The rap of the door knocker sounded through the house; the marquess had arrived, and it was too late to change now. Desdemona put her shoulders back and straightened to her full height. Unfortunately, the action emphasized a portion of her anatomy that was quite prominent enough already, but the only way she could survive the evening was by pretending that she was comfortable with her own appearance.
Giles was waiting at the foot of the steps. As Desdemona descended, he simply stared at her, his expression stunned.
Anxious again, she stopped and clutched the railing. She was a tough old fowl dressed up as a game pullet, and she was making an absolute fool of herself. She raised her shawl around her shoulders and started to draw it close.
The marquess mounted the two last steps and caught one of her hands in his, effectively preventing her from hiding in her shawl. "Forgive my stupefaction, Desdemona. I knew you were lovely, but tonight you positively take my breath away." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.
Her fingers tingling, Desdemona exhaled the breath of air she hadn't known she was holding. There was absolutely no doubt about the sincerity of Giles's admiration. Best of all, the warmth in his eyes didn't make her feel hunted. It made her feel... quite pleased with herself.
She smiled up at the marquess and took his arm. "Shall we be off?" It was going to be a good evening.
* * *
Maxie and Robin had spent so long talking that by the time they went downstairs, guests had begun to arrive. Margot came to greet them at the entrance of the small salon. Inside, six or eight people were talking with the ease of established friends.
After a smile for Robin, the duchess said approvingly, "Maxie, you look marvelous. Thank heaven that Rafe prefers blondes. Let me introduce you to the other guests." More quietly, she said, "Courage! Most of the people in this room have backgrounds every bit as unusual as yours."
Before they could move forward, a tall blond man and a slim, quietly lovely woman with brown hair came up to them. With a broad smile and an outstretched hand, the man said, "Robin, I'm sorry I missed you at Whitehall this afternoon." As they shook hands, he studied Robin shrewdly. "You're looking much better than when I saw you last in Paris."
"There was considerable room for improvement." Robin drew Maxie forward. "Miss Maxima Collins, meet Lucien Fairchild, the Earl of Strathmore. The lady, I suspect, is his wife, whom I have never met."
The tall young woman smiled. "Correct. I'm Kit Fairchild. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Collins."
The name Lucien rang a bell. After responding to the countess' greeting, Maxie said, "You're Robin's semidistant cousin in the Foreign Office?"
Lord Strathmore chuckled. "Second cousin, once removed."
"Luce was always better at details than I," Robin remarked.
So this was the man who had coaxed Robin into a life of espionage. He didn't look dangerous, but then, neither did Robin. Maxie said thoughtfully, "You may be semidistant cousins, but you resemble each other more than Robin and his brother do."
"If they were horses, their traits would be worth breeding for, don't you agree?" Kit said, face straight but eyes dancing.
Maxie decided she was going to like Lucien's wife. They were on a first-name basis within minutes. No longer concerned about her American guest, Margot went off to greet others.
A pair of new arrivals approached their group. Robin broke off what he was saying and stared. Maxie had never seen him so thoroughly startled. Rallying, he extended his hand to the newcomer, a darkly handsome man with an easy smile. "The last time we met, you were calling yourself Nikki and cheating an Austrian lieutenant at a horse fair outside Vienna."
"He deserved to be cheated," the man said as they shook hands. "That piebald you got from me was all right, wasn't it?"
"First class. Excellent stamina, which was useful for a shady character like me." Robin shook his head. "In all the times we passed messages back and forth, it never occurred to me that you weren't a genuine Gypsy horse trader. But since you're here, I assume you're Lord Aberdare, the infamous Gypsy Earl."
Aberdare grinned. "Don't blame yourself for not guessing that I was more than I seemed. Not everyone in Lucien's far-flung network was an old school friend."
"It wasn't for lack of trying," Strathmore said dryly.
Everyone laughed. Then the group split by gender as the men started exchanging news. Taking over the introductions, Kit said, "Maxie, this is Clare Davies, the Countess of Aberdare."
Lady Aberdare was scarcely taller than Maxie, with dark hair and vivid blue eyes. "I'm delighted to meet you." She studied Maxie, then gave a smile of satisfaction. "That gown looks better on you than it ever would have on me."
It took Maxie a moment to understand. Then she exclaimed, "Good heavens, did Robin and Margot plunder your wardrobe on my behalf?"
"Not quite. I was having several gowns made up. Since you and I are about the same size, Margot asked if there were any garments that I was having second thoughts on." Clare smiled. "I was regretting the crimson one. The fabric was lovely, but no Methodist minster's daughter could comfortably wear that color in public. You, however, look quite splendid."
A little helplessly, Maxie said, "I was expecting to be shredded. Instead, everyone is being so nice."
The others laughed. "London society has more than its share of cats and worse, but you won't meet any tonight." Kit gestured around the room. "I must say that the men here have turned out rather well for a group of overprivileged Old Etonians."
"Rabble-rouser," Clare said without rancor. "Kit is our residential radical."
The conversation turned to politics, with all of them agreeing that the recent war between Britain and the United States had been a piece of utter nonsense that never would have happened if women ran the government. As they spoke, a footman came around with sherry for the two countesses, and lemonade for Maxie. She felt delightfully pampered, and had never enjoyed a party more in her life.
Desdemona and Giles arrived together, acting as if they belonged that way. Her aunt looked positively spectacular; Giles was having trouble taking his eyes off her.
After greeting her aunt and Giles, Maxie looked around for Robin but didn't see him. Lady Strathmore was nearby and not engaged in conversation, so she asked, "Kit, have you seen..."
Then her voice trailed off as the woman turned toward her. Eerily, she was Kit, yet at the same time not Kit. Maxie blurted, "You're not Lady Strathmore, are you?"
The other woman chuckled. "You're correct, I'm not Kit, I'm her sister, Kira Travers. You're very observant to deduce that so quickly. Some people never do grasp that there are two of us. And no, my sister and I did not plan to wear gowns that same shade of blue—we simply do things like that. Last year our darling daughters were even born within twenty-four hours of each other."
Maxie grinned. "I'm glad to know I wasn't imagining things."
"You're Miss Collins, the American, aren't you? My husband is also from your side of the Atlantic." Kira scanned the room, then gestured him over.
Maxie stiffened as a rangy, brown-haired man approached. He would surely recognize her as a half-breed, and he would be more likely to have prejudices on the subject than a Briton would.
Kira said, "Miss Collins, my husband Jason Travers, the Earl of Markland."
He bowed politely. For a moment Maxie thought that his pained expression was for her. He quickly dispelled that by saying, "My wife loves using my title, knowing that it hurts my Yankee heart to hear it." He gave Kira a deeply affectionate smile. Looking back to Maxie, he said, "You have Indian blood?"
She straightened to her full height. "My mother was a Mohawk," she said warily. He could insult her if he liked, but if he said a word, one single word to disparage her mother, she would go upstairs for her knife.
He must have guessed what was in her mind, because there was a distinct twinkle in his eye when he said, "I hope you don't hold to the old feuds. Since my grandmother was a Huron, that would mak
e us blood enemies."
She had to laugh. So much for anti-Indian bigotry. Making a connection on the name, she said, "Are you the Jason Travers who owns the Travers Shipping Company in Boston?"
His face lit up. "You're from Boston?"
It took them only a few minutes to establish that they had several mutual acquaintances. The two of them could have spent the rest of the night talking.
When the dinner gong sounded, Robin appeared at her elbow. Amused, she asked, "How do you do that? You're like a cat, with the ability to materialize in a spot that was empty two seconds earlier."
"Some of my best spying lessons came from cats. Move quietly, sleep with one eye open, and always be prepared to bolt if the situation takes a turn for the worse." Robin gave her a smile of warm approval. "You're taking to the murky and shark-infested waters of London society like a racing swan."
"I'm having a wonderful time. Margot was right about these being genuinely nice people."
It increased her own enjoyment to see how pleased Robin was. London might have its share of sharks, but if she had a handful of friends like the people she had met tonight, the sharks wouldn't matter.
Chapter 31
Before the evening was half over, Giles had decided that he should spend more time in London. Much as he liked his Yorkshire neighbors, the dinner conversation there was never this good.
After a short spell over the port, the gentlemen went to find their ladies. Giles's gaze immediately went to Desdemona. His stern, worldly reformer was glowing like a schoolgirl. There was nothing girlish about her appearance, though; sitting next to her at dinner had made him feel like a lust-crazed youth. It had been all he could do to keep himself from staring at her lovely... neck. Every time she laughed, or lifted her wineglass, he had wanted to drag her from the room to a place of greater privacy. And she knew it, too, the redheaded vixen.
It would have been amusing, except that he found himself feeling twinges of uncharacteristic jealousy every time one of the other men looked at her. Candover and Desdemona had been political acquaintances for years, but Giles was willing to wager that the duke had never looked at her as admiringly as he did this evening. If Candover hadn't been a friend for several decades and famously besotted with his wife, Giles would have been tempted to suggest pistols at dawn.
He smiled at the absurd thought and deliberately turned to other guests. It was an easy, unstructured gathering, with people drifting from one conversation to another. Maxima Collins was fitting in effortlessly, with the wit and presence to equal any other woman in the room. She'd make Robin an admirable wife.
After a lively discussion of free schools with Lady Aberdare, he decided it was time to find Desdemona again. He looked around, and saw her talking with Robin in front of the French doors. This time, it was harder to laugh off his stab of jealousy. Why did she have to look so captivated? A stupid question; Robin had that effect on everyone.
Hating himself for resenting his own brother, he started toward the pair. As he did, Robin snapped his fingers and conjured up a lily of the valley that he must have stolen from one of the flower arrangements. Desdemona accepted the blossom with delighted laughter.
Giles's irritation soared to dangerous heights and his pleasure in the evening vanished. Damn Robin's effortless charm, his gilded tongue, and the impervious marble heart that enabled him to use his gifts so ruthlessly.
Not seeing Giles approach, Desdemona moved away to speak with her niece. Instead of following her, Giles said brusquely to his brother, "Join me for some fresh air."
Robin looked puzzled, but said amiably, "If you wish."
Robin was always amiable; it was another irritating trait. Fighting a losing battle with his temper, Giles stalked out to the spacious stone patio. He had no idea what he wanted to say to his brother, but he was damned well going to say something.
* * *
The two men walked to the wall that edged the patio. The famous Candover House gardens were lovely, but Giles showed no interest in the moonlit greenery. Robin studied his brother's grim expression uneasily, wondering what had happened. It was fortunate that Giles's bad moods were very rare, because Robin had always found them deeply disquieting.
Wanting to lighten the atmosphere, Robin remarked, "Lady Ross is splendidly formidable. I wish I'd been there when she swooped into your study with her parasol."
Giles braced his hands on the wall and stared into the night. "If you had been there, a great deal of trouble would have been avoided. I wondered what had become of you."
"Surely you weren't worried?" Robin replied. "Only that morning I'd said I might wander off if something—or someone—interesting came along. Perhaps it was a premonition."
"I reminded myself of that," Giles said with unmistakable dryness. "But I would have felt better if you had sent a note or left a message in the village."
"Sorry. I honestly didn't think of it."
"I'm sure you didn't." Giles's hands tightened on the wall, the knuckles going white. "You never did think of anyone but yourself."
Robin stiffened. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Giles glanced over, every trace of blue leached from his eyes, leaving them as flat as slate. "In all of those years of being a hero, did you ever spare a single damned thought for the people who cared about you? Did you ever wonder what it was like to wait for months on end, wondering if your only brother was dead, and if so, how he had died?" Hard lines appeared around his eyes. "I'm sure you didn't. After all, you had so much more interesting, important things to occupy your mind."
Robin stared at his brother, feeling as if a vast crevasse were opening under them. The crack had always been there, a fatal weakness in the foundation of their relationship, but both of them had preferred to ignore it. They had managed to be friends by never discussing what lay beneath the surface.
Now, for whatever reason, Giles wanted to break the silence and drag them both into the abyss. And if that happened, the bonds between them might fracture beyond any hope of repair.
Praying that Giles would be willing to return to safe ground, Robin said mildly, "Much of what I did was tedious beyond belief, with not a trace of heroism in sight. Of course there was always the risk that I would run out of luck, but I did my best to ensure that if anything happened to me, word would be sent to Wolverhampton as soon as possible."
"How thoughtful," Giles said with heavy sarcasm. "I'm sure that if I'd known that, it would have made a great difference."
Robin felt a familiar prickle of rebellion. "Is this about the fact that I was insufficiently deferential to the head of the family? I barely tolerated that from Father, and I will certainly not tolerate it from you."
"I'm talking about simple courtesy," Giles retorted. "You were constantly sending information to England, yet a letter a year seemed to be the best you could manage for your family."
Robin's eyes narrowed. "What was there to say? 'I've been lying, stealing, and occasionally killing. When I'm not busy with villainy, I live with a woman who has too much sense to marry me. I'm not dead yet. I hope you are well and the crops are prospering this year. Respectfully yours, Robert.' "
The effect of his words was explosive. Giles swung around, rage showing in every line of his body. "Are you implying that I'm a coward? God knows that it wasn't my choice to stay safely at Wolverhampton. I would have given everything I owned to go into the army after I left Oxford."
The irrational intensity of his reaction was shocking. Realizing that he had inadvertently triggered a profound and painful regret in his brother, Robin replied, "I know perfectly well you're no coward. Frankly, staying under the same roof with Father took more courage than I've ever had."
Unmollified, Giles growled, "Someone had to take the family responsibilities seriously, and it certainly wasn't going to be you. You were too busy seeing the world and risking your life."
Beginning to feel anger of his own, Robin said sharply, "I had no family responsibilities—I barely had a pl
ace at the table. I wasn't the favored son, and my existence or lack of it never made a damned bit of difference at Wolverhampton. I always assumed that staying the hell out of England was the best thing I could do for the noble name of Andreville."
"Don't be childish," Giles snapped. "I was the heir, so of course Father spent more time with me, but he treated you fairly. He was downright generous, considering that your behavior was enough to try the patience of a saint."
"Ah, yes, our generous, fair-minded father," Robin said bitterly. "You were never around when he grabbed me and stared at my face as if he couldn't believe he had been so unlucky as to have me for a son. Only once did he actually say it was my fault she died—that he wished to God it had been her who survived, not me—but the thought was always in his eyes. Always."
There it finally was, almost palpable with pain: the memory of the woman whose death had ripped the heart out of a family.
Incredulous, Giles said, "Father actually said that to you?"
"Yes." Robin glared at his brother, so angry that he spat out what he had tried never to think. "You never said it aloud, but I always knew you felt the same way."
For the space of three heartbeats, there was silence. Then Giles asked, "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"Do I have to spell it out?" Robin said tightly. "She was your mother, his wife. You were five years old and adored her, a feeling that was entirely mutual. Every day she came to the nursery to read stories and sing songs to you. I understand that she even taught you to read."
Face ashen, Giles whispered, "How could you know that?"
"I learned it from the servants. Never having had a mother, naturally I was curious about what I was missing. It was my first exercise in information gathering. She was a legend in the servants' hall, you know, because her behavior was so unlike what they expected of a marchioness." Robin closed his eyes, fighting back a fresh wave of the desolation that had permeated his childhood. "God, how I envied you for having her, even if it was only for five years. In your place, I would have arranged a lethal accident for the brat who had killed my mother."
Angel Rogue: Book 4 in the Fallen Angels Series Page 30
