Page 87 of Four Promises to Love

She scowled. “I hope that is not your way of telling me to calm down.”

“Of course not. I value my life.”

Despite her foul mood, her lips twitched.

“That’s better,” he said. “What I meant was that the other times, the visions came to you. Not the other way around.”

He was right. Yet she was desperate and needed to do something.

“Are you suggesting that I don’t try?”

“I would not dare presume. However, being hard on yourself isn’t going to help the situation. Trust me on this.”

She squinted at him. “You speak from experience?”

“I happen to be the world’s foremost expert on being hard on oneself,” he said loftily.

“Then I shall take your word for it, Lord Expert.” Her smile faded. “I need Rose today—I cannot find the clue without her.”

“You are not doing this alone. My family and I are here to help, as are your assistants. Moreover, there is still the caldarium to search.”

“The what?”

Owen waggled his brows. “The secret bathing chamber.”

Finn perked up. The Hawks hadn’t mentioned a hidden chamber.

They missed something—which means the jewels could still be here.

“Take me there,” she said eagerly.

“Right this way.”

Owen led her to a relief, which covered a wall of the bathing hall. The scene depicted Venus and Mars presiding over a wedding feast and was quite risqué, with satyrs and nymphs entwined in provocative poses. Owen pushed on the grinning face of a satyr. A rumbling began, and a section of the panel opened like a door. Finn’s jaw slackened at the sight of the staircase leading downward.

“One never tires of that,” Owen said with a grin. “Come on, then.”

He led her down the steps to a small antechamber. There, he opened another panel, releasing a waft of steam. He ushered Finn into the new room.

“This is the caldarium,” he said.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she breathed.

A large, steaming pool occupied the center of the chamber. Next to it was a stone dais, designed for lounging. For bathers who preferred privacy, there were alcoves with benches lining the room.

Finn perched on the dais, trying to decide where to look first.

Owen sat next to her. “Gigi discovered that Rose and Thomas used the caldarium as a meeting place.”

“Seek it where the two of you were most yourselves,” Finn murmured. “Where the water runs pure and together you were unafraid.”

“Precisely. If the clue is here, it will not be easy to find. Perhaps Rose might lend a hand?”

“Perhaps.” Doubt niggled at Finn, but she set her shoulders back. “I shall try.”

She wasn’t sure how to summon a vision when previously they’d come to her. Closing her eyes, she took several breaths and tried to make herself receptive to spiritual communication. As she stilled, her senses sharpened. She heard water lapping against stone and felt the humid weight of the air. She smelled Owen’s cologne and natural musk, and longing heated her blood. But she didn’t feel the onset of any vision. The desire she felt was her own—as was the despair.

At the stream, was Rose telling me I’m going to lose Iris? Lose Owen? Why am I so worthless—why can’t I stop any of this?