Questions asked and answered, yet she felt completely unsatisfied. She wondered now if she’d asked the right questions. Or if she should have agreed to three or even four. Perhaps she should have asked about why he had not followed his Society’s rules and married and produced an heir. Why he had kissed her the other night—but then none of those answers would have given her any useful information.
Then it occurred to her that he was probably lying. The night they’d played cards, he’d readily walked away from a lucrative wager to instead request nothing more than a kiss. Chances were, he didn’t play at all to acquire wealth, but more for the sport of it.
“Wealth,” she scoffed, then crossed her arms over her chest for added effect. “You could have made up a more believable excuse. If you want me to be honest, you must be in return.”
A muscle ticked ever so slightly in his jaw. “You are very perceptive, Sabine.”
“I never gave you leave to use my given name,” she said.
“I never have been good at minding my manners,” he countered with an arched brow.
“Answer my question honestly,” she urged.
“Very well. I went after that map to prove the existence of Atlantis.”
“So you admit that you are a scholar?” she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.
He chuckled, and the rich rumble was so authentic, so full of true humor, she fought the desire to smile in response. “Few would call me that. But I suppose there are less-fitting terms.”
“And did you?” she asked.
“What?” he asked.
“Prove the existence of Atlantis?”
Again she saw the slight muscle tense in his jaw line. “To some perhaps. But not everyone.” He pushed off his desk and crossed over to the chair where he’d earlier tossed his shirt. He slid his arms through the sleeves, but did not bother to rebutton it. Instead, he left it gaping open. The resulting look was so sensual, so dashing, her mouth went dry. “There are those who still doubt, still believe the lost continent is nothing more than a piece of fiction penned by Plato.”
“But the map?” She ventured another peek at the map. “That is not proof enough?”
He made his way to the chair behind his desk. “A map is merely a drawing. I’ve heard rumors that Lewis Carroll has drawn maps of his fictional worlds, but no one believes those figments of his imagination prove the existence of Wonderland.” He said the words with such cavalier ease that she could not help but feel they hid great pain. Or perhaps she only imagined it because it fed her fascination with him.
“Indeed,” she said. She’d never spent much time investigating what it was that the rest of the world believed of her culture. Up until the last year, she’d lived in a small coastal village surrounded by other descendants of Atlantis, still living in much the same way as their ancestors had so long ago. Pride swelled inside her to think that there were people out there who longed to know the truth of the Atlantean people.
“Satisfied?” he asked her, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.
“For now.”
He smiled broadly. “NowIask the questions. Why are you after that map?” he asked. “The truth,” he reminded her. “I know you’re no map collector.”
It seemed safer to stay broad, see what he would accept, what she could avoid telling him. So she started at the beginning. “My ancestors were from Atlantis,” she began. “That map”—she pointed to emphasize—“is a family heirloom of sorts, and I only recently discovered it was here in London. With you.” That was all complete truth.
He leaned back in his seat and steepled his hands over his bare abdomen. In this position, his shoulders looked impossibly wide, his hands strong and firm resting against his tight stomach. As much as she wanted to deny it, she couldn’t help wondering what his skin would feel like if she ran her fingers down his torso, not in a medical capacity, as she’d touched him before, but a lover’s touch.
“You are a descendant?” he asked. “From Atlantis?” There was nothing in either his tone or his expression that indicated how believable he found her story. Or if he’d decided she was utterly mad.
She nodded. “Yes. My aunts and I.” She paused. “Well, we are not the only ones, obviously. In fact, the people who escaped Atlantis and fled here before Atlantis’s Great War, well, they landed in several different ports along Britain’s coastline. They then mingled with the culture here at the time and, while some of us still live together in small pockets, others have been living with the English for so long, they are no longer even aware of their heritage.”
She held her breath, waiting for him to laugh or toss her out. It was an admission she’d never made to anyone. Granted, she’d grown up among so many like her and her aunts, she hadn’t had much opportunity. Still, it was not something they discussed in the open. Their heritage, while not a secret, was fairly well guarded.
His left eyebrow slowly rose. Max watched her face for several moments, saying nothing. Then he opened his mouth to finally speak, but he paused as if considering something before he began. “I believe I’ll reserve my question until after you’ve examined my map.” When she made no move to look, he swept his arms open. “Please, look as long as you’d like.”
Excitement battered her insides as she made haste to the map. She stood as close as she could without pressing her nose to it. The prophecy was here somewhere. She only had to locate it. There were no words along the border of the map, nor in any of the corners. Perhaps it was on the backside, but she couldn’t very well take the thing off the wall and out of the frame. At least not yet.
She didn’t know how long she stood there searching every inch. It was hard to focus on her search because she was so distracted by the details within the map: Poseidon’s palace, military barracks, farms and cottages, and the three guardian temples. She forced herself to count each ring, her eyes moving along the circles searching for any words. But she found none. Then a symbol in one of the trees caught her attention. She looked closer.
“The seven rings of Atlantis will fall by fire and steel, opening the path for the army of one.” Max’s voice came from behind her, but she stood utterly still, afraid if she moved, he’d stop. “Empires will crumble and crowns will melt. The three will lose their blood unless the dove can bring salvation.”
The words flowed over her like an ancient incantation, as if her very soul recognized them. She braced her arms on the cabinet below only to realize it was a large glass case enclosing a long spear. It was blackened and charred. She was just turning around to face Max when his arms splayed on either side of her, anchoring her in front of the map.