“Marcus,” Max said as he entered the room.
Marcus didn’t acknowledge Max’s presence initially; he simply continued writing in his book. When he finished, he looked up.
“Ah, Lindberg, it’s you.” Marcus looked back down at the maps.
Max took a seat. “How goes the submersible boat, Marcus?”
Marcus looked up from his map. “I told you that you may not borrow my design.”
“Yes, you did. But you did not say whether or not I could actually borrow the boat.” Max shrugged. “Once it’s finished, of course.”
“For this Atlantis escapade?” Marcus set his notebook down. “I would need proof.”
“And more funding,” Max noted. “I heard the Americans are having another contest, awarding the winner two million dollars.”
Marcus scoffed. “They want war machines with torpedoes. What I am building”—he jabbed his finger onto his notebook—“is for scientific exploration.”
Max knew for certain that the plans for said machine were in that notebook—drawings, dimensions, and all of Marcus’s well-developed research. “Precisely why I would like to use it,” Max said, leaning forward. “I can assist with funding.”
Marcus was quiet for several moments before he spoke again. “You bring me proof, and we’ll talk,” he finally said.
“Proof,” Max repeated. “I’ll be in touch, Marcus.”
Without use of that submersible boat, Max would not be able to actually locate the lost continent. But to float above the sunken land, to get close enough to see the remnants of the buildings and the mountains, everything he’d seen illustrated in his map… That’s what he needed to do. He had to find some kind of proof, something Marcus could use that would convince him Atlantis wasn’t a lost cause.
CHAPTER7
Sabine sat quietly in the rented carriage. She took several deep breaths and waited for something to calm her rattled insides. Nothing did. She did not even know what had her so agitated. A healer should always check on her patients, and this man should be no different. Of course that wasn’t her true purpose, and he’d know that. Max Barrett was no fool. He’d see through her guise. Still, she didn’t know if he’d allow her to see the map otherwise.
She was out of time. Her nerves be damned; she had responsibilities. Without another thought, she opened the door and stepped down from the carriage onto the treelined street. Her gaze drifted down one side of the street and then the other. The houses were uniformly elegant and oversized. No doubt they were all as well appointed within as they were without. In the middle of all this ostentatious wealth sat the home of Maxwell Barrett. One of three residences, if Madigan’s research had been correct. He might be ridiculously wealthy and powerful by Society’s standards, but she would not allow this man to intimidate her. She was not without power herself, though hers was of a vastly different nature.
Dusk was settling as she climbed the stairs to the front entrance. The hazy blues and pinks of the sunset lit the horizon. She squared her shoulders, then slammed the large knocker against the black wooden door. The echoing sound seemed to mimic the pounding of her heart.
Before she knew it, she stood in the marquess’s foyer while his butler went to fetch him. She tried her best not to ogle the entryway with its high, painted Venetian ceiling and shiny marble floor. It was nothing short of breathtaking, and if she’d had any doubts before, this entryway spoke volumes about the marquess’s wealth.
One pat to her hair and then she smoothed her hand down the front of her bodice. Her new London attire was still a little unfamiliar to her, the way it molded to her body. She and her aunts had changed their dress when they’d moved here to better blend with the people. Her hand rose to her hair again, but she jerked it away. There was no need to preen for him, she reminded herself. It mattered not what he thought of her.
Still, as he entered the foyer, her heart leaped in her chest. The mere sight of him made her breath quicken and her pulse race. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she found herself utterly drawn to him.
“Miss Tobias.” Max’s sultry voice warmed her.
Annoyed, she brushed at her right sleeve, as if doing so would remove the effect his voice had on her.
It would do her no good to notice how handsome he looked in his starched white shirt and black coat. Nor the way his black trousers fit his long legs so well.
“I could make plenty of assumptions as to why you’ve come to visit me here at my home,” he said. “But perhaps you want to merely tell me so I won’t have to guess. It would go against the precedent we’ve set for our relationship, but let’s be daring, shall we?”
Her cheeks warmed in response to his effort to disarm her, but she refused to be charmed by him. She was not here to flirt or be wooed. “I came to check on your injury. How are you feeling?”
“You came all the way down here to inquire about my well-being? I’m touched, truly.” He flashed a knowing smile. “Well, if I must disrobe, we had best get out of the hall.”
She followed him into what she assumed was his study. It was obviously a man’s room, and the furnishings and fabrics stood out in dark blues and golds with rich woods. It smelled of brandy and tobacco and what she was coming to recognize as his scent. Hanging on the wall behind his desk was the map, huge and glorious. She longed to walk up to it and examine every tiny mark. The vibrant blues and greens of the alternating rings of water and land called to her, but she forced herself to look away.
“This is twice now you’ve gotten me to undress,” he said as he finished unbuttoning his shirt.
“You are incorrigible,” she said.
“Are you always so dedicated to your patients?” He shrugged out of the shirt and tossed it on the high-backed leather chair behind him.