Angel Rogue

  "Max was considered eccentric, of course, because of being a book peddler, and he had no money. But even so, during the winters when we lived in Boston, we were invited out to dinner two or three times a week. Clergymen, professors, wealthy merchants—they all welcomed the Honorable Maximus Collins."

  She finished her coffee and set it aside, then stared into the garden again. "It was one such evening when I was about twenty that I overheard Mrs. Lodge, my hostess, talking with some crony of hers. That's when I learned that Max wouldn't accept an invitation unless I was invited also. Mrs. Lodge was willing to tolerate that in order to enjoy dear Mr. Collins's charm and breeding, but if the little half-breed cast any lures out to the menfolk, Mrs. Lodge was fully prepared to cut the connection. Standards must be maintained, you know. Hard to believe that a gentleman like Mr. Collins had married a savage, but men were helpless victims of their lusts."

  She gave Robin a sidelong glance. "And of course, everyone knew what those sluttish heathen women were like."

  He muttered a blistering oath. "No wonder you think poorly of society, if that has been your experience." He laid a light hand on her shoulder. The comforting warmth of his touch made it easier for Maxie to shrug dismissively.

  "Not everyone was like that. In some houses I was welcome rather than being an inconvenient necessity. I never told my father what I had heard. Max enjoyed those evenings so much. It would have been a pity to take some of them away from him."

  Robin's hand tightened. "Mrs. Lodge was surely a bigot, but she may also have been speaking from the cattiness that some aging women feel toward young, attractive females."

  Her mouth twisted. "You really think so?"

  "I doubt if Boston beldams are very different from London ones. Take away the race prejudice and what is left is exactly what any jealous matron might say about a lovely young girl."

  "Perhaps you're right. Mrs. Lodge had three muffin-faced daughters with not a waistline among them." Maxie gave a wicked smile, suddenly amused by an incident that had been a secret pain for years. "Why is it so much easier for us to be clear-sighted about another person's problems than about our own?"

  "It's a law of nature, like the sun rising in the east, and apples falling down from a tree rather than up." Seeing that she had recovered her humor, he dropped his hand. "I suppose that tomorrow we will go to the inn where your father died?"

  She was going to nod, then stopped as she was gripped by sudden panic. She had come the length of England to find answers, yet now she was afraid of them.

  Did she fear what she would learn, or the fact that when the mystery of her father's death was resolved, she would be faced with a decision about Robin? She loved him, he wanted to marry her. The question should be simple, but it wasn't.

  "Rather than go there directly, perhaps I should call first on Aunt Desdemona. She saw my father several times before he died. She might be able to tell me about his activities."

  Robin nodded. "Shall I accompany you, or would you rather ask Maggie for the company of a maid?"

  She made a face. "Respectability is so tedious. Since a frail flower like me can't cross town in a carriage without a companion, I would rather have you. Besides, if Aunt Desdemona proves villainous, you would be far more useful."

  "For which vote of confidence I am duly grateful," Robin remarked. "If you don't mind waiting until the end of the morning, I'd like to visit my banker and my tailor first. I was having some new clothing made up. With luck, it won't have been sent to Yorkshire yet." He cast a jaundiced eye on his frayed sleeve. "I shan't miss this coat."

  "May I have it? I've some very fond memories of that coat."

  "Take it with my blessings." Robin hesitated. "Would you allow me to have another gown or two made up for you? Having only one will prove a nuisance here in London."

  "I suppose you're right," she said without enthusiasm. "But I don't want to waste time on fittings."

  "No need. Maggie's maid can take the measurements from this dress." His gaze moved appreciatively over her figure. "It looks simple, but the cut and fit are excellent."

  "Thank you. I made it myself. Lack of funds makes one wonderfully versatile." She raised a hand to cover her yawn. "I'm ready to retire. It has been a very long day."

  Under her breath, Robin said, "I'm going to feel very alone in that bed tonight."

  Their gazes caught. Lord, it was only last night that they had become lovers. This very morning, they greeted the dawn like pagan fertility gods, naked and unashamed. At the memory, heat coiled through her, molten and urgent.

  Robin felt it, too. A rapid pulse beating in his throat, he murmured, "I'd give you a good-night kiss, except that I'd end by carrying you upstairs and not letting you go until morning."

  She tried to smile. "We might not make it that far, which would be a real breach of hospitality."

  "No one stands watch in the corridors here." He reached out and touched the center of her palm. "We could spend the night together and no one would be the wiser."

  Her heartbeat accelerated as he drew slow, sensual circles in her palm with a fingertip. She looked at their hands. Even the highest stickler would not be shocked to see that light touch, yet she felt... wanton, As depraved as if she had publicly stripped off her gown.

  His fingers glided to the fragile skin on the inside of her wrist. Back and forth, caressing the pulse point, raising her blood to fever heat. She swallowed, ready to agree to anything.

  He said huskily, "Shall I come to you later?"

  His heated gaze drifted over her. They were lovers, they knew each other's bodies intimately, and with the deftness of a thief, he was picking the lock of her willpower....

  The image made her want to giggle, which broke the spell he had cast. She pulled away. "I'm sorry. It doesn't make much sense, but it doesn't seem right to lie with you in this house."

  She meant Maggie's house, of course. Robin closed his eyes and his face changed, the planes seeming to shift and harden. When he looked at her again, reason had returned. "I understand why you feel that way, though I wish it were otherwise."

  She paused on the verge of leaving. "You won't have nightmares if you're alone, will you?"

  "If I do, they won't be as bad as the ones in the past." He smiled with a warmth as intimate as a kiss. "You were right—burdens are lighter for being shared."

  As she went to say good night to her hosts, she realized how easy it would have been for Robin to use her concern to talk his way into her bed. Underneath all his dangerous charm and wicked skills there really was an honest man.

  It was a warming thought to take to her solitary rest.

  * * *

  The Duke of Candover was brushing his wife's long wheat-gold hair. Margot leaned back, face contented and eyes half closed. "What do you think of Robin's friend Maxie?"

  He smiled. "I like her. Did Robin tell you how they came to turn up on our doorstep?"

  "Not in any detail." After a moment she added, "He wants to marry her."

  "Really!" Rafe's hand stilled. "He can't have known her long."

  "What does that matter? I wanted to marry you the first night I met you."

  "You never told me that before." He felt absurdly pleased as he resumed brushing.

  "You are quite conceited enough," his wife said, then jumped with a squeak when he tickled her ribs.

  "She's not at all in the common style," Rafe observed. "Intelligent unconventional, versatile. Rather like Robin, in fact. And very lovely, in a very individual way."

  "I knew you would notice that," the duchess said tartly.

  Rafe grinned. "I prefer blondes myself." Setting down the brush, he began to massage her neck and shoulders. "Does it bother you to see him with another woman? I find it a little surprising that he brought her here."

  "On the contrary, I would be surprised, and hurt, if Robin didn't feel he could come to me." She gave a self-mocking smile. "I suppose every woman, in some selfish corner of her mind, would like her former l
overs to remember her with a heartbroken sigh and the words, 'What a woman she was. If only things had been different...'"

  "Like I thought about you for a dozen years?"

  "Exactly like that," she said with a gurgle of laughter. "But I truly want to see Robin happy, not pining for the past or marrying some vapid girl because he is lonely and there is no one better to be found."

  "I can't imagine him doing anything so foolish."

  "I'm not so sure," Margot said, a line appearing between her eyes. "I've been concerned about Robin ever since we left Paris. Even though his letters were always amusing, they felt brittle, as if he was hiding his real state of mind. But tonight when I saw him, he was like his old self again." After a moment, she added, "No, better than that."

  "Do you approve of the inappropriately named Maxima?"

  "Very much so." Margot chuckled. "The poor girl was bristling like an angry cat when we were introduced because Robin hadn't bothered to explain where he was taking her, but on the whole, she behaved with great restraint. In a world full of nobodies, she is very much somebody."

  "I suggest you go slowly with your overtures of friendship," Rafe said dryly. "Miss Collins may not be enthusiastic about Robin's close friendship with another female."

  Hearing between the lines, Margot tilted her head back to look up at him. "Surely you know that you needn't be jealous of Robin? I had thought that you and he had become friends."

  Rafe ran a caressing hand down her slim arching throat. Though he had learned to accept his wife's relationship with Robin, it had not been easy for a passionate and possessive man. "Not jealous. Envious, perhaps, for all the years he had you and I didn't."

  She shook her head, her solemn gray-green eyes fixed on his. "He had Maggie, the spy. But the circumstances that created her are done, and so is she."

  "I know that. You are Margot now." Rafe leaned over and gave his wife a slow, possessive kiss. "And Margot is mine."

  Then he swept her up in his arms and carried her to their bed and proved it, in the most profound and satisfying of ways.

  * * *

  It was very late when Lord Collingwood reached the Clarendon Hotel, but in spite of his fatigue, he had trouble getting to sleep. After a half hour of tossing, he sat up and reached for the flask of spirits he had left on the bedside table.

  In the dark, he drank directly from the flask while he contemplated his mission. Maxima might be in London already. Perhaps, God forbid, she had already discovered the truth about her father. The thought made Collingwood queasy.

  He took another swig of brandy. As if the situation wasn't sufficiently fraught with potential scandal, there was also the question of the blond mountebank his niece had taken up with. If he was still with her, the fellow would be another source of trouble. He'd have to be removed from the picture.

  It was a damned bad business any way one looked at it. What made it worse was that he was rather fond of Maxima, in spite of her irregular upbringing and ancestry. That was why he was going to all this effort. If he failed, Althea would say that it was his fault for not being more ruthless.

  Stifling a groan, he buried his head under the pillow again. Family was the very devil.

  Chapter 28

  Desdemona entered her sunny parlor, reveling in the pleasure of being in her own home again. Everything seemed so normal that she could almost believe the last mad weeks had been imagination, the result of too much lobster or too many political dinners.

  At the sound of a carriage stopping outside, she peered out the window, then smiled. There was nothing imaginary about the broad athletic figure of the Marquess of Wolverton, who was now mounting the steps. He had said he would call this morning at the unfashionable hour of eleven, and the clock was chiming as he knocked. Desdemona liked a man who could be relied upon. As she waited for him to be shown in, she rang for coffee.

  After greetings had been exchanged and coffee poured, Giles said, "My brother is in London. In fact, I missed him this morning at the bank by only a few minutes."

  "Splendid! Did they have any notion where he was staying?"

  "Unfortunately not, but at least we know now that he has arrived in London and that he's not trying to avoid detection. I should locate him in the next day or two, and surely he will know where your niece is."

  She was about to reply when her parlor maid entered and bobbed a curtsy. "Excuse me, my lady, but Miss Maxima Collins and Lord Robert Andreville are here to see you." She sniffed disapprovingly. "Neither of 'em have proper calling cards."

  Desdemona's jaw dropped. Rallying, she said, "Show them in anyhow, Alice."

  A minute later, the object of her long pursuit walked calmly into the parlor.

  Desdemona had been told that her niece was small, dark, and attractive, but that description did not do her justice. The ebony-haired young lady who entered was petite and self-possessed, with a face as striking as her perfectly proportioned figure. Though her muslin dress was demure, nothing would make Maxima Collins seem like a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth miss. She did not look like someone who would be easily victimized by life.

  Maxima studied her tall and titian-haired aunt, apparently equally surprised. Desdemona thought with amusement that they must look like two cats touching inquiring noses.

  Maxima said, "I hope you'll forgive this unannounced intrusion, Aunt Desdemona." She indicated her companion. "This is my friend Lord Robert Andreville. Robin, Lady Ross."

  Desdemona spared a glance for her niece's escort, then another which bordered on a rude stare. The golden Lord Robert looked like a gentleman, not a rogue, and he was handsome enough to turn any female's head. No wonder the girl had run off with him.

  He bowed gracefully to his hostess. "Your servant, Lady Ross." Then he straightened with a smile that would have given palpitations to a more susceptible female.

  Not being susceptible, at least not at the moment, Desdemona favored him with a darkling look and a brief nod of acknowledgment. To her niece, she said, "My dear girl, I'm so glad to finally meet you. I've been concerned for your safety."

  "Whatever for?" Maxima asked, her eyes wide and innocent.

  Desdemona heard the marquess chuckling. From the corner of her eye, she saw that he was enjoying the situation hugely.

  Lord Robert hadn't noticed his brother's presence, but at the sound of laughter he glanced across the room. "Giles! This is a coincidence. I didn't know you were planning to visit London this spring, or that you knew Lady Ross."

  "I didn't know the lady, and I wasn't planning a trip," Wolverton replied. "You're responsible for both conditions."

  "Indeed?"

  "Lady Ross and I have been haring across England for the last fortnight, separately and together, trying to find you two," the marquess explained. "And now you walk in, bland as butter, as if paying morning calls on an elderly aunt."

  "Aunt Desdemona is not elderly," Maxima pointed out.

  "Thank you," the unelderly aunt muttered, feeling that the situation was rapidly getting out of control. Not that it had ever been under control in the first place.

  "I was speaking metaphorically." Giles glanced at Desdemona with a fond smile. "I have, in fact, noticed that she is not elderly. Miss Collins, since confusion seems the order of the day, let me introduce myself. I'm Wolverton, elder brother of your scapegrace escort."

  "Ah, yes," she said thoughtfully, "the one whom, if he died, which God forbid, would cause Robin to be instantly ennobled."

  Wolverton blinked as he sorted that out, then nodded. "Exactly so."

  "I think we should all sit down and have some coffee," Desdemona said in a voice of heroic restraint, ringing the bell for more cups and another pot.

  Maxima sat opposite her aunt. "Why were you worried about me, Aunt Desdemona? Did Uncle Cletus write you?"

  "I arrived at Chanleigh shortly after you decamped. Under questioning, Cletus and Althea admitted that you had left unexpectedly and probably had little money. I deduced that if you were
coming to London, it must be the hard way."

  Another tray arrived, and Desdemona poured coffee for the new arrivals. She continued, "A lone young female, attempting to walk hundreds of miles across a strange country filled with rogues and robbers and Lord knows what—of course I was worried. So I decided to come after you."

  "That was very good of you, but you needn't have been concerned." Maxima's wide brown eyes showed mild surprise that anyone could have been anxious. "It was a pleasant, interesting journey, and nothing of note happened."

  A choking sound came from Lord Robert. Maxima abandoned mildness to direct a dagger look at him. Her escort assumed a look of unreliable innocence, then glanced at his older brother. "How did you become involved, Giles?"

  "Lady Ross was told that her niece had been forcibly abducted by my womanizing brother," was the succinct reply.

  Lord Robert's brows arched. "Really, Giles, womanizing? What did I do in my blameless months in Yorkshire to deserve that?"

  "It's what the villagers told me," Desdemona said stiffly. "So I went to Wolverhampton to make inquiries."

  "Lady Ross fails to do the occasion justice," the marquess said cheerfully. "In fact, she swept into my library like an avenging fury, slammed her parasol across my desk, accused and convicted you in absentia of all manner of crimes and moral turpitude, threatened you with the full might and majesty of the law, then swept out again."

  Turning a fiery red under the interested gazes of her niece and Lord Robert, Desdemona scowled at the marquess. She had been rather intemperate that day, and it was most ungentlemanly of him to mention it.

  "Womanizing and moral turpitude?" Lord Robert gave his hostess a sympathetic look. "Having heard that, of course you had no choice but to try to rescue your hapless niece from me."

  His statement elicited an eloquent sniff from Maxima. "Your fears were understandable, but quite misplaced, Aunt. In fact, Lord Robert insisted on accompanying me solely out of concern for my safety." A note of exasperation entered her soft, well-bred voice. "Like you, he assumed that I was a helpless incompetent who would never survive the trip."