She looked up and recognized him. Despite the hostility of their first encounter, she seemed glad to see a familiar face.
He lowered his pistol and walked toward her, saying, "Are you and your people all right?"
She nodded and tried to reply, but no words emerged. After swallowing hard, she said, "The highwaymen must not have been expecting much resistance. A pair of amateurs." She raised her hand to brush at her bonnet, then stopped and stared at the pistol in her hand.
"Good God," Giles exclaimed. "Did you shoot them yourself?"
"Luckily it didn't come to that. My men are veterans of the Peninsula." Her smile was a little crooked. "They were having trouble finding work after being invalided out of the army. I thought I was doing them a favor by hiring them. I didn't expect my good deed to be rewarded so dramatically."
"It's a good argument for charity." He looked over at the man who lay by the carriage. "Are both robbers dead?"
"I believe so."
As Giles studied the fallen highwayman, his heart gave an odd lurch. The hair was very blond, a little longer than average. No, it couldn't possibly be… He stared, pulse pounding. "That coat-" he said tightly. "It's like the one Robin was wearing the day he disappeared. And the hair is rather like his." He began striding toward the body.
Desdemona sucked her breath in. Surely the dead man couldn't be Lord Robert. Yet it was not unknown for wild young gentlemen to play at being highwaymen, and the robbers hadn't seemed very skilled at their trade. She gave a horrified glance to the other corpse, but it could not possibly be Maxima.
That didn't mean the blond man wasn't Lord Robert. The idea that the rogue might have committed such a vicious, irresponsible act enraged her. He couldn't be anything like his brother.
The marquess knelt beside the dead highwayman and turned the body for closer examination. Then he exhaled and dropped his head, covering his face with one hand.
Desdemona's anger vanished, replaced by compassion. She had. also looked into that shattered, bloody face herself, and knew it would figure in future nightmares.
She joined the marquess and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Wolverton. It's your brother?"
"No." He raised his head, visibly struggling for composure. "But for a moment I thought it might be. I was… relieved to learn I was wrong."
So the marquess defended his brother not only out of family loyalty, but love. She wondered what the wayward Lord Robert had done to deserve it. "You believed your brother capable of highway robbery?"
Wolverton made an impatient gesture. "Of course not. The idea was absurd." He touched the highwayman's sleeve. "But I'm willing to wager that this coat is Robin's. You can see from the cut that it's French,' not British. I wonder how the devil this fellow came to be wearing it."
"Perhaps your brother sold it and this villain bought it?"
"I'm not sure I believe in that much coincidence." Expression grim, the marquess began searching the dead man's pockets. He found several coins, a folding pocketknife, and a gold watch, but nothing that could identify the highwayman.
Desdemona frowned. "Let me see that watch." When the marquess passed it to her, she snapped open the case with a fingernail. Inside the lid was engraved "Maximus Benedict Collins." Silently she showed it to the marquess.
He whistled softly. "That belonged to your brother?"
She nodded. "It was a gift on his eighteenth birthday. I believe. When he died, it must have gone to Maxima." She gave her companion a worried look. "Obviously the highwaymen encountered your brother and my niece. You don't suppose that that… they might have robbed and killed them?"
The marquess's slateblue eyes darkened to nearblack as he got to his feet. "I doubt it. There would have been no need to kill two unarmed people. Also, Robin and your niece were seen alive and well in the last village. Any murderous assault would have had to have taken place within the last few miles, and I saw no signs of that. There was probably a robbery, and the coat and watch were part of the loot."
Her hand curled over her late brother's watch. "Vicious men don't need a reason, and shooting two people and hiding the bodies wouldn't leave many traces."
The marquess scowled. He knew that as well as she, and would rather the words hadn't been spoken aloud. "Possible, but unlikely. Robin is good at getting out of trouble. I can't believe that he would be so easily murdered, or that he would fail to protect a young woman in his charge."
"So Lord Robert has had vast experience at getting out of trouble. Honorable men don't need such skills," Desdemona said acerbically. "Money and influence have saved many a loose fish from hot water, but they won't save your brother this time."
The marquess must have been equally on edge, because he retorted, "If your trollop of a niece makes it safely to London, it will be because of my brother's protection, since she is apparently as deficient in sense as she is in morals. What kind of gently bred girl would even consider walking the length of England? Though at least she had the sense to take up with a man who could help her get there."
"She didn't 'take up' with him; she's being forced!" Desdemona snapped back. "You must be concerned about Lord Robert's behavior, or you wouldn't be following me."
"It's you who concern me, not my brother," the marquess said, his voice rising. "After you stormed out of Wolverhampton, I decided that I must try to protect him from the most pigheaded, vindictive female I've ever met in my life. It's obvious that you've already decided what happened, without a shred of real evidence."
"Who are you calling a pigheaded, vindictive female?" Desdemona's hand jerked upward as she fought an instinctive desire to box Wolverton's ears.
She had forgotten the pistol. As her fingers clenched, the gun discharged with shattering loudness, the bullet blazing past Wolverton. One of the drivers shouted, and both guards dropped what they were doing and hastened toward her.
"Jesus Christ!" Ashenfaced, the marquess instinctively dodged to one side. "Are you insane!"
She dropped the pistol and her reticule and pressed her hands to her temples, her whole body shaking violently. "I didn't mean to do that," she gasped, feeling on the verge of fainting. "I forgot I was holding a gun." She looked down to where the pistol lay in the dust, acrid smoke curling from the barrel. "I swear before God, it was an accident."
Wolverton waved off the guards, then took her arm and helped her to her carriage. She thought he was going to thrash her, but instead he sat her on the top step of the carriage and pushed her head between her knees. Speaking past her, he asked, "Does Lady Ross carry any brandy?"
Her maid answered in the affirmative. A minute later, Wolverton pressed the flask into her hand. "Drink this."
She raised her head, took a gulp, and choked, but her head cleared. Looking directly into his face, she said painfully, "I have a beastly temper, and too often I say things I regret, but I would never, ever try to hurt someone."
"I believe you," he said soothingly. "If you'd actually intended to shoot me, I'd be lying bleeding in the dust."
She shuddered at the image. "Please don't say that."
"Sorry." He took the flask and downed a goodly swig before handing it back. "We're both upset, and understandably so. But truly, I'm sure that our runaways are all right."
She smiled wanly. "I hope you're right. I suppose I must carry the bodies of the robbers to the next town and report the incident to a magistrate. With luck, I'll find Maxima and Lord Robert between here and there. They may have had enough of adventures if they've just been robbed of everything of value."
"Perhaps." Wolverton straightened. "It's also possible that they might have cut across country to a busier road, so I'm going to look for them on a parallel route."
She nodded, knowing that she and the marquess were not allies, even if they were being civil for the moment. "If you locate them, could you send a messenger to find me? So that I'll know that Maxima is all right."
"Very well. I'd appreciate it if you did the same."
He smiled, and she realized that he was really very handsome when she wasn't driving him berserk.
"Lady Ross, my life has become infinitely more exciting since meeting you." He turned and walked back to his carriage, collecting his servants with a glance. She watched him leave with mixed feelings. His search complicated her own. Yet she didn't mind the thought that she might see him again.
Chapter 7
Half an hour after Robin and Maxie started walking south on Rotherham road, a taciturn farmer offered them a ride in his wagon. Robin accepted for both of them, since they had agreed that the less Maxie spoke, the better. Ignoring Robin's hand, she scrambled into the wagon and burrowed into the crevice between two sacks of seed corn. Then she pulled her hat over her face and gave an excellent imitation of sleep.
Robin frowned as he settled back, pillowing his head on his knapsack. Maxie hadn't looked him in the eye since they had kissed. He didn't blame her for being unnerved; he was, too. What had started as an impulsive, affectionate embrace had turned out to be searing. Emotions that had been numb so long that he had forgotten their names were smoldering into life, and it felt damned uncomfortable.
How long had it been since he had truly desired anything or anyone? Too long.
He glanced over at his companion. Poor Maxie; no female so determined and practical would approve of becoming involved with a vagabond. Nonetheless, she had certainly participated enthusiastically in that kiss. Now she was regretting it. He doubted that she was the sort to waste time feeling guilty. More likely she was afraid that he would press his attentions on her. He would have to convince her of the nobility of his nature.
He smiled wryly at the thought. Noble he was not, but his selfinterest forbade any attempts to seduce his companion. Trying to bed her would surely destroy the companionship that was making him happier than he had felt in a long, long time.
Not that he wasn't lusting after her. She had fascinated him from the start, and that kiss had made him obsessively aware of everything about her. The rhythm of her breathing, the shapely legs that looked so good in trousers, her small brown hands, as strong as they were graceful. He was so conscious of her as an alluring female that it was hard to remember that the world saw her as a boy.
But it was her spirit that drew him. Her bright clarity made him feel younger. Less tarnished. He tried not to think what would happen when their journey ended. Maxie obviously had some goal in mind, and it didn't include him. But he was going to be very reluctant to see the last of her.
Yet what could he offer her? She thought him a worthless vagabond, and he preferred to leave it at that since his real past was far uglier than what she believed. As an American, she would not be overimpressed with the aristocratic birth and fortune that meant so much to English girls. Rather the contrary, he suspected.
It was better that she think him hopelessly ineligible. Her low opinion would prevent her from doing anything foolish if his willpower weakened and he tried to kiss her again.
He found himself watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. What would she look like if her breasts weren't bound?
Damnation! He forced himself to look away when he realized how his body was responding to his speculations. While it was a pleasure to feel desire again, if he weren't careful it would increase to the point of pain.
With a sigh, he settled back on the seed sacks and started considering ways to mend bridges with his wary companion.
The next village had a shop where they were able to buy a decent coat and hat for Robin. After treating themselves to a hot meal in the village tavern, they headed south again.
Shortly before sunset, Robin pointed toward a small barn across a field. "Shall we shelter there for the night? It looks suitably isolated."
"Fine." Maxie turned and headed across the field, wondering uncomfortably what would come next. Though Robin had been his usual easygoing self, she could not forget that unnerving kiss, nor the shameless way she had responded.
The barn proved to be quite comfortable, with few drafts and a stack of sweetscented hay. As they examined the place, Robin said, "I'm considering writing a guide for impoverished travelers, rating the relative merits of various barns and hedges. Do you think there would be a market for it?"
She set her knapsack down by the far wall, as far as possible from where Robin had placed his possessions. "Those who would need such a guide could not afford it."
"Mmm, I knew there would be a catch. There goes another plan to make my fortune."
She almost smiled before she remembered that she was trying to look forbidding so he wouldn't take her earlier weakness as an invitation. Moving past him, she said, "I'll gather the wood."
Robin went to bring water from a nearby stream while she collected an armload of dry kindling that would burn with a minimum of smoke. Then she built a small fire in a gravelly, protected spot not far from the barn.
As dusk darkened to night, Robin sat by the fire a few feet from her and began to peel the bark from a short stick he had found. In a conventional tone, he said, "You needn't think I'm going to try to ravish you, Maxima."
Her head shot up, and she stared at him.
"It won't do to pretend that we didn't kiss," he continued. "It happened. I enjoyed it. You seemed to also. That doesn't mean that I regard you as prey."
"You're very blunt," she said uncomfortably.
"Directness is not my specialty, and it is yours, but I am not incapable of it." With his pocketknife, he began to whittle a rounded end on the stick. "I decided to speak up since I don't want to walk the rest of the way to London with you acting like a stunned rabbit."
Outraged, she said, "A rabbit?"
He grinned. "I knew that would engage your attention. You're worrying too much about that kiss. It was an accident that occurred because we were relieved and happy."
She sat back on her heels, knowing that she must be as honest as he. "Perhaps it was an accident, but ever since we met, I've sensed that… that you find me attractive."
His brows rose expressively. "Of course I do. What man wouldn't? You are very beautiful."
"I wasn't fishing for compliments," she said, embarrassed.
"I know. You've probably had them hurled at you so often that you find the whole subject tedious."
"What I've usually heard is that I look beddable, which is not the same thing as beautiful," she said dryly.
"No, it isn't," he agreed. "But you are both. Small wonder that you've learned to mistrust male attentions." With the edge of his blade, he began to smooth the surface of the knob he had carved. "Perhaps it's my imagination, but I've had the feeling that you find me somewhat attractive also."
Her face colored. She had been trying to conceal that fact. Deciding to toss his words back at him, she said lightly, "What woman wouldn't? You are very beautiful."
Instead of being disconcerted, he chuckled, "I heard that often as a child, and hated it. I longed for black hair, saber scars, and a pirate eye patch."
"Be grateful that you looked angelic," she advised. "It probably saved you from any number of welldeserved beatings."
"Not enough." He blew some wood chips away. "To return to the main subject, attraction is perfectly normal between healthy adults." He glanced up, his eyes piercingly blue. "But not all attraction is meant to be acted upon. Think of our mutual awareness as merely a bit of spice to enrich our companionship."
She studied his face. He was so reasonable. Yet she kept thinking of how little she knew about him.
"You still look doubtful. Let me conduct a small demonstration." He set down his knife and stick and slid sideways around the fire until he was sitting next to her.
She was about to retreat when she made the mistake of looking up and seeing the lazy sensuality in his eyes. Sh
e froze, as wideeyed and helpless as the rabbit he had called her.
He drew her into his arms and bent his head. She shivered from sheer nerves when his lips touched hers, but the kiss was light and sweet. His mouth moved tenderly against hers, warm and firm, while his hands slowly stroked her back.
Her tension began melting away. Before it melted too far, she turned her head and released a soft sigh against his throat. "That was nice, but what were you demonstrating?"
"That a kiss needn't be alarming." He traced the curve of her ear with his tongue, and bright sensations spiraled through her veins.
"Then you're successful," she said a little breathlessly. "I'm not alarmed-yet."
He chuckled and sat back a little. "You look very fine in breeches"-he brushed her knee with his "fingertips-"but someday I would like to see you in silk."
She spread her palms on his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath the linen. "Speaking of clothing, did you know that you manage to make the nondescript coat you bought today look almost as damnyoureyes elegant as the one that was stolen?"
"It's a gift," he said modestly. "A friend once said that I was every other inch a gentleman."
As she laughed, he pulled a pin from her hair. A heavy coil dropped to her shoulder and tumbled down her back. She looked into his eyes, and her laughter died. His gaze was pure flame, yet controlled, not menacing.
Pin by pin, he released her hair, the falling locks caressing her breasts and shoulders. Then he drew her head against his shoulder and combed the thick tresses with his fingertips, spreading her hair in a mantle over her shoulders. "Black silk," he murmured. "The most obvious of metaphors, yet I can think of none better."
He felt warm. Strong. Even safe, though her common sense knew that was an illusion. She closed her eyes, enjoying the yearning that curled through her body. Clever of him to make this demonstration. He was revealing his desire and evoking hers, while at the same time proving that passion need not blaze out of control. They were adults; they could be together without mating like mink.
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