Max tried to remain calm, but his body had tensed in anger that anyone would try to harm Rosemary, or any woman.

  “I was so young and trusting.”

  Most misses were because mothers shielded them.

  “But I managed to scream and others came running.”

  At least she hadn’t been harmed, just terrified, which was bad enough.

  “Today reminded me of then. I had been so helpless, or thought I was helpless, but the shock of what he wanted, how he told me to…fear had left me incapable of fighting back.”

  “You fought today,” he reminded her.

  “Yes, I did,” she murmured. “He didn’t manage to accomplish what he wanted, but that fear and helplessness stayed with me, and returned today.” She gave a shiver. “It’s my own fault. I let my guard down.”

  “Do not take that on yourself. I also let my guard down and wasn’t there to protect you.”

  “But you did,” she whispered.

  Rosemary had kept her wits and carried weapons for protection, and he needed to remind her. “I believe your knife in his thigh was a strong deterrent to kidnapping.” He stroked her arm, trying to offer comfort. “You are safe now, Rosemary. I’ll never let anything happen to you. I’ll keep you safe.”

  “Thank you, Max.”

  That was how he remained, eventually falling asleep, but he held onto Rosemary the entire night. He needed her to feel the safety of his arms, and thankfully, her nightmare didn’t return.

  Rosemary woke to the sound of gentle rain, soothing and comforting. Dim light filtering into the room, casting shadows about and all she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep longer. She was warm and relaxed, in complete opposition to the fear that had awakened her last night. Max’s heartbeat was steady in her ear, his arm about her back, as if he wanted to protect her from the world and she could stay like this forever.

  Rosemary’s eyes flew open.

  Her head was on Max’s chest. Had she slept like that all night?

  Slowly she tilted her head back to note the dark stubble on this chin, lips slightly parted, his breaths even, and thankfully still asleep.

  Oh, she’d woken from a terrible nightmare then flung herself at him in a moment of weakness, and he’d held her through the night. He’d done so out of concern, as one would take a child into their bed after a similar experience. He’d not wanted to be near her bed otherwise.

  Rosemary slowly tried to pull away only to realize that her entire body had curled around him, including her leg bent and over his lap. As a woman would sleep with her lover.

  What must he think of her? Max was protective enough before she had been nearly kidnapped, and now, he’d be even worse because of an awful nightmare that had awoken him. He’d never see her as anything more than a helpless miss.

  Rosemary gently disengaged herself from his protective hold so as not to disturb him. Max needed to see her fully recovered from yesterday and the nightmare and ready to continue the day. Not clinging to him in bed as if she were afraid of the world.

  If only he could think of her as a lover instead, she’d stay. She’d even seduce him since she could tell his body was willing, as her knee had brushed against his arousal when she withdrew from him. And, if Max were awake, and she could believe he was aroused because of her, maybe she’d have the courage to pull him closer, kiss and caress his body until he was fully awake. But he wasn’t aroused because of her. It was simply a physical reaction that men experienced and meant nothing and certainly not a need for her. Rosemary wanted Max in a most improper way, but he’d always be a gentleman in her presence, respectful and protective, and she needed to accept that what her knee grazed was as close as she’d ever come to knowing what it was like to be desired by Max.

  Her body ached with wanting. She’d not experienced such since her one lover in Italy. Rosemary had met many men since that time, but none had ever made her question her decision to remain celibate. Just because she was no longer an innocent, didn’t mean she’d take lovers.

  Angelo was a fond memory, a gentleman that she’d loved for a short time.

  While Max still slept, Rosemary went about her toilet, brushed out her hair and changed her dress. Excitement and trepidation churned within. They would finally see and touch the sword this morning. The question remained—could they avoid Rylan.

  Chapter 22

  Max knew the moment Rosemary awakened, and it was all he could do to remain still and feign sleep. Especially when her leg brushed the arousal that had become more alert as he lie there holding her, wishing they were more to each other and wondering if Rosemary would ever want him as he wanted her.

  Why didn’t she want him?

  Other ladies had found him appealing so why didn’t she? Or did Rosemary only see him as the older brother of a dear friend, thus almost brotherly.

  Did she regret asking him to remain last night? Was she embarrassed by the way she’d slept, her head on his chest and leg draped over his lap? That was the only reason he could think of why she’d sneak from the bed, doing her best not to disturb him.

  Or she feared that if he found her draped across him that he’d think she was offering encouragement. She’d claimed that second night that she’d not seduce him, but even though Rosemary didn’t realize it, she had already. He also believed that if she knew, she’d probably quickly discourage such thoughts.

  Max had no regrets, however. He may have gotten little sleep because he was all too aware of her curves and softness pressed against him. Her weight finding rest upon his body and imagining what it would be like to remove the remainder of the clothing between them, to explore her body to finally join with her, had fueled his imagination. Such thoughts kept him in a state of need, yet he couldn’t block them no matter how much he tried.

  At least she hadn’t suffered the nightmare again, and for that he was grateful. Tonight, if all proceeded as planned, they’d have safer lodgings and chambers of their own, and he’d finally gain the sleep he’d been denied these past few nights.

  Though Rosemary was trying to be quiet, Max watched her move about the room and only closed his eyes when she began to remove her nightclothes so that she could dress for the day. He didn’t want to deny himself the sight, but he’d not disrespect her either.

  Had her lover seen her without clothing?

  Of course he had.

  Lovers indicated they’d shared a bed, explored, loved, and enjoyed intimacies and not a rushed mating with skirts hiked for a quick release. And even though Max didn’t know who the man was, he hated him and was eaten with jealousy at the thought that the stranger possessed Rosemary in a way she’d never allow Max.

  That man knew the sounds she would make at climax, and her lover knew how to give her pleasure.

  With a moan, he rolled to his side, not caring if she heard him. Hopefully she assumed he was still asleep.

  Bloody hell! This was torture and the first time in his life that he strongly desired a woman who wanted nothing to do with him, unless she was frightened. Anybody could hold her and offer comfort, Max wanted to offer more.

  At the click of the door, Max immediately rolled to his back and sat up.

  It wasn’t Rylan or one of his men, as Max feared, but Rosemary.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I wished for a cup of tea.”

  “You shouldn’t leave here without me.”

  As expected, Rosemary rolled her eyes.

  “Something could happen to you, and I’d not know where to begin to look.”

  With a sigh she locked the door again and wandered over and plopped on the couch.

  “If you give me a moment, and shield your eyes, I’ll change so that we can break our fast.”

  “Very well.” Rosemary let out another sigh, crossed her arms over her breasts and did as he asked.

  Given they were to travel in the carriage loaned to them by Mr. Bridges, Max decided to wear clothing more suited for a gentleman and by the time he tied his cravat in the mirror, he finally told Rosemary that she could open her eyes.

  “Thank goodness. I know women that don’t take so long to dress for the day.” Then her eyes widened. “Why are you dressed in such a way?”

  “Because I don’t anticipate being seen.” He grinned. “You should also change into what you wore leaving the foundling home or something similar.”

  Rosemary frowned. “Why?”

  “Because it’s raining, and we have Bridge’s carriage. When we leave this hotel, there will be an umbrella and if we shield ourselves properly, nobody will know that it is us. The carriage will take us then to the pawn shop where we might view the sword, and we’ll use the umbrella once again, and Rylan nor his men will be the wiser.”

  “I would like to be in my own clothing,” she admitted.

  “Then I shall leave you to dress and meet you downstairs.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to respond and quit the room, as he needed to be away from her for a short time. Max knew that he may not have the strength not to attempt a seduction if she started undressing in his presence again.

  It worked out just as Max had planned. Since the rain still fell, it was easy to exit the hotel, shielded by a dark umbrella until they gained the carriage. Bridges’ driver had even taken their valises and loaded the carriage, as if they were his employers then held the door for them. If anyone were looking, they’d believe it was the wealthy couple leaving the hotel and not Max and Rosemary. Though, they were wealthy, they just chose not to be part of Society.

  As promised, the carriage stopped before the pawn shop, and they were ushered inside, and the door locked behind them. It was then that they were led to the back room to view the sword.

  Rosemary nearly held her breath and her fingers trembled. As much as she reminded herself that it was impossible that this would be one of the swords owned by Joan of Arc, a small part of her held out hope.

  The proprietor’s wife placed the sword on the counter, then unwrapped the cloth.

  “What is your knowledge of swords?” Max asked as he leaned forward to study the markings, which were five crosses.

  “It has been a fascination of mine from childhood. My father came from a long line of smiths and metalworkers,” she answered with pride. “The family first became known as master metalworkers after the Battle of Towton.”

  That occurred in 1461, not so long after Joan of Arc, who died in 1431.

  “My father, and those before him, could tell by design when a sword was likely to have been crafted and where,” she continued. “That knowledge was shared with me and my sisters, since there are no more sons to carry on the trade.”

  “It is my wife who took me from a simple pawn shop owner, taking in anything that nobody else wanted, to carrying only weapons such as the swords, daggers, and pistols you noted in the front of the shop.” He looked at her, eyes filled with love.

  Likely, the change in items also improved his earnings.

  “What can you tell us of this sword?” Max asked. “How old and from where it might have been made?”

  She pulled a lamp close. “It is a French sword,” she stated.

  Rosemary blew out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  “As the blade is less than two inches thick, and if you look at the wheel pummel at the top, you can barely make out the markings of the Passion Cross.”

  “Knights Templar?” Max asked.

  The sword may date to before Joan of Arc?

  The proprietor’s wife looked up. “Yes, from the early 1700s is my guess.”

  Disappointment swept through her being. “I thought all the French Templars were arrested and executed in 1307,” Rosemary said.

  “Freemasons revived the Templar symbols, rituals and traditions, including the swords,” she answered.

  Max frowned. “Why did the person who originally had this sword believe that it was much older?”

  “It was in very poor condition. It was rusted in many places.” She turned the sword over to note places that she’d not been able to remove the result fully. “The hilt and wheel were caked in dirt and mud, and I also suspect some blood. Until I was able to clean it fully, I also believed it to be much older.”

  Even though Rosemary knew that the chance of anyone finding the sword of Joan of Arc was impossible, and she’d tried to prepare herself, disappointment still settled in her bones. Not only wasn’t it the sword they’d hoped, but it also wasn’t very old. At least, not as ancient as many of the antiquities she and Max had sought, found, and previously held.

  “Thank you for the explanation,” Max offered. Rosemary could hear the discontent in his tone as well.

  All of this for nothing. Yet, they both knew that they had needed to find and see the sword for themselves, or they’d always wonder. Now it could be put to rest, though the question would always remain as to what ever happened to the swords of Joan of Arc.

  “Do you still wish to purchase it? Will the owner still wish it back?” the proprietor asked.

  “Yes,” Max answered. “I will see that it is delivered.”

  The proprietor named the price, which Max paid while the wife wrapped the sword.

  This quest had ended in the most anti-climactic manner. She’d hoped they’d find at least something of worth. Instead, they’d spent days searching rookeries and hiding from Rylan’s men, who didn’t know that what they sought was not near the value of what they believed.

  A man had been beaten and she’d been attacked for a sword from the early 18th century.

  And now that they’d found the sword, her time with Max was soon to come to an end. Once again, they’d go their separate ways, only to meet in a foreign country when they found themselves searching for the same antiquity. Knowing that she’d be parting from him was nearly as disappointing as discovering the truth about the sword.

  After they returned to the carriage and settled onto the bench, she looked to him. “What should we do with the sword?”

  “Perhaps Crisp would like to add it to his collection,” Max shrugged. “Unless the soldier wants it back.” He blew out a sigh. “We’ll know after we pay our call to Mr. Otto Fernsby.”

  “You aren’t concerned that he’ll have guards like Rylan about?” Rosemary asked. She was tired of running and hiding and being accosted. She wanted to confront the man behind all the trouble she and Max had suffered since they’d first come across Rylan and his thugs a few years ago. Rosemary hoped that Fernsby wasn’t aware of Rylan’s tactics and would call a halt to them. However, even if he were, she’d feel better for giving him a piece of her mind and assuring Fernsby that in the future, she’d see that his men suffered as much as they’d made everyone else suffer. She’d hire more titan guards if she needed.

  It was a fanciful thought, when she knew that she’d do as always, simply avoid them, and beat them by keeping antiquities from them. It was easy to be brave inside a carriage where her only companion was Max.

  “If we note any guards as we approach his home, then we will leave and seek out Valentine’s assistance,” Max assured her. “But I don’t anticipate any difficulties.” He sighed, as if he were as tired as she. “At least we are getting an early start. With any luck, we should arrive this evening at the latest, if all goes well.”

  Chapter 23

  It was strange, when they first embarked on the quest for the sword, Max was certain he’d be done with Rosmary within a day. She was a distraction, stubborn, unpredictable, and reckless, and he couldn’t concentrate on finding the sword and worrying about her as well.

  He’d been wrong.

  She was all the things he’d anticipated, but he’d been in the habit of denying how much he also liked her. How much he enjoyed being with her. And, how much he desired her.

  Simply put, he wasn’t ready to part from her, and he wasn’t certain he’d be ready once they returned to London.

  Max didn’t even know where he would travel next. He could seek out treasures, but nobody had contacted him regarding a stolen, missing, or found antiquity so he wasn’t certain where he should visit.

  He glanced across the carriage to where Rosemary silently gazed out the window, pensive. Her ruby lips weren’t frowning, nor was she smiling, and her brown eyes were thoughtful, as if her mind were far away.

  At the first stop to change horses, she’d retrieved her ugly bag from her valise, and it now rested on the seat beside her. He’d watched as she withdrew the dagger from inside her boot, placed into an inside pocket, then patted the bag before she turned to gaze out the window again.

  Max had always found Rosemary attractive and considered her pretty, when in fact, she was beautiful in addition to being resilient, independent, and intelligent. For many men, she’d be intimidating, but not to Max. He’d much rather his partner challenge him, even if it aggravated him to no end, than to always be mindful of a delicate miss being frightened or nervous if he asked her to accompany him on an archeological excavation. Rosemary would charge ahead and probably not even let him know her intentions.

  She was, in short, amazing, and he’d spent far too many years denying or ignoring that fact.

  “Why Greece?” His question broke the silence that had accompanied them for nearly an hour.

  He’d enjoy Greece. Though, he’d traveled there three times previously, he never tired of it. Though, perhaps this time, instead of excavation sites, he’d visit the Mediterranean, Aegean, and Ionian Seas. Perhaps he should purchase a boat, and he and Rosemary could sail the clear blue waters from one island to the next, exploring each until satisfied.

  It was a fanciful thought, that somewhat surprised him.

  “Greece?” Rosemary returned as she looked to him.

  “That was your destination before word of the sword reached us. Why were you going there?”

  “Do you think I have information of an antiquity that has not been shared with you,” she teased with a smile.

  “Do you?” He hadn’t really considered the possibility, as Max was certain that if there was a relic, he would know already.