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 goodnight 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 wheatgold 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 lovers 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.
Stilling 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."
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br /> 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 justice to the reality. 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 titianhaired 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. Though to be fair, it had never 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, wellbred voice. "Like you, he assumed that I was a helpless incompetent who would never survive the trip."
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.
Desdemo
na 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.
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