Angel Rogue fa-4

by Mary Jo Putney

  His brother looked away. "I'm sorry I lost my temper that night, but I was concerned. You looked ready to break. I thought it was time to let Britain struggle on without you."

  "I was not at my best then," Robin admitted. "But retiring to a quiet life in Yorkshire would have driven me mad. For me, it was better to keep working and take my chances."

  "As you said, we're very unlike. For me, Wolverhampton has always been my retreat and my redemption."

  There was another long silence before Robin said wearily, "After our mother died, there was never enough love at Chanleigh, not with Father's grief and anger poisoning us all. I didn't dare ask you for too much, for fear that your patience would run out I couldn't bear the thought of that"

  Giles smiled humorlessly. "I felt much the same way-that if I did anything that might strain our relationship, you would flit off like a dragonfly and never return."

  Robin swallowed against the dryness in his throat, feeling more vulnerable than when he had searched Napoleon's library. "You were the salvation of my childhood, Giles. Now, you're one of two-no, three- people I would give my life for. I wish I had known how to say that sooner. I'm sorry you ever spent a single moment thinking that I didn't care."

  Giles rubbed his forehead, his broad hand obscuring his face. When he lowered his arm, there was a gleam of moisture in his eyes. "Brothers are supposed to love each other, but I thought that with us, most of the feelings were on my side."

  One of the knots tied around Robin's heart dissolved. Giles was right; brothers were supposed to love each other, and the two of them did. After almost thirty three years of complicated living, he had discovered a bedrock simplicity that had always been there. Without speaking, he reached out a hand to his brother. Giles gripped it hard.

  More man when he had returned to Wolverhampton, Robin felt that he had come home.

  As he released his brother's hand, Robin said, "We should have talked like this years ago. Still, why tonight, in the middle of a firstrate dinner party?"

  Giles gave an embarrassed laugh. "When I saw Desdemona being charmed by you, every brotherly resentment I ever felt came boiling to the surface. I don't mind you fascinating all the other females, but I very much minded about her."

  "Believe me, you have nothing to fear. Our whole conversation was about you-the woman thinks you walk on water. I did not disabuse her of the notion. I gather that you have hopes in that direction?"

  "I do." Giles smiled. "I think I'll go find her. I'm happier when she's nearby."

  Robin understood perfectly. The discussion with his brother had been valuable and long overdue, but he felt as if he had been through an emotional threshing machine. Which meant that more than anything on earth, he wanted Maxie.

  Chapter 32

  Robin found Maxie talking to Lord Michael Kenyon, a tall man with chestnut hair and the whipcord toughness of a trained warrior. She glanced up mischievously. "Lord Michael tells me that he met you in Spain. When coaxed, he said something about you being disguised as an Irish priest at the time?"

  Robin rolled his eyes. "I'm afraid so. During the Peninsular war, a whole network of priest spies operated from the Irish College of Salamanca University. I occasionally masqueraded as one when I was on the Peninsula." He made a face. "I also managed to get shot. I'm sure that Lord Michael didn't mention that he found me bleeding all over my stolen dispatches, and had the sense to haul me into Wellington's headquarters."

  So that was how Robin had acquired that dreadful bullet scar. Not caring whether she shocked the other guests, Maxie rose onto her toes and pressed a light, swift kiss on Lord Michael's cheek, "Thank you. It must have taken a whole regiment of guardian angels to keep Robin intact."

  Lord Michael gazed down at her, startled but not at all displeased. He had remarkable green eyes. "I'd heard that American women were enchantingly direct, but never been so lucky as to see a demonstration. Are there more like you in Boston?"

  Robin said fondly, "Maxima is unique anywhere."

  "I was afraid of that" After exchanging a few more words, Lord Michael moved away.

  Maxie gazed after him. "Is there a Lady Michael that didn't come tonight?"

  "He's unmarried. Are you interested in applying for the position of wife?" Robin said dryly.

  She gave him a look. That's an absurd comment even for you. I was merely curious-even though he flirts very nicely, his heart is not the least bit available."

  "Interesting. According to Margot, he's spending the Season with Lucien and Kit with the idea of taking a wife if he finds a lady to his taste. Perhaps he's found one." Losing interest in the subject, Robin continued, "I came to see if you were interested in some fresh air. The Candover gardens by moonlight are quite a sight"

  As much as Maxie was enjoying the other guests, she was ready for some time alone with Robin. They walked together, to the French doors.

  Before going out, he glanced around. "It's a bit cool this evening. If I know Maggie, she will have put some shawls here for female guests who might want to go outside."

  Sure enough, a pile of softly folded fabric waited on a small table to the left. As Robin took the top shawl, Maxie said admiringly, "Margot thinks of everything."

  He shook out the dark paisley shawl, then draped it around her shoulders, his hands caressing. They stepped out into the flagstone patio. After Robin closed the door, they strolled across the stones and down the steps into the garden itself. A scattering of low lanterns marked the paths for guests, but weren't so bright as to interfere with the magic of the night. The voluminous shawl hung all the way to Maxie's knees, protecting her from the cool evening air.

  Even warmer was the arm that Robin laid over her shoulders when they were out of sight of the house. They were walking much closer than was proper. Not that she minded; quite the contrary. They had already been so close that it was an effort to remember society's strictures.

  She looked up to make a comment, then frowned. Robin's light expression was gone, and in the moonlight he looked deeply weary. "Is something wrong?"

  He gave her a slanting glance. "I should have known you'd notice. Giles and I just had the worst argument of our lives. Very fatiguing."

  She stopped and stared at him. "That's dreadful. No wonder you're looking a bit gray. I thought you two got on very well."

  "We always did, to a point, but there's a lot that never got said." Robin sighed. "Tonight we both aired a lifetime of resentments."

  "From what I've seen, it's easier for sisters to be friends than brothers," she said gravely. "Brothers often compete with each other, which can interfere with warmer feelings. It must be even harder when the elder is heir to a great title and fortune."

  "You're right-I've seen that with other brothers. It's probably a blessing that Giles and I are so different." Robin hugged her shoulders and started them walking again. "We decided that the underlying cause of tonight's argument goes all the way back to my mother's death. My father blamed me for it, which warped the whole family. Giles became serious and responsible and tried to take care of everyone, which no child should have to do, and I grew up rebellious. As a result, Giles and I were incapable of showing how much we meant to each other. When I returned from France last fall, I wasn't sure if Giles would want me at Wolverhampton. I didn't realize that he was hurt by the fact that I had gone so far and stayed away so long."

  "Did you and he manage to resolve your differences?"

  Robin smiled. "Yes, thank God. We're closer now than we ever have been in the past."

  "I'm so glad." Unable to keep the vehemence from her voice, she added, "But your father deserved to be whipped. Taking all of his guilt about his wife's death and piling it onto a defenseless infant was despicable."

  "Guilt-my father? What for?"

  "Your mother didn't get pregnant without help," Maxie pointed out tartly. "Do you know if she had a history of problems with childbearing?"

  "As a matter of fact, Giles said that she was never strong, and she'd
had several miscarriages."

  Maxie nodded, unsurprised. "If your father had shown more restraint, her health might not have broken down."

  After a long silence, Robin said in a wondering voice, "I never thought of that"

  "Any woman would."

  He smiled ruefully. "A pity we didn't have a sensible female like you at Wolverhampton to sort us all out."

  Their wanderings had brought them to the folly, a tiny, circular Greek temple. The columns and proportions were so perfect that Maxie suspected that some earlier duke had bought the temple in Greece and had it shipped home in pieces.

  Side by side, they climbed the steps. The folly was a pleasant, airy place, with curved benches built against the halfwalls. A rectangular stone altar stood toward the rear, waiting for picnics rather than sacrificial goats. In the moonlight, the effect was quite enchanting.

  Robin looked down at his companion. The moonlight made her features a symphony of elegant planes and shadowed contours. No longer able to wait, he raised her chin and kissed her.

  He had meant it to be light and affectionate, but as soon as their lips touched, his emotional control disintegrated. In the last few days, he had been battered by the memories of every bad experience of his life. He would not have survived if not for the woman in his arms, and he yearned for her as a man dying in the desert thirsts for water.

  They had been doing a slow dance of desire, beginning when he had gone to her room and building through the evening with lingering glances and private smiles. But what he felt now went beyond passion to a raw need for her blessed warmth and the bewitching mysteries of her body.

  He slid his hands under the wool shawl so he could knead her soft curves. When she made a little purring sound of response, he teased her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. It hardened immediately under the layered silk.

  He wanted more, much more. Catching her by the waist, he perched her on the stone altar. She inhaled with surprise, then relaxed, her hands curling over the edge of the altar.

  Raising her made it easier to reach various delicious bits of her anatomy. He put his hands over hers, trapping them against the stone. Her fingers fluttered for an instant under his, then became still.

  He leaned forward and rubbed his cheek against hers. Her skin was petal smooth, cool on the surface with radiant life pulsing below. He blew lightly in her ear, then traced the delicate whorls with his tongue. She hummed with pleasure, stretching her neck like a cat.

  The shawl was so large that she was sitting on it, yet still had enough fabric to cover her shoulders and chest. He nudged the shawl aside with his chin. The dark wool slithered down and pooled on the back of his hands where they held hers to the stone. Her position thrust her breasts forward alluringly.

  He tasted the sensual arc of her throat. She was sane and whole and he wanted to devour her, to make that sanity and wholeness part of himself.

  When his trailing lips reached her necklace, he quickly skipped lower. He'd paid a small fortune for the thing, but rubies and diamonds were cold and lifeless compared to the satiny swells above her decolletage. He kissed them with ardent tenderness, inhaling the haunting womanly scent from the cleft between her breasts.

  Trying to mask his urgency, he released her hands so he could shape the ripe curves of her buttocks with his open palms. Then his hands slid forward, gliding over the gentle curve of her abdomen toward the sensitive mound between her thighs.

  She said breathlessly, "Time to stop, I think."

  "Not yet." Under the shimmering skirt, her knees were several inches apart. He spread them farther and stepped between so that she could not close them again. He was so close he could feel her sultry female heat.

  He sought and found her mouth, wanting her to be so beguiled that she would not question what he was doing. He lifted her skirt and petticoat with both hands and rested his palms on her stockingclad knees while he deepened the kiss. Then he massaged upward, over her garters, seeking her hidden female essence.

  She responded with openmouthed generosity, but she was too clever to be distracted. When he caressed her inner thighs, she turned her head away and instinctively tried to close her legs. She couldn't, and the pressure of her knees against his hips inflamed him still further.

  Trapped by his body, she became still. "Robin," she said unevenly. "Robin, we should go back inside now. This is not the right time or place."

  She was not afraid-not yet. To frighten her would be unforgivable, but he was incapable of moving away.

  His breath ragged with effort, he straightened and wrapped his arms around her. A hard pulse beat in his temples, a harder one in his loins, where his straining sex was pressed against her intimate heat, trying to tear through his tight garments to meld with her. She was so small, so easily enfolded, yet supple with female strength. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "You're right, but-Christ, I have the most absurd feeling that if I don't have you, I will die."

  He tried to sound amusing, to make a joke that would obliterate the foolish melodrama of his words, but for once frivolity failed him. The hammering of his blood repeated, If I don't have you, I will die. If I don't have you, I will die.

  That stark need was not only for tonight, or for the physical act of union that his body demanded. He wanted her for always, his mistress, his match, his mate. But he also, rather frantically, wanted to make love to her right now.

  Unable to repress a forlorn hope, he said, "You didn't want to lie with me in Maggie's house… but we're not in the house now."

  "Oh, Robin, Robin, you're a wicked, silver tongued devil, half angel and half rogue." She gave a soft sigh that held both gentle reproach and laughter. "What am I to do with you?"

  He shut his eyes, embarrassed that she knew him so well, yet grateful that she could still speak with affection.

  Her hand brushed his hair, then fell away to skim his face. Her fingers were cool against his heated forehead and cheek.

  She stroked her thumb across his parted lips, then put her hands on both sides of his head and pulled him down for a kiss. As their mouths joined, her hand slid downward, gliding over his chest and hips. When it reached the fall of his breeches, her palm curved, clasping the hard ridge beneath the taut fabric.

  He went rigid as fire coursed through his veins.

  She murmured, "I hope no one else decides to come outside for a walk." Her fingers went to the top button of his breeches.

  After a stunned moment, he unfastened the buttons himself, his fingers tangling clumsily with hers. When he had freed himself, he touched her, trailing his fingers through the soft curls to the sweet female secrets below. The silky, pliant folds were fever warm and swollen with moisture.

  She gave a longing sigh that maddened him. He raised her right leg and wrapped it around his hips, then did the same with her left. She was so open, so yielding.

  As he prepared her for his entry, she whimpered and her calves locked around him. Further restraint was impossible. He buried himself inside her with one fierce thrust.

  She gasped, on the edge between pleasure and pain. Panting, he forced himself to hold still so she could adjust. Just being within her was almost enough to bring him to culmination. Every part of his body was throbbing. He felt as if he had entered a safe harbor, yet at the same time a tempest raged in his blood.

  The musky scent of sex surrounded them, as intimate as their bodies. Using his right arm to support her back, he slid his left hand between them until he was touching her just above where they were joined. He found tide sensitive, hidden nub, then gently rubbed with his knuckle.

  She moaned. As her hips began grinding against him, a long, slow shudder convulsed her and she buried her face against his shoulder. A series of swifter contractions triggered his own release without his moving. Violent pleasure suffused him, yet in the center of his scouring, chaotic climax was peace.

  Gasping, he pressed his forehead against hers. "Oh, Lord. Maxie. I wish… I wish there was something I could do to give yo
u the kind of comfort you give me."

  Comfort. She sighed, glad he couldn't see her expression in the dark. When she had recognized the depth of his despairing need, she had given solace freely. In return, she had received mind drugging rapture. It was not a bad exchange. Yet she could not help wanting to be a something more than a source of emotional comfort and sexual release.

  That wasn't fair; Robin was giving everything he could. It was not his fault that he did not love her.

  Hoping that her muscles were working and she wouldn't collapse back onto the stone altar, she eased away from him. "I think I've ruined your cravat."

  "If so, I'll keep the remnants pressed in a book of poetry for the rest of my life." He followed the gallantry with a kiss.

  As his lips caressed hers with gentle affection, she gave a superstitious shiver. She had promised herself that they would make love at least once more. Had that swift, heedless encounter been it? She tried to look forward, to believe that there was a lifetime of lovemaking ahead of them, but she could sense nothing except the black fog of despair.

  When she shivered again, Robin said with concern, "You're cold. Time to render ourselves respectable enough to walk back into house." Her disengaged their bodies, caught her around the waist again, and gently set her on the marble floor. As he produced a handkerchief for her to dry herself, he added, "Semirespectable will do. If we looked immaculate, no one would believe it."

  "Immaculate is not a possibility." She smoothed down her crimson skirt. Luckily the shawl had protected her gown from the coarse stone. "I hope everyone will give us the benefit of the doubt and assume that all we've done is steal a few kisses."

  "Naturally that's all that happened," he said in his best peddler's voice, saturated with unreliable sincerity. "After all, you're an innocent maiden and I'm a gentleman."

  "Strictly nominal in both cases." Her hair was falling down. She located the hairpins and secured it again, hoping the result wasn't too wild, then draped the shawl over her shoulders.