Lord Maxwell’s Quest, page 9
Rosemary had mentioned Spitalfields, whereas his next location had been Fleet Street. In reading what he’d written, Rosemary’s location was the second on his list. Could it be the women at the foundling home knew better than Crisp?
Oh, he loathed to admit as much to Rosemary, as she’d not let him ever forget that he capitulated to her, or that she was right and he’d been wrong.
Perhaps he should simply discuss her plan and then his own, as they’d not done so yet. They might be similar, and all their bickering had simply been wasted time. Not that he didn’t expect more arguments in the coming days, or for however long it took to find the sword, because she was so bloody headstrong.
“I thought perhaps you’d been the one to sneak out on me this time.”
He glanced up at the entrance to find Rosemary dressed in a tattered, faded blue dress. Her hair was messy but had the appearance that she’d attempted to make it presentable, which he was certain was her intention because even in the hot sun of Babylon while on the archeological expedition, her hair and clothing was always put to rights. She also carried a straw bonnet and that ugly bag.
“I’d not do so. We are partners,” he answered.
“What are you doing?” she nodded to his small notebook as she came forward. “Your plan?” She settled beside him, and it was nice not to have anger or irritation between them for a change.
“Yes, these are the places Crisp suggested.”
Rosemary pulled back. “He told you but not me?”
“I asked. You didn’t.” He grinned.
At that, Rosemary frowned. “That was my mistake apparently.” She then withdrew her own notebook from her bag.
“Shall we compare notes?” She scooted close and opened her book and held it against Max’s.
She sat as they’d often done—their heads bent together, reading, and comparing—just like they’d often done with a found antiquity.
“They aren’t so very different, are they?” she finally said.
“No,” he answered, all too aware that their legs touched, her heat warming him. Those rosy lips were so very close. All he needed to do was lean a little further and they’d touch.
And she’d likely slap him as she demanded to know why he’d done so.
Max pulled away and closed his book and slid it into an inside pocket fashioned into his suitcoat, where his purse also lie secure.
Rosemary frowned.
Had she suspected his thoughts?
It wasn’t possible.
“We just need to decide which one to follow.” Rosemary settled back against the settee.
“I suppose it would depend on who we believe has the best knowledge of the areas.”
She frowned. “Crisp is a finder of all things and people, so I would assume he’d know best where to look.”
“Yes, but the ladies at the foundling home actually lived in some of these places.”
“True.” Rosemary tapped a fingernail against her chin, her mouth scrunched at the corner in thought. “We could start with the first one on Crisp’s list as it is second on mine. If it is not there, then we go to the first one my list. If information on the sword is in neither location, then we will decide on the third location, by where they appear on our lists.
It was a plan that he agreed with. “Shall we?”
Rosemary stood. “We shall.” She smiled.
It was nice not arguing for a change, and perhaps they just might work well together, as partners. Max came to his feet noting her bag. “You should leave that here.”
She glanced down. “Why?”
“It’s the one item that Rylan or his men might recognize,” he pointed out. “The bonnet will cover your head, and it will be easy enough to shield your face if we see them. That bag, however, will give you away.”
“I suppose you are correct.” Rosemary frowned. “But I’m so used to having it with me that it will seem odd if I don’t.”
“Do you not have another reticule you can carry, if you must have one.”
“Nothing that would suit what I’m wearing.” She held out her arms to remind him of her tattered dress. “How am I to carry any funds, or my kaiken?”
“Kaiken?”
“Dagger,” she answered.
“If we stick together, it won’t be necessary to have it with you.”
Rosemary narrowed her eyes. “How are you so certain that we won’t be separated?”
“Are you going to leave me behind?” he countered.
“Well, no, but if you go into places that it’s best that I don’t enter, it will leave me vulnerable on the street.” She pouted and batted her eyelashes.
Max grunted. “I don’t believe you’ve been vulnerable for several years,” he countered.
At that she grinned. “Not when I have my kaiken.”
She’d been comfortable with her knife yesterday, and had saved his skin, not that he’d admit so to Rosemary. “Perhaps the women packed something that could be useful,” he suggested. “Or maybe Madame LeFante has one you could borrow until one is purchased for you while we are gone today.”
Rosemary’s brown eyes brightened. “Edith did mention a reticule. I don’t think she liked my bag.”
Max snorted. It was ugly. “Yet, I can’t imagine you without it. Except in our current circumstance, as I’d hate for Rylan and his men to find us on account of it.”
Max was correct, even though she hated to admit it, but her satchel was unlike any other and identified her to anyone who knew her.
She hurried into their chamber and pulled dresses and other items from her valise, not certain what had been packed for her by Edith. She came across an old reticule, not fashionable for nearly a generation, but perfect for her purposes. However, she needed her kaiken handy. Giving a twirl about the room, she gave the matter some thought and then remembered that she’d seen Max pull one from his boot. That is what she would do, but first she wrapped the blade in a handkerchief so that it did not cut her skin, tied off the ends as if it were in a sheath, then shoved it down beside her leg in her boot. It was rather an odd feeling to be walking about with it there, but it was better than leaving it behind.
Satisfied that she’d solved her concern, Rosemary exited their chamber once again and met Max below.
The aroma of fresh bread wafted from the dining room and her stomach grumbled. Oh, she did want to begin her search, but it was rather early yet. Those who would most likely have their answers were probably still abed.
Except, shopkeepers and merchants would be about, and they may have heard rumors, so they shouldn’t tarry and get about the day.
Max stared at her with his arms crossed over his chest, the corner of his mouth quirked in a partial smile, and amusement danced in his blue eyes.
“What?”
“You’re hungry.”
Rosemary placed a hand over her stomach. “Not necessarily.” She didn’t want him losing his patience with her when the morning had been so pleasant. No doubt he wished to leave and get about searching for the sword.
“I heard your stomach grumble.” He chuckled.
Her face heated. Goodness, she didn’t think it had been that loud.
“We might as well break our fast before we leave. Otherwise, we’d need to purchase something from a vendor. This will likely save time.”
Thank goodness, because she did long for a cup of tea too, though she’d not often let food or drink delay her in the past.
“Such early risers,” Madame LeFante commented as she came down the stairs. “What are the two of you about today.”
Rosemary slid a look to Max, not certain how she should answer as she didn’t know all what Victoria had written.
“Didn’t Lady Victoria advise you?” Max questioned.
“Yes, she did.” Madame LeFante grinned. “You must tell me all about your travels while we break our fast.”
Rosemary and Max again shared a look. Why hadn’t one of them read what Lady Victoria had written before handing over the missive?
“She explained that the two of you are recently returned to London after being on excavations in Pompeii, Babylon, and in Athens, but are now out of funds and need to find work.”
Max shrugged as if he’d go along with the story and Rosemary would as well.
Madame LeFante turned to enter the dining room and they followed.
“What I don’t understand Mr. Smythe, is why you can’t apply for a position in a place such as the British Museum, or perhaps one of the universities. Your knowledge would certainly be beneficial to them.”
“I possess no degree.”
Rosemary frowned. She had been certain that he’d graduated from either Cambridge or Oxford, though that had only been an assumption.
“Most of the knowledge I’ve gained has been through experience and study,” he continued. “And, what Rosemary has taught me.”
She was rather surprised to be included.
“We traveled to find our destiny and see the world,” Rosemary added.
“And returned with a near empty purse, but riches in experience that I’d not exchange for anything in this world.” Max looked to Rosemary. “Isn’t that right, dear?”
Rosemary knew that Max calling her dear was only because Madame LeFante believed them married, yet she liked hearing it on his lips. “That is exactly true, my love,” she returned.
Merriment danced in his eyes.
Was he softening toward her? Was he finally seeing her as other than an irritant? Other than a friend of his sister?
Had he almost kissed her earlier?
Rosemary had held her breath, not certain what to do, but when he’d turned to her, paused in their discussion, his eyes on her lips, she’d hoped. But then he had pulled away.
Now she was becoming fanciful. It was likely he’d been lost in thought and had never once considered placing his lips against hers, unfortunately.
“Ah, I see that you’ve overcome your anger and assume you took my advice.” Madame LeFante winked.
Rosemary’s face burned at what the former bawd implied, for they had not shared the bed, nor intimacy, and never would.
“Rosemary and I may argue often, but she doesn’t stay angry long.”
She nearly jumped when the flat of his hand smacked her behind. They may be in a former brothel but that did not give Max leave to touch her person in such a way. She turned and batted his hand. “We are not alone, husband.”
“Yes, sometimes I forget myself, wife.” He winked.
Max was taking this playacting of man and wife a little too far, and she’d tell him so once they were alone. Though as much as she may act outraged, she enjoyed the playfulness and wondered not for the first time, what it would be like to be wanted by Max. To be desired by him.
“Now, tell me about the last place you visited,” Madam LeFante said as she settled at the dining table and began to pour tea.
Rosemary looked over at Max. “I suppose that would be Jerusalem. A wonderful ancient city rich in history and religion.”
Somehow the two of them were able to describe their impression without one mention of the ancient scroll or running from murderous rogues.
“Why Jerusalem if there was no excavation?” Madame LeFante asked. “Unless there was one that you’d not mentioned.”
“My wife wished to visit,” Max answered quickly as he placed his hand over hers, giving a gentle squeeze.
It was a loving, affectionate gesture that a husband would give a wife, and it made Rosemary long for more. So much more, but once again she reminded herself that Max was playing a part and she was as well. It did no good to pin her hopes on the fact that he’d finally seen her as mature and desirable. She’d been waiting all these years for him to notice that she could be more than a rival, and it was unlikely he saw her any differently than he had when she was thirteen.
“We knew that we’d need to return to England soon, and she feared that we might never have the opportunity again.”
Rosemary blinked at him, surprised at how easily he lied, the silver-tongued devil. How much could she really trust him?
It was something she’d need to keep in mind as their partnership continued. It wouldn’t do to find the sword only to have him disappear with it in the end.
Like she’d done with the scroll.
Chapter 11
Playing at being Rosemary’s husband was rather enjoyable, especially when she blushed at Madame LeFante’s assumption that they’d made good use of the bed the night before. Max wished that they had, but he also reminded himself that Rosemary was an innocent miss, despite her travels and worldly knowledge, and he’d not touch her.
So, what had possessed him to smack her on the behind? It was as if an imp poked him, and Max had reacted before he stopped to consider what he was about to do. Then he’d placed his hand over hers while they’d waited to break their fast when it wasn’t necessary that he do so to convince their host.
He shook away the question as it was likely he’d never know why he’d acted in such an impulsive manner.
“Don’t you ever smack me on the bum again,” she hissed once they stepped out onto the street.
“Aren’t husbands supposed to do so?” he asked innocently.
“I’ve no idea what they do in private, but certainly not in a public room in front of others.”
“I’m certain a good deal of bum slapping and other things went on in Madame LeFante’s home prior to it becoming a respectable boarding house,” he reminded her, simply for a reaction.
“Yes, I’ve no doubt, but I’m not a tart.” With a huff, Rosemary stuck her nose in the air and marched off.
Oh, he did so love vexing her.
Max hurried to catch up then took her arm. “This way, dear.”
“Oh, quit calling me that. I am not your dear.”
Though he wished she were.
Max stilled for a moment. Where had that thought come from? Rosemary certainly was not his dear, nor would she ever be.
It was the playacting, that was all, and once they found the sword and parted ways, he’d not think of her as such again.
Except, he’d thought of her almost daily since Jerusalem, and if he were being truly honest with himself, it wasn’t just because he was aggravated by her sneaking out and leaving him to worry. She’d invaded his thoughts often, years before Jerusalem.
“What is wrong? Why did you stop?” she asked with a frown.
Max blinked. “Nothing. Simply reconsidering for a moment.” He offered his arm again. “Shall we venture into Spitalfields?”
“I thought we were going to Fleet Street?”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter which since we will likely visit them all, unless we get lucky early.” In truth, that sword could be anywhere and probably had passed through every one of the rookeries until it found a buyer. That was what he feared, but Max had confidence that they would find it somewhere. Neither he nor Rosemary would be left to wonder if it was a real sword of Joan of Arc or simply an old relic.
Besides, thinking about and searching for the sword was far more productive than thinking about Rosemary as anything other than a temporary partner.
Max was certainly acting strange, and Rosemary wished she could determine why. She was used to his different moods, but this one was new, and she wasn’t quite certain what to make of it. Unless it was all playacting—the role of a husband, but he needn’t do so away from Madame LeFante’s house. So, what was his purpose?
It was all rather disconcerting because she was enjoying this Max, even when he swatted her bottom, but how could she know if this was real or not. She’d not seen this personality in the years that she’d known him, so it must be false, and designed to lure her in so that he could take charge.
That was it! He intended to lull her into complacency, and then he’d take over.
Well, she’d have none of it and remain on her guard.
The streets were filled with vendors and merchants in the early morning hours, as well as servants out to make purchases for the day. The markets were of no interest to them, and Max hailed a hackney to take them to Spitalfields where they walked the streets, stopping at the various pawn shops and ending near Wentworth Lane, having learned little. As they stood outside of the dingy shop and took in the appearance of clouded, dirty windows, and the stacks of items within, Rosemary heaved a sigh and entered after Max held the door for her.
She was beginning to think nobody had ever heard of the sword before and wondered if it wasn’t all a fictitious tale that Crisp conspired to keep her and Max running all over Town. Though she could think of no reason why he’d do so.
“If we find nothing here, we can visit Fleet Street,” Max suggested.
“Can I help you?” An older man came from the back.
Rosemary did a turn about the shop, nearly overwhelmed by all the items stacked on the shelves, piled on the floor, and hanging from the walls.
Max pulled at his collar and took deep breaths as he’d done in many of the pawn shops that were equally overflowing. All she could assume was that he didn’t like clutter.
“We are interested in acquiring a sword,” Rosemary explained.
“I don’t have any swords.”
That was the usual response they received.
“I carry things that people need, not what they may want, and a sword is useless to the people around here.”
These pawn shops were in some of the poor sections of London. Of course, nobody would want a sword when a good cookpot, like the one near the counter, could be purchased at a much likely cheaper price.
“Has anyone come by trying to sell a sword?” Max asked.
