Robin put his arm around her and they began strolling back toward the house. "One reason I took you to Ruxton was to see if you liked it," he said hesitantly. "I've always been fond of the place, even though I've only stayed there half a dozen times in my life. Do you think you could be happy living at Ruxton?"
She thought of the warm stone, the rolling green hills, and the house's gracious, welcoming air. Ruxton wanted to be a home, and she was a woman who had wanted a stable home all her life.
Her voice almost inaudible, she said, "Yes. If… if things work out between us, I could be happy there."
Such a very big if.
Chapter 33
On the carriage ride home, Desdemona and Giles had talked casually, in words anyone could have overheard, but his large strong hand enfolded hers and she felt quite absurdly happy. She had not felt such a sense of bubbling anticipation since she was a child.
When they reached her home, Giles escorted her up the steps, then rested his hands briefly on her upper arms, his expression intent. His grasp tightened for a moment. She wondered if he was going to kiss her, right there in Mount Street
Then her parlor maid opened the door. He dropped his hands, saying simply, "Good night, Desdemona. It was a lovely evening."
Yes, and it was too early for it to end. She said, "It isn't really late. Would you like to come in for a few minutes? Perhaps have some brandy?"
The marquess hesitated, clearly on the brink of refusing.
Amazed at her own temerity, she smiled up at him. "Please?"
"For a few minutes, then," he said after an unflatteringly long pause.
She sent the servants off to bed, then led Giles into the drawing room and poured them each a brandy. Sitting in facing chairs, they talked idly for a while, but the earlier ease was gone. The marquess watched her with a dark, brooding expression that made her uneasy. Though she had thought his regard was flattering earlier in the evening, now she was not so sure. Perhaps, she thought with profound depression, his interest in her had been a momentary aberration and now he was wondering how to disengage gracefully.
He finished his brandy and stood. "I think it's best that I leave now."
Desdemona stared at him, sure she had done something wrong.
Humor lurking in his eyes, he said, "Don't look at me like that, as if I've just cast my vote against your apprentice protection law."
She glanced away, struggling to control her expression. A proper female would have learned not to wear her heart on her sleeve by the age of seventeen. Yet here she was, on the shady side of thirty, acting like a naive fool.
Giles swore under his breath. "The problem isn't you, Desdemona, but me," he said bluntly. "If I stay, I am going to have a great deal of trouble keeping my hands off you, which you will probably find upsetting. It will certainly raise havoc with the slow, genteel courtship I have been planning."
Courtship? Hearing that filled Desdemona with relief. "I don't think you're likely to turn into a lust crazed beast. And if you do"-she gave him a shy smile-"it's a risk I'm willing to take."
Giles smiled but shook his head. "Perhaps I'll manage to behave as a gentleman, but I can't guarantee it."
"Good!" she said recklessly.
He laughed, lines crinkling the tanned skin around his eyes. "Do you realize how much you've changed in the last fortnight?"
"I hope it's for the better."
"I certainly think so." He leaned against the fireplace mantel, his arms folded across his chest, his expression serious. "This may be too early for a formal offer of marriage, but I'd like you to consider the possibility."
Desdemona stared at him, her relief ebbing away. She had been drifting, delighted by his company and his admiration, but now that he had actually spoken, painful reality closed in.
He raised his brows at her expression. "Surely you aren't surprised. The prospect was first raised in Daventry."
"I guess I thought that after you had a chance to consider, you wouldn't really make an offer," she said in a small voice.
He gave the wry half smile she loved. I'm not sure whether that shows lack of faith in me or in yourself." His smile faded. "You are living proof that a woman doesn't need a husband to have a worthwhile life. Even if you do wish to remarry, I can understand that you might prefer more promising material. Just… just tell me now, and I won't mention the subject again."
His statement reminded her that she was not the only one to feel uncertain. "I have no doubt that you would make a marvelous husband. The problem is-" she swallowed hard, "I don't know if I would make an adequate wife."
He caught her gaze with his own. "You are honest, beautiful, have a kind heart, and do not suffer fools gladly. To me, those seem like excellent qualifications for a wife."
She smiled at what he considered important, but her eyes slid away. "I don't know if I can give you an heir. It's true that my husband and I did not share a bed for very long, so perhaps I am not barren, but I am past thirty now-"
He cut her off sharply. "That doesn't matter. I'm offering for you because I want you to be my wife, not a brood mare. It doesn't bother me to think that Robin or a son of his will have Wolverhampton after me." Painful bleakness showed in his eyes. "My mother and my first wife both died in childbirth. I would not want to see that happen to you."
Desdemona looked down to where her hands were frantically twined in her lap. The trouble with half truths is that they were not much protection after they were demolished. She should have known that the real truth could not be avoided.
She forced herself to look at him. "There is another,more basic reason why I fear I would not be the wife for you. You are a warm, passionate man. Surely you want a wife who is the same. But I don't know if I am capable of being that kind of woman."
She hoped he would understand what she was trying to say, but no such luck. After a long pause, he said quietly, "Could you explain what you mean a little more clearly?"
Her shoulders bowed and her voice broke. "My husband… he used to say that lying with me was like bedding an icicle. That any trollop on the streets was warmer than I."
Giles crossed the room and sat on the arm of her chair, then put his arms around her. "Hush, love," he said, rocking her gently, his cheek against her hair. "Few women are passionate in a miserable marriage. Don't condemn yourself because of the words of a selfish brute."
She clung to him, shaking, but his words eased some of the tight knot inside her.
He smoothed back her hair with a gentle hand. "You are so incredibly fairminded. There is probably not another woman in London who would so conscientiously spell out her presumed failings when a marquess offered for her."
She leaned back in his embrace to look him squarely in the eye. "I'm not interested in marrying a marquess. I'm interested in Giles Andreville, who is the kindest, most amusing, most attractive man in England."
A slow smile spread over Giles's face. "It seems that we both think marriage is a good idea, so when shall we do it?"
Before she could answer, he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. The desire that had ebbed while she was revealing her fears began to return. She kissed him back, wishing that she were more experienced.
He lifted his head and smiled into her eyes. "You don't kiss like a cold woman." He stood, then pulled her to her feet for another, longer embrace.
She loved the feel of his broad, muscular body. He was the only man who had ever made her feel delicate and feminine. She pressed against him, losing herself in his kiss.
He broke away, his breath coming quick and hard. "I think we can work matters out to our mutual satisfaction, don't you?"
Perhaps he was right, but she did not want to risk the unknown. Her gaze dropped to his cravat as she said haltingly, "Marriage is forever, Giles. It might be better if we don't do anything so irrevocable until we are sure. Or rather," she qualified, "until I am sure that… that I can fulfill my part of the bargain."
"There will never be any guarant
ees, Desdemona," he said gravely. "I think it is enough to trust that love will carry us through." He touched her cheek in a gossamer caress. "And I do love you, very much."
"I love you, too," she whispered. "But I don't have as much faith as you. I think it would be better if we… tried first."
He stared at her. "Desdemona, are you propositioning me?"
She nodded, blushing, and ducked her head again.
He wrapped his arms around her and began to laugh. Humiliated, she tried to jerk free.
He held tight, not letting her escape. "Do you have any idea how alarming it is for a man to be told that his whole future depends on one night's performance? The thought is paralyzing."
When she realized that he was laughing not at her, but at himself and the splendid absurdity of human nature, she was able to laugh with him. "It doesn't have to be only one night We can take as long as necessary." She smiled mischievously and wriggled closer. "And while it's been a very long time since I've been this close to a man, if my memory serves, the indications are that you don't seem the least bit paralyzed."
Giles gasped, his arms tightening. "Shall we see if I can convince you that you will make the best of all possible wives?" He bent over for another kiss that left them both breathless.
Wordlessly she guided them upstairs to her room, her head resting on Giles's shoulder, more happy than she could ever remember being in her life. Somewhere during that last kiss, she had realized that he was right, that the powerful attraction she felt for him meant that she really was capable of being a warm and willing wife. But it would be a pity to skip the proof.
After closing the bedroom door behind them, Giles said softly, "Let me look at you."
Her maid had left a single lamp burning on the bedside table. It gave enough light to show the intentness of his expression. Shyly she stood still while he circled around her. He unfastened her pearls, pressing a kiss on her nape when he was done. Then he used his fingers to roughly comb her hair down over her shoulders. He buried his face in it, murmuring, "I've wanted to do this for so long. Your hair is all fire and silk, just like the rest of you."
His breath warmed her throat; his admiration warmed her heart. With dawning confidence, she said, "I want to see you, too, Giles."
She untied his cravat, then unfastened his collar buttons so she could lay her hand on the warm expanse of his chest. Brown hair tickled her palm and she felt the acceleration of his heart.
Garment by garment, they took turns undressing each other. They moved with deliberate slowness, feeding the fire between them with soft words and gentle touches.
When her shift whispered to the floor, leaving her naked except for her stockings, he said huskily, "You are beautiful, so splendidly beautiful. Boadicea, the ancient British warrior queen, must have been like you, all redgold hair and blazing womanly strength." He smiled. "Ever since Daventry, I've been thinking what a magnificent neck you have."
She blushed. "Is that what you were staring at all evening?"
"Of course it was your neck. Am I not a gentleman?" He slid his hands under her lush breasts, lifting and molding them. Breath rough, he said, "I've wanted to do this as well." He rubbed his face in the deep, warm cleft, then began licking and kissing her nipples, worshiping her with his touch.
She gasped and arched her head back. For the first time in her life, she loved her harlot's body, for it gave him such pleasure. More than anything on earth, she wanted to please him, to return the joy that was blossoming in her.
When they lay down together, it was as partners. When they joined, it was at her frantic urging, her need to have him become part of her. And when they cried out, it was together.
It was a night of shyness and discovery, passion and laughter, too precious to waste on sleep. She discovered that she was not a cold woman, not at all, and in the process she convinced Giles that only a complete ninny could have found him boring.
When not making love, they lay in each other's arms and talked, sharing their thoughts as intimately as they had shared their bodies. It was with the greatest of reluctance that Giles acknowledged the lightening sky outside. "Dawn comes too early at this season." His breath stirred her tangled hair. "I don't want to leave, but it's time."
She rolled over so that she lay half across him, her chin on his chest. There was no trace of the angry, defensive woman who had first exploded into his sedate life. Now she was all soft welcome. "Why leave? The servants will already have deduced what is going on."
"Except for my coachman, not necessarily." He smiled. "I admit that for persons of our advanced years, propriety is not of first importance, but I prefer there be no gossip around your name."
Smiling impishly, she wiggled her lush curves to such good effect that he drew her down for another kiss. When it was necessary for survival's sake to stop for air, he panted, "You're a shameless woman. And I'm a lucky man."
Her pale redhead's skin colored rosily again.
He said with interest, "Your enchanting blushes go much farther than I realized."
That made her blush even more. By the time Giles had finished investigating exactly how far the blushes went, another half hour had passed. After, as they lay twined together, she said softly, "I didn't know it could be like this."
"Neither did I."
She raised her head and regarded him with surprise. "Truly?'
"Truly." He stroked her bare shoulder. "I suppose I've had the normal amount of experience, but I've never before made love with my beloved. Nothing in the past has ever equaled this." He kissed her again, lingeringly. "Are you ready to make a decision about marriage, or do you need more time?'
She laughed and linked her arms around his neck. "Do you think I'm such a fool as to let you go?"
Chapter 34
The Abingdon Inn was on a street called Long Acre near Covent Garden. As the hackney carriage halted in front, Maxie's face tightened. Ever since she'd awakened, the black anxiety had been suffocatingly close. She could not shake the feeling that she was on a course that would shatter forever the life she had known. Yet she had no choice but to go forward.
She and Robin had agreed that it was best to simply visit the inn and make inquiries. Surely the death of a guest would be remembered. And if they did not receive straightforward answers to their questions, well, that would give her another kind of information.
Robin helped her out of the carriage. She took a moment to study the building. It was small and respectable, but only just. Her father had not had money for grander establishments.
Taking Robin's arm, she lifted her chin and walked to the door.
As the welldressed young couple disappeared into the inn, the owner of the tobacco shop next door peered through the grimy glass of his front window, squinting to confirm that the pair matched the description he had been given: a blond fellow as cool as a lord, and a dusky little pocket Venus. The old man nodded. Aye, these must be the ones.
Turning to the lad who assisted him, the tobacconist said, "Go 'round the corner and tell Simmons that the folk he asked me to watch for are in the Abingdon now. Mind you hurry, and if he ain't there, go after 'im. There'll be a halfcrown for you if 'e gets here in time."
And there'd be three quid, less the halfcrown, for himself. Vastly pleased, the tobacconist treated himself to one of his own most expensive cigars.
They had agreed in advance that Robin would speak, since men were usually taken more seriously. When they found a spotty young clerk, Robin asked, "May we speak with the landlord, please?"
The clerk looked up from the newspaper he was reading. After in insulting glance at Maxie, he said, "I can rent you a room, but you'll have to pay for a whole day even if you only want it for an hour."
"We do not need a room," Robin said in a voice edged with steel. "We want to speak to the landlord. Now."
The clerk considered making a surly reply, men thought better of it. "I'll see if Watson'd speak to you."
Maxie clenched and unclenched her
hands as they waited. If it hadn't been for Robin's calming presence, she would be ricocheting from the walls. She was grateful that he didn't attempt conversation; in her present mood, she might bite his head off. She had fought off wolves in a winter blizzard with more composure than she was showing today.
Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe more slowly. The tram would have to be better than living with such anxiety.
The clerk returned and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "He'll see you. Down the hall, last door on the left"
Watson was thin and balding, with an expression of chronic irritation. Not bothering to rise from his desk, he barked, "State your business and be quick about it I'm a busy man."
"My name is Lord Robert Andreville," Robin said crisply. "About three months ago, one of your guests, a Mr. Collins, died unexpectedly."
"The American bloke." Watson's face went blank. "Aye, he turned up his toes here."
"Could you tell us something of the circumstances of his death?" When the manager didn't reply, Robin prompted, "Who found him, and what time of day was it? Was Mr. Collins still alive when he was found? Was a physician called?"
The manager scowled. "What business is it of yours?"
Unable to keep silent, Maxie said, "He was my father. Surely I have a right to know what his last hours were like."
Watson swung around to study her, his expression unreadable. "Sorry, miss." Glancing away, he said, "A maid found him in the morning. He was already gone. The physician said it must have been his heart. He went suddenlike."
"What was the physician's name?" Robin asked.
Watson stood, his expression surly. "You've taken enough of my time. There's nothin' more to know. Collins died and that's it. If it hadn't happened here, it would have been somewhere else, and I wish it had been. Now get out. I've work to do."
Maxie opened her mouth to protest, but Robin took her arm firmly. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Watson."
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