Angel Rogue (45 page)

She began to prowl, randomly pulling volumes from the shelves. Candover had books she had always wanted to read but had never been able to obtain. There were volumes of poetry, history, philosophy, art, and everything else that might challenge or delight a mind.

Deciding to be methodical, she pushed the rolling library ladder to the far corner of the long room and climbed to the platform at the top. With a complete disregard for propriety, she hitched up her dress, crossed her legs under her, and pulled a volume from the top shelf. With diligence, she calculated happily, she might finish working her way through the library somewhere about the year 1850.

Lost in an epistolary novel by Montesquieu, she had almost forgotten where she was when the sound of someone entering the room caught her attention. She glanced up from her book to see the duchess enter, then close the door and lean against it.

Since the other woman didn't look above eye level, she must have thought she was alone. Maxie frowned, wondering if she should announce her own presence. Before she could, the duchess swayed, then stumbled over to sit on a long sofa.

Alarmed, Maxie hastily descended the ladder. "Are you unwell, your grace?. Shall I call someone?"

The duchess' lovely face was an interesting shade of gray green that did not complement her eyes. Attempting to smile, she said, "Don't do that. The reason I slipped in here was to avoid alarming anyone. Rafe has every servant in the house hovering over me, and he's the worst of all."

She leaned back and closed her eyes. "There's nothing wrong with me, except that I haven't yet acquired the knack of breeding properly. Most women are ill in the morning, but for me it seems to be the afternoon."

"I see," Maxie said sympathetically. From the slimness of the duchess' waist, it was obviously quite early in her pregnancy. "Lie back and put your feet up on the sofa."

While the other woman meekly obeyed, Maxie found a soft, warm blanket on another sofa and spread it over her. "Perhaps you should have a little something to eat."

The duchess shuddered.

Maxie said soothingly, "Many pregnant women find that it helps to eat several times during the day. Nothing elaborate, perhaps something like tea and biscuits."

The duchess considered. "It's worth a try."

A quarter hour later, after the expectant mother had warily consumed two warm scones and a cup of tea, her normal color returned. Curling up in the corner of the sofa, she said, "Thank you for your advice. I feel amazingly better." She made a face. "At least, until the next time."

"Don't worry, your grace, the nausea disappears magically sometime after the third month."

Unable to keep curiosity from her voice, the duchess said, "You sound like a midwife."

"I'm not that, but I've had a colorful past" Maxie swallowed the last bite of a scone. "Did Robin tell you about my background?"

"Of course not." Her hostess gave her a stern look. "He is the last man on earth to talk about another person's private business. Sometimes it is impossible to get him to say anything useful about
anything
. And I wish you would call me Margot."

"Not Maggie?"

"My real name is Margot and that is what I use now. Maggie is a nickname Robin gave me, and it lasted through my spying days. I'm sure that to him I'll always be Maggie, just as I'll never really think of him as Lord Robert." She tilted her golden head to one side as if weighing whether to say more. Making up her mind, she said, "I know you're uncomfortable with me, but I'm no threat to you. On the contrary, I would like to be friends."

Maxie had to give the duchess full marks for confronting an awkward situation headon. "I haven't meant to return your hospitality with churlishness. But I must admit that I have trouble understanding the relationship between you and Robin."

"You haven't been churlish. I think you have dealt very well with a situation that would send most women into strong hysterics." Margot sipped reflectively on her tea. "I met Robin when he saved me, at considerable risk to himself, from a French mob that had killed my father. I had a passionate desire to fight Napoleon any way I could, so we decided to work together.

"We were young and had only each other to trust, and there was a great deal of caring between us. It was easy—and very rewarding—to become lovers. Nonetheless, I had been acquainted with Robin for a dozen years before I was really sure of his name, station in life, or nationality."

She set her teacup down and began to turn her wedding ring absently. "It may be hard to understand this outside of the context of war. Robin would go off for months at a time, risking his life in ways I tried not to think about. Then he would show up, blithe and goodnatured, as if he had been strolling around the corner. I think there is a great deal that he never told me, to spare me from worrying even more.

"In some ways we were very close. Yet there were other parts of our lives that never touched at all. Eventually, it seemed wrong to be lovers, and that ceased. But the friendship and trust remained, and always will." Her graygreen eyes drifted out of focus. "Perhaps the outcome would have been different if I hadn't been in love with Rafe before I ever met Robin—it's impossible to say. But I suspect that Robin and I are too much alike ever to have made ideal mates."

Her manner changed, becoming brisk. "Perhaps now you can better understand why I genuinely want to see Robin happy."

Maxie's throat tightened. It couldn't be easy for the duchess to bare her soul to another woman who was very nearly a stranger. "I appreciate your openness, Margot."

"It's in my own interest to make peace with you. If you take me in dislike, it would affect my friendship with Robin, and I would hate that." She smiled with a hint of mischief. "Perhaps you could try thinking of Robin and me as brother and sister. Rafe found that helped."

To mask her thoughts, Maxie leaned forward to pour more tea for herself. It couldn't have been easy for Robin and Candover to become friends when they loved the same woman, but they seemed to have done it. She must do her best to match their maturity. Besides, it was very easy to like Margot. Glancing up, she said, "What you are doing is more than generous, to both Robin and me. It's easy to understand why Robin is in love with you."

"Robin was never in love with me. Not then, not now," Margot said firmly. She started to continue, then stopped. "I won't say any more. Perhaps I've already said too much."

Margot had convinced Maxie that she was not in love with Robin, but there was nothing in her words that proved that the opposite was not the case. Still, the duchess was offering a wise and tolerant female ear, and Maxie wanted to take advantage of that. She said hesitantly, "Robin has asked me to marry him, but it's hard to imagine someone with my mongrel past being accepted in his world."

"Nonsense. You have manners, education, and looks. With that and a dash of arrogance, you'll be acceptable at the royal court itself. The trick is never to apologize for what you are."

Maxie smiled. "It sounds like something you learned the hard way. But surely you had no trouble taking your place in society."

"You'd be surprised," the duchess said darkly. "When I married Rafe, my situation was not unlike yours. You and I are both the daughters of younger sons from noble families—respectable birth, but not absolutely top drawer. You have what you call your mongrel ancestry, while I have a distinctly shady past. There was plenty of fodder for gossips, and I was not at all what the Whitbournes wanted for the head of the family."

Maxie frowned. "Everyone knows about you and Robin?"

"That is one of the bits that few people know, and all of them are discreet. But it was impossible to conceal my spying career—too many people met me when I was playing the role of a scandalous Hungarian countess."

Fascinated, Maxie said, "Yet society accepted you."

The duchess smiled wickedly. "Luckily Rafe numbers Medusa among his ancestors. When someone displeases him, he can turn them to stone with a glance. From the beginning, he made it clear that anyone who was rude to me was doomed."

Maxie laughed. "Did he petrify the Whitbourne relation who gave you the statuette of the Laocoon?"

"Not quite, but their paths crossed at a ball soon after, and the female in question has been amazingly polite ever since."

"You make a life here seem possible," Maxie said soberly.

"If you want it, it is within your grasp." The duchess regarded her shrewdly. "Are you ready to try your social wings? I'm having a small dinner party tonight It won't be one of Rate's political entertainments, merely a few couples who are close friends and genuinely nice people. You don't have to attend, but if you're willing to try, I can also invite your aunt and Robin's brother so there will be a few familiar faces."

So soon? Quelling her first reaction of panic, Maxie said, "Tonight is as good a time as any."

"Well done! Truly, I think you'll enjoy yourself."

Perhaps she would, but even that would not be enough to dispel the black fog that still clouded her future. The mere thought was enough to dim Maxie's enjoyment of the afternoon.

Refusing to give in to anxiety, she gestured toward the fur ball on the adjacent chair. "Is that a cat or a muff?"

"A cat, Rex by name."

Maxie scrutinized the featureless black fur. "Is he ill? He hasn't moved since I got here an hour and a half ago."

"Don't worry, he isn't dead, just tired." Margot chuckled. "Very, very tired."

Knowing he was the center of attention, Rex stretched luxuriously, revealing a portly feline body. Then he rolled onto his back, four tufted feet aloft as he returned to his nap.

Any lingering tension in the room dissolved as the two women laughed together. Maxie decided that no matter what the future held, she was very glad to have made Margot's acquaintance.

Maxima's departure left Desdemona in a happy state of mental and verbal satisfaction. It had been duty that originally sent her after an unknown niece. Now it was a pleasure to discover the real Maxie, who was far more interesting than the insipid imaginary maiden whom Desdemona had thought needed rescuing.

As they had talked, Desdemona had come to recognize that her brother had found contentment in the eccentric life he had chosen. The knowledge pleased her. Perhaps it was being in London that had made him seem distracted when he had visited.

Desdemona had also discovered a resemblance, both mental and physical, between Max and his daughter. It was in her niece's face when she laughed, and in her eclectic education and lively mind. There were those who would think that Maximus Collins had wasted his life, but the daughter he had raised was not a bad memorial to his mortal span.

Lord Robert had also been a pleasant surprise. He was obviously more than willing to do the gentlemanly thing by Maxima, and the girl herself was not indifferent to him.

It would be an excellent match. Desdemona lay back on the sofa and beamed at the ceiling, chastising herself for having such an unprogressive thought. She was a modern, independent woman and had been fully prepared to support her niece if the girl didn't want to marry the man who had compromised her.

But obviously such support would be unnecessary, and not only because Maxima was quite capable of managing her own affairs. In the last few day Desdemona had begun to think that marriage was not necessarily a bad thing, at least not when it was founded on mutual respect and affection.

Her smile broadened as she had another unworthy thought. Lord Robert was wealthy, intelligent, handsome, his character was—unconventional but honorable— and he was from the very highest rank of society. Althea would be absolutely
apoplectic
if her despised halfbreed niece married such a supremely eligible man. It was a delightful prospect

Desdemona allowed herself a few more minutes of beatific contemplation before going to her study and applying herself to the correspondence that had accumulated in her absence. As she worked her way through the pile, she noted how much of it was related to her work. When had she stopped having time for her friends? She must enlarge the boundaries of her life.

Toward the end of the afternoon, the parlor maid came with a note. "This has just been delivered, my lady. The footman is waiting. Will you be sending a response?"

Desdemona scanned the note. It was from the Duchess of Candover, inviting her to a small dinner party that evening. Since Miss Collins might feel shy among so many strangers, the duchess hoped that Lady Ross would honor them with her presence. Almost as an afterthought, she mentioned that Lord Wolverton had also been invited.

It was charmingly written. Though Desdemona knew the duke from her political work, she had not yet met his new wife. It was good of the duchess to be so considerate of her houseguest's situation. Desdemona scribbled out an acceptance and handed it to her maid to take to the waiting footman.

Then panic set in. Merciful heaven, what would she wear? She rang for her personal maid.

Recovered from the cold she had contracted in the Midlands, Sally Griffin responded with bright-eyed interest. After bobbing a curtsy, she said, "Is there a problem, my lady?"

"Tonight I will be dining at Candover House, Sally. My niece is staying there, and the duchess was kind enough to invite me, so I could satisfy myself that Miss Collins is in good hands." Desdemona hesitated, then continued selfconsciously, "We have only a few hours. Do you think any of my gowns could be altered to be more… more… fashionable?"