Lord Robert gave her a smile of obvious affection. "That misapprehension didn't last long, Maxie."
"Maxie?" Desdemona repeated. "What a vulgar nickname."
Her niece bristled. "It is what my father called me, Aunt Desdemona, and it is what I prefer."
"Your father called me Dizzy, and I didn't much like that, either," Desdemona said dryly.
"Dizzy?" Wolverton said with interest.
Ignoring him, Desdemona went on, "But if you prefer to be called Maxie, I shall try to become accustomed." She surveyed her niece's small, composed figure. "Perhaps you should stop calling me aunt. There are only a few years between us, and I don't seem to have done a very good job of aunting. Perhaps it is better if we simply try to become friends."
Maxie gave a shy smile. "I would like that very much."
Desdemona sipped more coffee, then sighed. "This is an awkward topic, and probably an auntly one, but I cannot help but be concerned for your reputation." She glanced at Lord Robert. "Doubtless things are somewhat different in America, but surely you are aware of the English proprieties?" The lift at the end of her sentence was accompanied by a pious hope that she would not have to become more specific.
"If you mean what I think you mean," Maxie said in a tone whose frostiness would have done credit to a patroness of Almack's, "I assure you that Lord Robert has behaved as a perfect gentleman." The effect was spoiled when she added something under her breath that sounded like, "I was the one who didn't."
Desdemona stared at her niece, sure that she had misheard. Giles, who was closer to the girl, suddenly had a fit of coughing that sounded like a doomed attempt to stifle hilarity.
Deciding that abandoning the topic was the better part of wisdom, Desdemona asked, "Where are you staying? I would be delighted to have you here."
"That is very kind of you, but we are staying at Candover House. The duke and duchess have been most hospitable."
The marquess straightened, startled. "You're staying with Candover and his wife?"
"Yes." It was Lord Robert who answered, a hint of challenge in his voice. "And why not?"
"Why not indeed?" Giles murmured.
Desdemona wondered what that was about. She would make Giles explain later when they were private Turning back to her niece, she asked, "Did you leave Chanleigh so suddenly because Althea was plaguing you? She never could abide anyone disagreeing with her."
Her niece hesitated, weighing her answer. "That was part of the reason," she said finally. "I also wanted to meet you before returning to America."
"You're leaving England?" It was a possibility that had never occurred to Desdemona, though it should have.
An opaque look came into the girl's rich brown eyes. "My plans are somewhat uncertain."
In a way, the news that Maxie might go back to America was welcome. Any indiscretions that had occurred would not have scandalous repercussions. Then again, Desdemona thought with a return to gloom, nature being what it was, perhaps there would be other kinds of repercussions.
Maxie set her coffee aside and leaned forward, her hands clasped tensely in her lap. "Please, Desdemona, if you don't mind, could... could you tell me about the times you saw Max before he died?"
Looking at her niece's earnest face, Desdemona guessed the true reason the girl had come to London. Max had been devoted to his daughter, and obviously the feeling had been mutual. It must be very hard to know that her father had died alone and far away.
"Of course I don't mind talking about him," she said, settling back in the sofa with a nostalgic smile. "It was so good to see Max again. I was just a child when he left for America, but he wrote the most wonderful letters." She grinned. "Incidentally, I have his gold watch for you. It was taken from the body of a dead highwayman."
Her statement caused a lively set of explanations on both sides. After the incident had been discussed, the marquess got to his feet. "You ladies will have a great deal to say to each other. If you like, Robin, you can leave your carriage for Miss Collins, and I'll give you a ride to wherever you want to go."
Robin exchanged a glance with Maxie, who nodded. After a flurry of farewells, the two men left the house and climbed into the Wolverton town carriage.
Giles asked, "Where do you want to go?"
"Whitehall, please. Since I have the afternoon free, I might as well pay a visit to some of my old colleagues." Robin settled in the backward-facing seat opposite his brother. "It sounds as if Lady Ross led you a merry dance."
"No more so than her niece did you. Since her ladyship was threatening all and sundry Andrevilles, I decided that it behooved me to find you first, in the hopes of heading off scandal or your incarceration." Giles set his hat on the seat beside him. "Did Simmons ever catch up with you?"
Robin's brows rose. "Yes, in Market Harborough. How do you know about him?"
"I gave the fellow a ride near Blyth. He was nursing his injuries and plotting revenge on the 'yaller-headed fancy man' who had jumped him from behind."
"Of course I jumped him from behind. The fellow is twice my size," Robin said with irrefutable logic. "If there is one thing I've learned over the years, it's that 'fighting fairly' is a dangerous luxury."
"I assume he's the fellow Lord Collingwood sent after Miss Collins?"
"Exactly." Robin shrugged. "She didn't want to go."
"Apparently not. Simmons said she held a pistol on him."
"Life in the forests of the New World is rather different from a London drawing room, so she is in the habit of solving problems with a certain directness. In Market Harborough, for example, she had to be restrained from sliding a knife between Simmons's ribs," Robin explained. "When we first met, I had difficulty persuading her to accept my escort because she thought I looked useless."
"She's hardly the first to make that mistake." The marquess smiled reminiscently. "Miss Collins is not at all what I expected. On the overwrought occasion when I met Lady Ross, I countered her charge that you were a vile seducer with the suggestion that she and her niece were deliberately plotting to entrap you."
Robin laughed. "No one who knows Maxie could think such a thing. There isn't a duplicitous bone in her delightful body. Full frontal assault in broad daylight is her style, not sneak attack." He gave his brother a slanting glance. "I've asked Maxie to marry me. Will you have any objections if she agrees?"
Giles raised his brows. "Would it matter if I did? You're both of age."
"If you mean would your disapproval stop me, the answer is no. But I would very much prefer that you welcome her into the family. She has not always been accepted as she deserves." Robin glanced down and made a minute adjustment to his elegantly tailored sleeve. "I thought it was time I settled down."
Giles laughed. "I'm not sure that marriage to a pocket-sized hoyden with the courage to cross England on foot, attack a professional bruiser, and dine with a duchess is what I would call 'settling down,' but for what's it's worth, you have my blessing. The two of you should suit very well. Is the lady reluctant?"
"She has her doubts." Robin chuckled. "But I'm using every bit of my fabled charm to persuade her."
As Giles set Robin down outside Whitehall, he uttered a fervent mental prayer that the girl would accept his brother's proposal. It had been obvious as soon as the pair of them had entered Lady Ross's drawing room that Robin had recovered from the blackness of soul that had afflicted him. If it took a dark-eyed dazzler with a temper to make Robin laugh again, Giles was more than willing to welcome her as a sister-in-law.
Chapter 29
When Maxie returned to Candover House, she was relieved to find that Robin had not yet returned. That meant their visit to the inn where her father died must be postponed until the next day.
More and more she was concerned about what they would find. According to Desdemona, Max had seemed tense during his stay in London. As Maxie had listened, she had felt the hovering shadow of anxiety. It seemed all too probable that he had been involved in some nefarious proj
ect that had brought disaster on his head.
But Desdemona had been a delight. Finally Maxie had found an English relation that she actually felt related to. Her father had said several times that his daughter reminded him of his little sister. Now Maxie understood why: Under their superficial differences, the two women were very similar. Her aunt might be a strong-willed eccentric by the narrow standards of English society, but Maxie didn't doubt that Desdemona would manage splendidly in the American backwoods.
Robin's brother had also been a pleasant surprise. Though there was little family resemblance, the marquess had a lurking smile and tolerant attitude much like Robin's. He had also been amiable to her, in spite of her irregular background. Perhaps he might not object to her joining the aristocratic Andrevilles.
When she reached her bedroom, Maxie went to hang up her cloak. She swung open the wardrobe doors, then gasped with surprise. In the brief hours since Robin had suggested augmenting her supply of clothing, four gowns had appeared, with matching slippers neatly lined up below. In addition, accessories such as gloves, stockings, and shawls were folded on the shelves that ran down one side of the wardrobe.
She hung up the bonnet, then pulled out the most elaborate garment. It was a lovely silk evening gown in a shade of crimson that would suit her coloring admirably. She didn't bother trying on any of the dresses. Given the combined talents of Robin and Maggie, everything was bound to fit perfectly. They must have been a formidable team in their spying days.
As she closed the doors of the wardrobe, she smiled wryly. Robin didn't even have to be present to distract her from brooding about her father. Now she could brood about him.
It was incredibly tempting to grab his offer of marriage with both hands, before he changed his mind. But she could not escape the belief that her principal virtue was that she was available while the woman who was Robin's first choice was not. If Maxie weren't in love with Robin, they might have been able to make a comfortable marriage, enjoying each other's company and bodies without major conflicts. Though they might not reach the highs of a love match, they would also avoid the lows.
But since she did love him, the imbalance of emotion would be disastrous. It would be slow poison to live with Robin, always knowing that he had chosen her largely because she had been there when he had been having a bad night.
Wearily she rubbed her temples. Unless Robin really and truly wanted to marry her, Maxima Collins, half-breed American and not at all a lady, she would be a fool to accept him. Once she went back to America, he would forget her soon enough.
With a growl, she decided to find a distraction before she started chewing on the furniture. She was willing to be wise and noble about turning Robin down, but being gracious as well was too blasted much to ask of herself.
Unclenching her jaw, she went down to the library. When she had seen it the night before, Candover had noticed the naked lust on her face and invited her to browse to her heart's content.
The enormous chamber was unoccupied except for a fuzzy black ball on one chair. Maxie studied it a moment before deciding that it was either a misplaced fur muff or a sleeping cat.
She began to prowl, randomly pulling volumes from the shelves. Candover had books she had always wanted to read but had never been able to obtain. There were volumes of poetry, history, philosophy, art, and everything else that might challenge or delight a mind.
Deciding to be methodical, she pushed the rolling library ladder to the far corner of the long room and climbed to the platform at the top. With a complete disregard for propriety, she hitched up her dress, crossed her legs under her, and pulled a volume from the top shelf. With diligence, she calculated happily, she might finish working her way through the library somewhere about the year 1850.
Lost in an epistolary novel by Montesquieu, she had almost forgotten where she was when the sound of someone entering the room caught her attention. She glanced up from her book to see the duchess enter, then close the door and lean against it.
Since the other woman didn't look above eye level, she must have thought she was alone. Maxie frowned, wondering if she should announce her own presence. Before she could, the duchess swayed, then stumbled over to sit on a long sofa.
Alarmed, Maxie hastily descended the ladder. "Are you unwell, your grace? Shall I call someone?"
The duchess' lovely face was an interesting shade of gray-green that did not complement her eyes. Attempting to smile, she said, "Don't do that. The reason I slipped in here was to avoid alarming anyone. Rafe has every servant in the house hovering over me, and he's the worst of all."
She leaned back and closed her eyes. "There's nothing wrong with me, except that I haven't yet acquired the knack of breeding properly. Most women are ill in the morning, but for me it seems to be the afternoon."
"I see," Maxie said sympathetically. From the slimness of the duchess' waist, it was obviously quite early in her pregnancy. "Lie back and put your feet up on the sofa."
While the other woman meekly obeyed, Maxie found a soft, warm blanket on another sofa and spread it over her. "Perhaps you should have a little something to eat."
The duchess shuddered.
Maxie said soothingly, "Many pregnant women find that it helps to eat several times during the day. Nothing elaborate, perhaps something like tea and biscuits."
The duchess considered. "It's worth a try."
A quarter hour later, after the expectant mother had warily consumed two warm scones and a cup of tea, her normal color returned. Curling up in the corner of the sofa, she said, "Thank you for your advice. I feel amazingly better." She made a face. "At least, until the next time."
"Don't worry, your grace, the nausea disappears magically sometime after the third month."
Unable to keep curiosity from her voice, the duchess said, "You sound like a midwife."
"I'm not that, but I've had a colorful past." Maxie swallowed the last bite of a scone. "Did Robin tell you about my background?"
"Of course not." Her hostess gave her a stern look. "He is the last man on earth to talk about another person's private business. Sometimes it is impossible to get him to say anything useful about anything. And I wish you would call me Margot."
"Not Maggie?"
"My real name is Margot and that is what I use now. Maggie is a nickname Robin gave me, and it lasted through my spying days. I'm sure that to him I'll always be Maggie, just as I'll never really think of him as Lord Robert." She tilted her golden head to one side as if weighing whether to say more. Making up her mind, she said, "I know you're uncomfortable with me, but I'm no threat to you. On the contrary, I would like to be friends."
Maxie had to give the duchess full marks for confronting an awkward situation head-on. "I haven't meant to return your hospitality with churlishness. But I must admit that I have trouble understanding the relationship between you and Robin."
"You haven't been churlish. I think you have dealt very well with a situation that would send most women into strong hysterics." Margot sipped reflectively on her tea. "I met Robin when he saved me, at considerable risk to himself, from a French mob that had killed my father. I had a passionate desire to fight Napoleon any way I could, so we decided to work together.
"We were young and had only each other to trust, and there was a great deal of caring between us. It was easy—and very rewarding—to become lovers. Nonetheless, I had been acquainted with Robin for a dozen years before I was really sure of his name, station in life, or nationality."
She set her teacup down and began to turn her wedding ring absently. "It may be hard to understand this outside of the context of war. Robin would go off for months at a time, risking his life in ways I tried not to think about. Then he would show up, blithe and good-natured, as if he had been strolling around the corner. I think there is much that he never told me to spare me from worrying even more.
"In some ways we were very close. Yet there were other parts of our lives that never touched at all. Eventually, it seem
ed wrong to be lovers, and that ceased. But the friendship and trust remained, and always will." Her gray-green eyes drifted out of focus. "Perhaps the outcome would have been different if I hadn't been in love with Rafe before I ever met Robin. Impossible to say. But I suspect that Robin and I are too much alike ever to have made ideal mates."
Her manner changed, becoming brisk. "Perhaps now you can better understand why I genuinely want to see Robin happy."
Maxie's throat tightened. It couldn't be easy for the duchess to bare her soul to another woman who was very nearly a stranger. "I appreciate your openness, Margot."
"It's in my own interest to make peace with you. If you take me in dislike, it would affect my friendship with Robin, and I would hate that." She smiled with a hint of mischief. "Perhaps you could try thinking of Robin and me as brother and sister. Rafe found that helped."
To mask her thoughts, Maxie leaned forward to pour more tea for herself. It couldn't have been easy for Robin and Candover to become friends when they loved the same woman, but they seemed to have done it. She must do her best to match their maturity. Besides, it was very easy to like Margot. Glancing up, she said, "What you are doing is more than generous, to both Robin and me. It's easy to understand why Robin is in love with you."
"Robin was never in love with me. Not then, not now," Margot said firmly. She started to continue, then stopped. "I won't say any more. Perhaps I've already said too much."
Margot had convinced Maxie that she was not in love with Robin, but there was nothing in her words that proved that the opposite was not the case. Still, the duchess was offering a wise and tolerant female ear, and Maxie wanted to take advantage of that. She said hesitantly, "Robin has asked me to marry him, but it's hard to imagine someone with my mongrel past being accepted in his world."
Angel Rogue: Book 4 in the Fallen Angels Series Page 28
