After a long day in the saddle, London assaulted Maxie's senses so fiercely that it made Boston seem like a market town. Wearily she followed Robin's mount through the dusky streets, her only interest in their destination being when they would arrive.
It was a rude shock when Robin reined to a halt in front of the grandest mansion in a section of the city full of grand mansions. "We're stopping here?" she asked, dismayed.
He gave her a reassuring smile as he dismounted. "This is it. The knocker is up, so my friends are in residence."
"Looking as we do, they won't feed us at the kitchen door, much less allow us into the parlor," she muttered as she swung her tired body from her horse.
He chuckled. "Don't worry, they've seen me in worse case."
Her feet planted on the cobblestones, she scrutinized the massive facade, feeling like a mud stained provincial. Pride came to her aid; she would be damned if she would turn coward now. What did it matter what a parcel of over bred English aristocrats thought of her? If Robin thought it fitting to bring her here, she'd not skulk in like a craven hound.
She held the horses while Robin wielded the knocker. The door was quickly opened by a liveried and bewigged footman. The servant made a slow, insulting scan of the visitor, looking as if he had found a barrel of longdead fish on the steps.
Before the footman could speak, Robin said imperiously, "Call someone to take our horses." He had made one of his instant transitions, this time into pure aristocratic hauteur.
The footman sputtered, men subsided under his visitor's disdainful eye. Within another minute, the butler appeared and the footman found himself leading the horses back to the mews.
In spite of her resolutions, Maxie was hardpressed not to cringe when she set foot in a marble floored foyer so vast that a cavalry company could have mustered in it. The vaulted ceiling soared two stories above, statues that must have been stolen from Greek temples stood on pedestals around the edges, and a sweeping double staircase dominated the center of the room.
She was not familiar with grand houses, but this one might have been a royal palace. Lord, for all she knew, the building was Carlton House with the Prince Regent carousing upstairs.
Robin, however, was as nonchalant as if he owned the house. He asked the butler, "Is the duchess in?"
Less easily intimidated than his minion, the servant said loftily, "Her grace is not receiving."
"That is not what I asked," Robin said with soft, lethal precision. "The duchess will see me. Tell her Lord Robert is here."
The butler's face showed rapid mental calculations that weighed the visitor's accent and manner against his unsavory appearance. Then he bowed slightly and went off.
Duchess? Maxie wondered if the august lady would prove to be Robin's grandmother, and he the adored family black sheep or something equally appalling. She had decided early in their acquaintance that Robin was well bred, but was he really from the highest levels of English society? With a sick feeling in her stomach, she admitted that it was quite possible, even probable.
Rigid with discomfort, she avoided Robin's eye, pulling in on herself in this strange and possibly hostile territory. Every muscle in her body tense, she prowled about the foyer like a cat investigating a new home. Even her companion's air of command hadn't gotten them invited into a drawing room.'
She had reached the farthest corner of the foyer when she heard the sound of swift footsteps. Turning, she saw a glorious golden creature racing down the sweeping staircase. The woman didn't see Maxie; instead, she hurled herself at her visitor, ignoring his filthy clothing. "Robin, you wretch! Why didn't you let me know you were coming?"
Robin reached out, laughing, to catch her up in his arms. "Show a little care, Maggie! Think of the future Marquess of Wilton, if not of yourself."
"You're as bad as Rafe," the duchess said fondly. "It could be a girl, you know."
"Nonsense. You're far too efficient not to provide the requisite heir on your first attempt."
For a moment the two stayed loosely linked in each other's arms with the casualness of long intimacy. The duchess was almost as tall as Robin, with the same blazing blond looks.
In her quiet corner, Maxie felt a shock so profound that for a moment her vision darkened. She had thought herself prepared for whatever this house had to offer, but not this. God in heaven, not this! How could he have brought her to his mistress's home?
How could he
?
In all the long journey from the north, Robin had never seemed further away. His gilt hair shone in the lamplight, and even in his shabby, travel worn clothing he was unmistakably an aristocrat. Not since her early childhood, when she had been taunted by white children, had Maxie felt so much a halfbreed and an outcast, so irredeemably small, dark, and alien.
Releasing the duchess, Robin said, "I want you to meet someone very special."
As he led Maggie across the foyer, Maxie was near paralysis from a volatile blend of fury and social confusion. What did one do in the presence of a duchess? In particular, what did a female dressed as a male do?
The answer floated up from a grande dame she had known in Boston: a citizen of the American republic bowed to no mortal, only to God, and only then if so inclined. That being so, the mistress of Maxie's lover certainly did not rate a curtsy.
On the other hand, since Maxie was dressed as a boy, removing her hat was appropriate. She did so, but nothing could be done about her expression, which must have been ferociously hostile.
The duchess's halted, her eyes widening in surprise. They were changeable graygreen, not blue like Robin's.
"Maggie, this is Miss Maxima Collins. Maxie, the Duchess of Candover." Robin laid a light hand on Maxie's arm. "I am trying to persuade Maxie to marry me."
The graygreen eyes reflected shock, swiftly followed by brimming amusement. The duchess's features lacked the symmetry of perfect beauty, but her radiant charm was far more potent than mere beauty could ever be. No wonder she haunted Robin's dreams.
At the sight of the duchess's amusement, Maxie teetered toward explosion. Obviously Maggie thought Robin's declared interest in a grubby undersized tomboy was some kind of joke.
Maxie's fury was allayed when the duchess said with genuine warmth, "My dear, how marvelous to meet you!" She gave a conspiratorial smile. "I do hope you can bring yourself to accept Robin. He has a number of redeeming qualities, though I expect you want to murder him just now, don't you?"
The comment was so accurate that Maxie was thrown off balance. "I am considering the best method, as a matter of fact." Though her teeth were gritted, she was determined to match the duchess' aplomb. "Boiling oil seems too quick."
Maggie chuckled. "I gather he simply brought you here, without a word of explanation?"
"Exactly so, your grace." Maxie glanced at Robin, who didn't even look ashamed of himself. His hand still rested on her elbow, and she drew comfort from his touch even as she wanted to wring his neck. "Robin made a vague reference to calling on friends, no more."
"The result of too many years spying, where the less one says, the better." Maggie waved her hand around her. "I was shocked myself when I first saw this mausoleum." She cocked her head to one side consideringly. "You're an American?"
Clearly she shared Robin's ear for accents, as she had shared so much else with him. The thought did not improve Maxie's temper. "Yes, I am. My father was English, however. A younger son of the sixth Viscount Collingwood." She was immediately ashamed of herself for feeling the need to mention her noble relations, but it was too late to recall the words.
The other woman's brows drew together thoughtfully. "Collingwood. The seat is in the north, isn't it? Durham?"
"Yes." That sounded too curt, so Maxie added, "I was visiting with my uncle and his family through the spring."
Robin gave her a quizzical glance when she mentioned the Collingwood connection, but said only, "Having arrived in London with pockets to let, we were hoping Candover House might have room for us for a night or two."
"I'm sure we can find space." The duchess turned to Maxie. "Let me show you your room so you can rest and refresh yourself."
"If you don't mind, your grace, I'd like to have a word alone with Robin first." Maxie's voice was even, but there was a dangerous glitter in her eyes.
"Of course." The duchess waved toward a door. "You can be private in the small salon."
As Robin followed his companion into the room, he studied her expression uneasily. He had known she would be startled to find herself in Maggie's house, but her barely suppressed rage was far greater than he had expected.
As soon as he closed the door behind them, Maxie whirled around, every inch of her small body quivering with fury. "How dare you bring me to your mistress's house!"
"Maggie hasn't been my mistress in some years," he said mildly. "She is still, however, my friend, and she and I have been in the habit of relying on each other. Since you and I needed a place to stay, it seemed natural to come here."
He crossed the salon, to the fireplace and leaned against the marble mantel. "I knew I could trust her and Candover to accept two shabby travelers without questions, outrage, or dangerous gossip. Here you can make the transition back to respectable young lady with no one the wiser."
Maxie's hands knotted into fists, but she maintained a tenuous control. "You identified yourself to the butler as Lord Robert, and your duchess referred to you the same way. I thought you said it wasn't a real title."
"You are the one who said it wasn't real. I merely didn't correct your misapprehension," he pointed out. "Apparently your father didn't explain all the odd quirks of the title system. For example, the use of 'Lord' with one's Christian name is the exclusive prerogative of the younger sons of dukes and marquesses, so I am correctly styled Lord Robert Andreville."
Her wide brown eyes narrowed as she assimilated his statement. She looked more exotic, and more dangerous, than ever. "You said you weren't a nobleman."
"I'm not. Lord Robert is a courtesy title. I'm a commoner, like you. If my brother should die, which God forbid, I would be instantly ennobled." He shrugged. "It doesn't make much sense."
"Your father was a duke?"
He shook his head. "The Marquess of Wolverton. One step lower on the ladder."
"So you were on your family estate when we met." She stared at him as if he were a complete stranger.
"What kind of man are you? From beginning to end you've deliberately misled me, letting me think you were a homeless wanderer, a thief, or worse. How many other lies have you told me?"
"I've always told you the truth." Robin shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze not meeting hers. He was falling into the exaggerated coolness that was his reaction to nerves or guilt. Yet even knowing it was a mistake, he could not remove the calm detachment from his voice. "Though I'll admit to a few falsehoods spoken to others in your presence."
Maxie's anger exploded into pure, coruscating rage. In one smooth motion, she seized the porcelain figurine standing on an elegant end table and hurled it at Robin.
The statuette shattered on the marble fireplace inches from his outstretched hand. He didn't move, even when splinters of china struck him, but the fingers of his left hand whitened where they clenched the edge of the mantel.
"I don't care if every word you spoke was approved for accuracy by God Himself! You must have been educated by lawyers or Jesuits," she said contemptuously. "Your intent was deception, even if you appeased your delicate conscience by manipulating the truth rather than saying outright lies." Her voice broke. "What a fool I've been to believe you."
Her raw pain sliced through Robin's defensiveness with razor swiftness. Shaken, he took a deep, steadying breath. "You are right—I was using the truth to create a false impression. But I swear it wasn't my intention to make a fool of you."
"Why, then?"
She stared at him, the fine planes of her face tight, her vulnerability making him ache for having unintentionally hurt her. Distractingly, the present was overlaid with images of making love to her. Her sweetness, her generosity, her sensuality and passion.
As their gazes locked, he wanted her with crippling intensity, physical and emotional need so closely interwoven that he could not separate one from the other. He had wanted her from the first instant he had opened his eyes and found that an enchanting, forceful wood nymph had tripped over him.
That being the case, why had he acted so stupidly? How could a man noted for subtlety and perception have been such a bloody bedamned fool? As he delved into the deeper recesses of his mind, the answer became obvious. "I'm not very fond of Lord Robert Andreville," he said painfully. "If I didn't like the fellow, I could hardly expect you to. And from the moment I met you, I wanted—very much—for you to like me."
Difficult though it was, he should have tried honesty sooner. Maxie's tense body eased as her fury dissipated. Their locked gazes held for another endless moment.
"I see," she said. But if anger had gone, there was still bleakness. She crossed the room to lean her shoulder against the opposite end of the mantel, her arms folded across her chest. In a tone that echoed Robin at his most detached, she asked, "Did you bring me here to get Maggie's approval? Or did you simply want to shock her by demonstrating the depths to which you have fallen since she left you? It would be impossible to find another female as beautiful and aristocratic as she is, so I assume that you decided to go in the opposite direction. Producing a disreputable savage will certainly show her a thing or two."