Of course, he had broken into their shop. The story he’d told her aunts was convenient and prevented her from having to answer any of their questions. But she’d need to be left alone with him to inquire further about the truth.
He’d been here to ferret around just as those other men had been. Was he their accomplice? That seemed unlikely considering the fight they’d gotten into.
“He’s going to need stitches,” Agnes said. “Lydia, fetch my sewing basket.”
“Why—” Lydia started to argue, but Agnes held up her hand to stop Lydia.
“In case it might have escaped your attention, you shot him. And it appears as if the marquess has saved our lives tonight from those three villains,” Agnes said. “Now go and get the basket.”
Lydia made no additional protests, but she glared at her sister. “I think we should kick you to the curb as we did the other thieves,” she said to Max before she went to grab the basket. “Damned English,” she muttered as she traipsed down the hall.
Sabine stepped forward. “Agnes,” she said, placing a hand on her aunt’s shoulder, “I believe I can manage the situation from here. The three of you should return to bed.” She nodded firmly to show her resolve. “You need your rest.”
“Are you certain?” Agnes asked.
Sabine merely nodded. Though Sabine wasn’t the Healer, she had been trained as one. Her mother had died and the guardianship had been passed to Agnes, not Sabine. It had taken her a couple of years to find confidence amid the doubtful gazes of the villagers who sat waiting for her failure. She gave her aunt a reassuring smile. “I’ll patch him up and then the marquess will be on his way, isn’t that right?” Sabine nudged his knee.
“Yes, of course,” he muttered.
“All will be well, I promise,” she said.
Her three aunts stood huddled in the kitchen, merely staring at him.
“I’d thank you for the hospitality,” Max said, his deep voice rumbling through their small kitchen, “but I wouldn’t need such ministrations if I hadn’t been shot. But a pleasure to meet all of you.” He then gave them a cocky grin.
Sabine could see humor etched around his eyes, and the knot in her stomach began to dissolve. His smiles seemed to simultaneously calm and disarm her.
Once her aunts had finally left them alone in the kitchen, she busied herself with the task at hand, determined not to allow it to bother her that she was alone with him. It was of no consequence. She’d been alone with plenty of men. True, none were as handsome as the marquess.
She knotted the thread and sterilized the needle over the candle’s flame. Meanwhile, she tried to ignore Max’s muscular chest and concentrate on the task at hand. Men without their shirts were not new to her. Back in Essex, men often worked in the fields without shirts. The men in her village were strong and healthy, but they had darker complexions, with black hair covering their stomachs. In contrast, Max was much fairer than the men in her culture, and his dark-blond hair spread across his chest. A lighter sprinkling down his torso narrowed to a tight line that disappeared into his waistband.
She knew how strong he was and how firm his muscles were. Earlier when she’d been pressed against him beneath the stairs, it was the first thing she’d noticed. She’d felt his arm tighten and tense beneath her hand as she’d pinched him to end his unwanted kiss. It mattered not that it had been a most pleasant kiss. More than pleasant, it had been world-tilting. Still, it was completely unwarranted and unwanted. She did not have time to dally with this handsome man nor any other. Her focus was on assisting her aunts and especially keeping Agnes safe.
She didn’t dare admit that she had, just this evening, journeyed to his home to sneak inside. Sabine and her aunts had sat in a carriage outside his townhome for nearly two hours waiting for the man to leave for the evening.
Lydia had fallen asleep due to boredom. Agnes had become rather cranky, and Calliope had wanted to go forward with the plan and break in, despite the marquess’s still being at home. But he’d never readied a carriage for himself, never called for a horse or a rig. And the lights in that downstairs corner room had never dimmed, even after other rooms had gone dark. Had that been his study? Perhaps where he kept the map?
In the end, they’d left, returned to their shop, and gone to bed.
And now he was here, doing a little burglary of his own.
“Why were you here tonight?” she asked. The needle pierced his skin, and he sucked in a sharp breath. She made her touch more gentle. There was no need to take her frustration out on his tender flesh. She tried to keep her attention on the stitching.
His gaze slowly rose to meet hers, and the full impact of his clear blue eyes nearly stole her breath away.
“Perhaps I came for another kiss,” he said, his mouth tilting in a smile.
She quickly looked away, instead concentrating on his wound. Suddenly being kind and gentle seemed less important; being quick became her goal. He grimaced as she pulled the needle through his flesh. “Well, if that was the case, I believe you came for naught.”
“Indeed?”
“The kiss was uninspired at best.” She would not allow him to see how truly distracting she found him. “In my estimation, it hardly warranted a special trip, especially in the middle of the night. We both would have found a decent night’s sleep more rewarding.”
He winced again, whether from her insult or the stitches, she couldn’t be certain. Nor did she care, she reminded herself. And it especially didn’t matter that she was lying. He need not know that the kiss had shot tingles through her body from her scalp to her toenails. That even still, as she sat here before him, she could taste him, still feel his warmth pressed against her.
“What do you know of my map?” he asked, and this time his voice had taken on a darker tone.
She ignored her churning stomach. It would be best if she kept her nerves to herself. Not only that, but she needed to keep her eagerness at bay. They had to have that map. The lives of her people and family depended on it.