“Did you want to dance before we look elsewhere?” Max asked.
His simple and probably not-altogether-serious request gave her pause, causing her heart to flutter. She wasn’t certain she knew how to dance, at least not the way that proper English Society preferred. But now was not the time to indulge such frivolities. They had a task at hand, and the clock was ticking.
“No, thank you,” she said.
They made their way to the second floor. The landing balcony overlooked the ballroom below. Couples moved together, swaying rhythmically to each pulse of the music. The band played a waltz, and the dancers held each other close, but more than a few openly caressed their partners or nibbled on a neck or an earlobe. She was quite thankful she had declined Max’s offer to dance.
This was a slightly different crowd of London Society than those who’d shopped at her store. They were a little older, not necessarily in age, but in experience—perhaps wiser or more worldly would have been a more appropriate description. The women moved their bodies sensually as if they were used to lovers watching their every move. There were no shy virgins among them.
Likewise, the men openly viewed their women, not in sly glances, but in brazen appraisals. This was a different London than the one she’d seen. Max had warned her, but still it was surprising to watch. Everything she’d seen and heard about Society indicated that they valued propriety above all other things.
“Sabine,” Max whispered from behind her. His muscular body was but a breath away from her own. It wouldn’t even take a full step for her to walk back into his arms.
“Sorry, I…” But she stopped. What could she say? That she was caught by the sexual air thrumming through the party? That already she felt awareness flit through her body, so that her very nerves seemed to sit on the surface of her skin?
“It’s a lovers’ party.” His voice brushed past her ear.
She whipped around. “What?”
He chuckled lightly. “I don’t suppose that is the official name, but that is what this is.” He ran his hand down her arm. “Ever since the duchess was widowed, she’s indulged in a rather unorthodox life.”
“So now everyone here believes we are lovers?” Sabine said.
“Absolutely.” He did little to hide the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth.
“Splendid.” But they were. And did she truly care what any of these people thought of her? No, she didn’t. But she felt as if she should be incensed. Being here on Max’s arm filled her with pride rather than embarrassment. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she asked.
He forced a frown. “Not even a little bit.”
“Shall we find that sword?” She grabbed his hand and pulled him forward.
“Of course.”
They found a study with other collectibles, mostly vases and other pieces of pottery, but no weapons at all. The rest of the second floor was more of the same, but nothing that resembled a sword and no sign of the dove.
“You didn’t seem to mind playing the part of my lover at the King’s Library,” Max said. “You scandalized that poor man.”
At first, she’d thought he would mention last night. She’d been brazen, an utter wanton, and she didn’t want to examine why. She told herself it was because she was weary, exhausted from their futile search for the dove. But there were other reasons. She’d come to rely on Max, and last night when she’d so desperately needed comfort, she’d fallen into his arms.
But he’d mentioned the library. “I was merely trying to prevent you from being arrested. If that man had cried foul, you would have been in serious trouble, handling the tablet that way,” she said. “It was a role I played. Nothing more.”
He stopped in his tracks and eyed her. She searched his face for meaning behind his odd expression, but he gave her none.
“Merely a role,” he said. “Onward to the next floor.”
She nodded.
Up the staircase to the third story they climbed. They passed a couple in a passionate embrace at the end of one darkened hallway. The man had his lover pushed up against a small table, her legs wrapped around his waist.
Sabine and Max kept walking. One by one, they checked the doors until finally they stepped into a grand bedchamber. Large and elegantly decorated, it had to be the late duke’s personal room. Hanging above the bed was a grand sword. Gold from hilt to tip, it was elegantly carved, and as Max had predicted, quite large.
“That’s it,” Sabine whispered. At last, they had found the dove. After traipsing across the whole of England, they had found their reward.
In one swift movement, Max had climbed atop the bed.
He held his hand out to her. “Here.”
She placed her hand in his, and he pulled her to stand next to him on the plush mattress. Max kept hold of her hand as he led her to the headboard.