Angel Rogue (46 page)

Sally's eyes lit up. "Do you mean you're finally willing to flaunt what the good Lord gave you? I've always said there's not a lady in London with a figure to match yours."

As Desdemona blushed, the abigail continued, "I've always thought that with a bit of altering the Devonshire brown silk would be smashing. But there's no time to waste."

Before her mistress could have second thoughts, the abigail seized her hand and tugged her to the stairs. "When I was turned off without a reference, I would have starved or had to go on the streets if you hadn't been willing to take me on. I've wanted a chance to do something special for you ever since. Tonight you'll be as fine as five pence, or my name isn't Sally Griffin."

Half protesting, Desdemona let herself be swept along. Giving Sally free rein might prove to be a disaster, but it was a good guess that the result would not be boring.

And the one thing she did not want was for Giles to be bored.

Lavalle, the French maid, had dressed and coiffed Maxie, then left to see to the duchess' toilette. The unfortunate result of having only one lady's maid for two ladies was that the lady who was done first was left with the time to work up a good set of nerves.

Maxie knew it was foolish to worry so much about a dinner party. Whether or not she got through it without disgracing herself and Robin was a minor issue in the great scheme of things. Her father's death and the unresolved relationship between her and Robin were far more important. Nonetheless, she paced, occasionally muttering to herself the duchess' advice:
Never apologize for what you are
.

It was a relief to hear a knock at the door. Thinking it was Lavalle returning to correct some oversight, she called, "Come in."

In walked Robin, as nonchalant as if they were in a Midlands barn instead of a duke's mansion. Dressed in formal evening wear, he looked good enough to eat.

He raised his brows in mock surprise. "Sorry, miss. I was looking for someone who had been dragged through a bush backward, but I appear to have come to the wrong room."

Laughing, she crossed the room and hugged him. "It feels like days since I've seen you rather than hours."

With true gentlemanly skill, he managed to return her hug without crushing her gown or her hair. "Excellent. My goal is for you to reach the point where you can't bear to let me out of your sight for more than ten minutes."

The devil of it was, she already felt that way, though she didn't want to admit it. She stepped back and pivoted, the crimson silk swirling above her ankles. "I've never worn anything so fashionable in my life. Do I really look all right?"

"You look ravishing." His slow gaze went over her, taking in every detail of her appearance from her upswept ebony hair to the graceful highwaisted gown that showed her figure to perfection. "Exotic. Ripe and lusciously sensual. Dangerously kissable." He took a deep breath. "I'd better stop before I rip that very fetching gown off. But I would be remiss not to mention that you also look intelligent, elegant, and confident."

"That's a wonderful list." She made a face. "But if I seem confident, some of your duplicity must have rubbed off on me."

"It would be my pleasure to rub anything I own on you," he said earnestly.

She had to laugh again. Obviously Robin had come to jolly her out of any nervousness, and he was succeeding beautifully. As she picked up her long gloves, she asked, "Are there any beastly English social rituals I should know because failure would doom me to be an outcast forever?"

He shook his head. "The good manners you learned from your parents and at those Boston dinner parties will be fine."

"Speaking of manners, since I'm nominally an innocent maiden, you really shouldn't be in my bedroom."

"True." He gave her a wickedly intimate smile. "But we both know how nominal the innocent maiden label is."

Trying without success to look severe, she took his arm and guided him toward the door. "Nonetheless, we should await the other guests in some sober place like the library."

"Before we do, I have something for you." With a sleightofhand flourish, he produced a slim, velvet covered jewelry box. "You said that I'm a magpie, and we're a breed known for collecting glittering objects to present to the objects of our adoration. Here's the proof."

Dismayed, she said, "It's quite definite that nominally innocent females do not accept valuable gifts from gentlemen."

"How fortunate that I am not a gentleman." His expression turned serious. "I don't know what the future will bring, Kanawiosta. I hope to God that we will find out together. But even if you choose to take a separate path, I'd like you to have something that came from me."

She gave him a level look. "You also want to make sure that I will have something valuable as insurance against possible financial problems."

One corner of his mouth turned up wryly. "I could have used you in my spying days. You have the most unsettling ability to read minds."

"Not all minds." She opened the box, then caught her breath. Nestled in the white silk lining were a necklace and matching earrings. Magnificent rubies and tiny, starry diamonds were set in delicate gold filigreed medallions. "Oh, Robin, how exquisite. You don't do things by half, do you?"

"Actually, I did in this case," he replied. "If I'd thought you would accept them, I would have bought a whole parure, everything from combs to diadem and belt."

Her eyes widened. "You're not joking, are you?"

"Not this time."

Her gaze fell away from the intensity in his eyes. There was no question that he wanted her. She wished that she could be sure it was for the right reasons.

"These will be perfect with this gown." She stepped over to the mirror and removed her plain gold studs. Then she slipped on the dangling ruby earrings.

As she turned her head, light splintered brilliantly through the swinging gems. Robin fastened the necklace for her, then stood at her back, his magician's hands gliding over her upper arms before coming to rest on her waist. She marveled at how easily he could arouse her, with only the lightest of touches.

After taking a slow breath, she studied herself in the mirror. She had never looked better in her life. The rubies were splendid with her dark coloring. She did not look like a hoydenish colonial book peddler; she looked like a lady. And if she felt like a fraud inside, it didn't show in her face.

Her gaze went from her own image to Robin's. He was the quintessential English aristocrat, a creature of refined features, cool detachment, and exquisite tailoring. Yet his hands held her as if she were the most precious being on earth, and there was honesty in his eyes.

Quietly he said, "You've spoken as if you think that the only possible future for us is in England, but that's not true. If you prefer, we could live in America."

She looked up in surprise. "You would do that for me?"

He kissed her below the ear, his lips warm and firm. "In an instant. The one great blessing of wealth is the freedom it brings. Together we can create the life we want. Even if you'd be willing to stay in England, I would want to visit America, meet your mother's people, see the land that shaped you."

When she shivered a little, it was as much because his offer moved her as in reaction,to his kiss. "But you would prefer to live here, wouldn't you?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "It's strange. I've spent almost my entire adult life in foreign lands. I can speak a dozen languages with varying degrees of skill, and find a good meal or a cheap bed in any city on the Continent. Yet when I returned to England last winter, I felt more at home than when I actually lived here."

She put a hand over his where it rested on her waist. "You left a boy and returned a man. Surely that made a difference."

"You're right—I no longer have a youthful need to rebel against everything familiar." He kissed her again,this time on the exquisitely sensitive angle between throat and collarbone.

Her breath quickened. She was acutely aware of his nearness and compelling masculinity. The mirror revealed that awareness in the brightness of her eyes and the sultry fullness of her lips.

Robin saw it, too. His hands tightened. "A good thing most of the men coming tonight are happily married, or I'd worry about someone carrying you off. You are irresistible, Kanawiosta."

At that instant, she made a promise to herself: No matter what happened in the future, she must make love with him at least one more time. If she didn't have that to look forward to, she would be unable to leave this room without ravishing him on the spot. Voice uneven, she said, "We'd better go down now."

He exhaled. "Or we won't make it out of this room for the next two hours." He stepped back, then offered his arm formally. "Ready for the den of lions, my lady?"

He might be willing to leave his country for her sake, but he would lose more by going than she would by staying. She must do her best to see if she could find a place for herself among these alarming aristocrats.

Tucking her hand under his arm, she said, "The lions can't have sharper claws than the good ladies of Boston, Lord Robert."

With Robin beside her, she could face anything.

Wolverton had sent a note suggesting that he escort Desdemona to the dinner party. She had agreed with alacrity, but now that it was too late for her to back out, Desdemona was staring at her reflection with blind panic. "Sally, I can't possibly go out looking like this! When you said you would alter the gown, I didn't know you intended to cut it to the navel."

"Now, now, my lady, you're exaggerating," the abigail said soothingly. "The decolletage is stylish and not at all extreme."

"The gown might not be extreme, but my figure certainly is!" She swung an accusing gaze on her maid. "You kept me away from the mirror until it was too late to change either the gown or the hair, didn't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sally said, unrepentant. "Please trust me on this—you look fine and fashionable, and that handsome marquess will be groveling at your feet."

Desdemona's face blazed with heat. "Have I no secrets?"

"Of course you do," Sally said, soothing again. "But only a fool wouldn't see what's right in front of her nose."

In other words, she had been gazing at Giles like a mooncalf, Desdemona thought gloomily. She might as well have hung a sign around her neck. Her very, very bare neck.