to stop him.

After spending the night in a damp cave they’d stumbled upon in the woods, Max and Sabine made their way to the train station.
Max had managed to steal some clothes for them from a clothesline, but they were still dirty and exhausted. He didn’t bother
trying to secure an entire train car for their return trip to London. The privacy was nice, but when you had men on your trail,
it was better to blend in with the crowd. They sat across from each other in the dining car, a small table between them, sharing
a meal. And they had begun to read over the letters they’d found in Phinneas’s cottage, which as it turned out were mostly
from Sabine’s aunt Agnes.