Desire Me (18 page)

“It still feels like a violation of her privacy,” Sabine said.

“We can return them to her as soon as we get back to London. First, though, we should see if we can find any vital clues,”
Max said.

“They’d be more useful if we had the replies to these letters.” Sabine took a sip of tea and looked out the window to her
right.

Max read: “‘
I thought of you today, when we were making bread. Lydia tried a new recipe that included cinnamon and I know how you love
the smell. The entire cottage smelled of the sweet herb and, for a moment, it felt as if you were there wrapping your arms
around me. I will not speak of how I wish things were different, we know that cannot be. But you are in my every breath, every
beat of my heart. All my love, Agnes.
’”

Max watched in silence as a few stray tears escaped Sabine’s eyes. She continued to watch the scenery chug by outside their
window.

“They were lovers,” he said.

She shook her head. “I never knew.”

“Why couldn’t they be together?” Max asked.

“It is our way. The three guardians represent three separate peoples, similar to tribes.” She met his eyes. “Phinneas is from
the line of Seers whereas Agnes is from the line of Healers. There is no mixing. It simply isn’t done,” she said. “And Phinneas
was a guardian. A union between them would have been forbidden.”

“Is Agnes the third guardian?” Max asked.

Sabine chewed at her lip, then took a deep breath. “No, she is not. I am.”

“You?” he asked.

She glanced around the train car before answering. “Yes.”

“So then you must have come to London to find me and my map and to gain access to the prophecy?” Max asked.

“Not precisely, though we did need the prophecy. And we knew you had the map in your possession.”

“But there still might be other information in that book that will help with the prophecy,” Max said.

“Yes. I’m hoping Agnes can help decipher it, because she obviously knew Phinneas quite well.”

They read silently for a few moments. “If not specifically for the map, why did you move to London?” he asked.

“To sell our products,” she said simply.

Beauty products from a family of Atlanteans. A family where one member was a guardian, which meant they protected elixir from
the fountain of Atlantis. He set the letter he was reading on the seat beside him. “Your products must be very good to cause
such a stir in Society,” he said. He was beginning to piece together the mystery surrounding Sabine, though admittedly he
had not expected her to be the third guardian.

“I suppose,” she agreed. “But you know it only takes getting something into the right hands and then everyone else has to
have it.”

“Not your typical jar of crème full of empty promises, though.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “No, your products are
authentic.”

“What are you suggesting, Max?”

“The elixir. You’re putting it in your crème.”

She said nothing.

“Why, Sabine? Monetary gain?” he asked.

“Of course not.” She frowned, clearly offended.

“If the elixir is as dangerous as you’ve suggested, why put it out there?”

“It was the only way. We did it for our protection.” She chewed at her lip before continuing. “The Chosen One has ways of
detecting those from Atlantis through the elixir.”

Max thought for a moment before speaking. “So distributing it across London allows you to hide among the rest of us,” Max
finished for her.

She nodded.

“That’s very clever,” he said. He said nothing more for a while. She picked up Phinneas’s book and flipped through it, narrowing
her focus to one page, then slowly turning a page.

They sat in silence for nearly an hour while she read the book and he read the letters. So far, he hadn’t found anything particularly
useful in Agnes’s letters, but he suspected that if they had Phinneas’s responses, they might complete the puzzle. Some aspect
of them seemed important to him, but he couldn’t place his finger on it at the moment.

Mostly Agnes spoke of everyday life in their village, of missing Phinneas, and of the love that they shared. But every now
and then, he’d come across one that felt as if Agnes was talking about something far more important than their vegetable garden
or how one woman had had a particularly difficult birth. He folded the parchment back up, then set it aside.

Max watched Sabine read the book. She was hiding something, physically hiding something from him. He’d seen her conceal something
behind her last night before she’d kissed him in the kitchen.

He could have accused her right then and there, but it
was far more interesting to watch her try to deceive him, particularly
when her attempts at deception included hot kisses… Well, who was he to discourage her? She’d felt good pressed against him.
Without her dress, he’d been one layer closer to touching her warm skin. On the earlier train ride, he’d touched her, but
they had never removed their clothing.

A day later and he could still feel her mouth on his, her soft arms beneath his hands, her molten curves pressed to his body.

Thoughts like that would only cause the remainder of the train ride to be particularly uncomfortable, though, so he turned
his thoughts to something else.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, “about this Chosen One. Scotland Yard is investigating the murders of our military officers.
I think I’ve been looking at this entire thing the wrong way.”

Sabine put the book down and leaned in. “How?”

“I thought what I needed to do—what we needed to do—was help them identify the killer. If we did that, we could protect the
military and the last guardian”—he nodded to her—“and stop the prophecy. But I suspect that we should leave the detective
work to the inspectors and instead focus our energy on something else entirely. What happens if the Chosen One finds the remaining
guardian? What will happen to you?”

“He steals the elixir, the guardian dies, and the prophecy is completed. With the way events have unfolded thus far, I suspect
he will try to use England’s military to complete what the Atlantean army started so many years ago,” Sabine said.

“Which was?” he asked.

“World domination. He will use the elixir to make your
military impossible to defeat. At least he will attempt to do so.”
She shook her head.

“Then instead of trying to discover the identity of the Chosen One, we should find the dove. The prophecy states it’s the
only way to stop him. He’s already found the other two guardians. Despite your clever way to hide in plain sight, chances
are he will eventually find your identity.” He clasped his hands together. “So we need to be ready for him.”

“With the dove,” she provided. “The problem is, we don’t exactly know what the dove is.”

“Clearly they don’t mean the actual bird,” Max said.

She rolled her eyes. “Obviously not.”

He took that moment to take the map out of his bag and spread it out on the table.

Sabine’s breath caught. “I didn’t know you had that with you,” she whispered. She splayed her palm on the map as if trying
to touch the actual island.

“I thought perhaps it would help the Seer with the prophecy if he could see it.” Max shrugged. “But that didn’t work so well.”

She gave him a sweet smile. “It was a good thought. I have no doubt he would have loved to see it.”

Max pointed to the inscription that mentioned the dove. “Perhaps it is a weapon of some kind. Which makes sense. If we are
to do battle, we will definitely need a weapon.”

She glanced down at the map and then back to his face. Something in her expression softened. She reached into her own bag
and held out a folded piece of parchment.

“What is this?” he asked.

“I found it. In Phinneas’s house,” she said.

“This is what you were hiding,” Max said.

She opened her mouth, then shut it with a heavy sigh. “I merely wanted a chance to read it first. Alone. I thought it might
be something else.” Then she shook her head. “Just read it.”

He looked down. It was dated three days before and was from Phinneas to Madigan. “‘I believe I’ve located the dove, but have
decided not to remove it from the current location. It appears safe enough and disturbing it might be even more dangerous.’”
Max caught her glance. “He knew where the dove was?”

“Yes. It appears as though he might have deciphered that part of the prophecy.”

Max kept reading, then flipped the parchment over. “The letter is unfinished.”

“I think he was interrupted by the Chosen One and only had the time to hide the letter,” Sabine said.

Max read it again, searching for a clue to the location, but found none. “Where is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I was hoping he’d have something written in the book, but I haven’t found it yet. I’ll keep reading, though,”
she said.

But she did not open the book. Instead she stared at the map, soaking in every detail. It mattered not how awe-filled her
eyes were or how lovingly she followed the lines of the map with the tip of her finger. He was on this quest, not primarily
to help her, but to aid Justin and ultimately to find what he’d sought these many years. Atlantis was out there somewhere,
beneath the surface, waiting to be discovered.

He cleared his throat. “This letter does not include you. Why would he notify only one guardian?”

“Perhaps he died before he had the chance.”

* * *

Spencer had just returned to town when he’d been summoned to meet the queen in the breakfast room. Her majesty had been an
early riser ever since her husband had passed, and when she was ready to attend to business, she expected her advisors to
be ready as well. Spencer tugged on the hem of his jacket to straighten it, then allowed himself to be led into the room.

The room was red nearly from floor to ceiling, with enormous velvet drapes framing the large wall of windows. With the matching
scarlet upholstery on the furniture as well as the red rug, it looked like a room bathed in blood, hardly one for consuming
food. But someone had told her majesty that the color stimulated the appetite, so she’d taken that to heart and instructed
her decorators to make it so. Perhaps it was all the blood he’d seen lately that brought the visual to his mind.

“You wanted to see me,” he said as he bowed before her. He made no move to take a seat until she offered.

“Yes, sit.” She pointed to a chair adjacent to her. Her gray hair was wound in its usual long braid and wrapped into a wide
bun that sat at the base of her neck. Winter was weighing on her, stiffening her joints and making her movements slower and
more pronounced. England’s beloved queen was getting old.

He sat and said nothing as she ate three bites of quail eggs from the gold-rimmed plate before her. Additional food-filled
platters and bowls sat on the sideboard behind them, but she offered him none.

She leaned forward and tapped her blunt fingernails on the heavily carved mahogany table. “I’m told that you recently met
with an investigator from the Scotland Yard,” she said. When he nodded, she continued. “Have
they made any headway in finding
out who is killing all of my generals?”

“Unfortunately, no. They have no leads.” He crossed one leg over the other.

“Well, that stands to reason,“ she said. “This is a cunning killer they are dealing with, smart enough to not leave evidence.
I’m told he uses a different type of gun with every one. Then there was General Carrington, whom the savage beast used a knife
on.” She chewed thoughtfully for several moments before she spoke again. “I heard whoever is doing this has left me some sort
of message.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked. She had called him a savage beast. He evened his breath and clasped the arms of the chair.
One day they would all see what he was doing, and they would know it had nothing to do with savagery.

“The killer”—she waved her hand about, her fork dangling daintily from her hand—“he left me a note on one of the bodies.”

She believed his message was addressed to her. Clearly that was how the inspectors were interpreting it. Otherwise she would
never have heard of it. Fools. Spencer had hoped they’d run the notes in the newspapers as he’d commanded them. But they were
idiots and clearly could not follow instructions.

He knew the third guardian lived somewhere in London. His ring flickered too often for the guardian to not be near. The guardian
could only hide for so long before he would ferret him out. Then he’d have all of the elixir, as the prophecy required. And
immortality would be his.

“A message for you?” he asked.

She rattled on about speculation from the detectives.
Spencer had known this conversation would happen. At some point, he’d
expected it. He hadn’t informed the queen of the inspector’s visit but that didn’t mean she would not be concerned or interested
in the investigation. Discussing his own crimes without her knowing the truth exhilarated him. What would she do if she knew
her favored advisor was single-handedly destroying her military forces? No doubt, have him beheaded.

He caught himself before he smiled. Careful not to show his glee, he forced his features into a frown.

“My apologies, your majesty, for not telling you of the visit sooner. I’m afraid I was called away at the last minute. My
aunt is ill.” He feigned concern. “We don’t believe she has much more time.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Spencer,” the queen said, her voice lined with authentic sympathy.

“When the investigator came, he brought along someone,” he told her, “the Marquess of Lindberg. Are you familiar with him?”
Spencer had done some investigation of the marquess but had not come up with much information. He’d already known the man
was a member of London’s most exclusive club. Perhaps her majesty would give him some new details.

The queen paused over her breakfast. Then she set down her fork and smiled dreamily. “Maxwell Barrett; yes, I am familiar.
Quite the charmer, that one, with a wicked sense of humor.” She took a bite of buttered bread slathered liberally with jam.
“I presume he came along to assist his friend in gaining an audience with me. I do wish I had known when they were here. It
would have been entertaining to see him again.”