She stepped up to him, ignoring his question, and touched near his injury. His skin was warm, but not feverish, and the stitches looked healthy, with the wound already beginning to close.
He moved his arm back and forth, then frowned. “It doesn’t hurt. I don’t think I noticed that all day.” He shook his head. “It hasn’t hurt all day. How is that even possible?”
She pretended to examine the wound further. “I told you it wasn’t very deep.”
“It hurt like the devil last night. Kept me up.” He looked down at his chest and ran his hand over the affected area. “Yet today it’s as if it were nothing more than a scratch.” He eyed her suspiciously. “My last gunshot took more than a week to heal, and it was little more than a grazing.”
“I gave you proper care. Those stitches are perfect,” she pointed out. “And you are in good health, so it stands to reason that you would heal quickly.”
“Not this quickly. What of that poultice you put in it? What’s in that?”
She shrugged and stepped away from him. “Herbs and other ingredients. It’s an old family recipe.”
“You always have an answer,” he said. It was quite evident he didn’t believe her. He grabbed her shoulder. “But that’s not why you really came here tonight.” He paused for several beats, and she felt very much like the mouse cornered by the cat. “You want to see my map?”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, hoping she sounded casual. “It is indeed a work of art.”
But the rogue didn’t so much as glance at the map as he spoke, instead choosing to stare boldly at her.
“The wager the other night, was I supposed to take that in stride? Not allow myself to become curious?” he asked.
“I told you everything you needed to know.”
He leaned against his desk, stretching his legs out in front of him. “No, you told me the absolute minimum.”
“You show up in my store demanding information.” She jabbed him in the chest. “Break into my store presumably to steal something. You, you kiss me,” she said indignantly, then added, “and now I’m supposed to simply answer your questions as if I’m to stand trial for something.”
“I did not steal anything, nor had I planned to do so. And I only went to your shop because of that wager you made. I am glad you finally admit you know something,” he said with a smile.
She opened her mouth, then promptly shut it. Damnation. Lydia had always warned her that her quick temper would get her into trouble.
“You are bloody stubborn, woman.” He held up his arms in defeat. “You came here tonight to see my map. Now you’ve seen it.” He motioned behind him.
But she needed more than a quick view, and he knew that. She said nothing, though. Instead, she quickly tried to decide how much she could share with him, how much information she could divulge without putting herself or her aunts in more danger than they were already in. She glanced past his shoulder to the map.
“Answers are my price, Sabine,” he said.
What had she expected? For him to simply step aside and allow her to inspect his prized possession without ever telling him why? As much as it galled her, she was going to have to tell him something. It was the only way to find the prophecy. She had no choice.
“How about this?” he continued. “You ask me anything you want to know, I’ll answer. But then you must answer my questions.”
She squared her shoulders and tilted her chin, then met his gaze. It was a decent bargain. She couldn’t deny that she was curious. “Two questions; I’ll answer two,” she said.
“Fair enough.” His lips tilted in a quick smile.
“Wait, I haven’t decided if I’m curious enough about anything regarding you to make this bargain.” She narrowed her eyes and stared at him. Of course she was curious, but she didn’t want him to see her eagerness. Curiosity or not, she had to accept, but there was no reason to let him know of her desperation. She nodded.
She tried to decide the best questions to ask. Tried to wade past her own interest and instead focus on something that might assist her and her aunts. “Why do you have that map? What is your curiosity about Atlantis that led you to even search for it?”
“That’s two questions,” he teased, then he shrugged and answered. “I found that map many years ago after a childhood fascination with Atlantis. I’ve always had a curiosity about antiquities and myths, stories of lost treasure. The legend of Atlantis was my favorite. I suppose it simply stuck with me.”
“But why the fascination?” she asked.
“Treasure,” he said simply. “They say that Poseidon’s palace was made entirely of gold.”
She looked about the room—solid mahogany furniture, crystal decanters, fine leather-upholstered chairs. Even the way he dressed, despite his casual manner. The fabrics were all the best one could purchase. “You have plenty of wealth.”
A smile slid into place, then he winked. “There is always room for more.”
