Perhaps it was necessary that they learn about themselves and each other in small steps. Certainly she wasn't ready to comment on Robin's latest remark. Too much had happened.
She shifted her gaze so that she saw her own reflection in the glass rather than the darkened garden beyond. In her simple dress and restrained coiffure, she could almost have been an elegant Boston lady. Her lips quirked upward. "Covered with mud and looking as if I had been dragged through a bush backward?"
"Not the most poetic compliment, but true. The first-" Robin chuckled, "or rather, the second, thing I noticed after you jumped on me at Wolverhampton was how beautiful you are."
"I did not jump on you," she said indignantly. "I tripped. If you hadn't been lurking there like the serpent in Eden…!"
He grinned, then drained the last of his coffee and set the cup and saucer on a table by the French doors. "For someone who had misgivings about London society, you seem quite at ease."
She arched her brows. "Surely you don't expect me to believe that everyone in the beau monde is like the Candovers."
"They would be exceptional anywhere," he agreed. "But society is merely a collection of individuals, and London has great diversity. One can find a congenial circle and ignore the rest. For that matter, one needn't even spend time in London."
"My experience of society has not always been so fortunate." Maxie heard the brittleness in her tone. She considered stopping there, but on impulse she continued. It was time for another step in the minuet. "Though America is a republic, there are those who are fascinated by the aristocracy. As the son of a lord, with considerable wit and education, my father was welcome in the homes of many of what are called the 'better families.'
"Max was considered eccentric, of course, because of being a book peddler, and he had no money. But even so, during the winters when we lived in Boston, we were invited out to dinner two or three times a week. Clergymen, professors, wealthy merchants- they all welcomed the Honorable Maximus Collins."
She finished her coffee and set it aside, then stared into the garden again. "It was one such evening when I was about twenty that I overheard Mrs. Lodge, my hostess, talking with some crony of hers. That's when I learned that Max wouldn't accept an invitation unless I was invited also. Mrs. Lodge was willing to tolerate that in order to enjoy dear Mr. Collins's charm and breeding, but if the little halfbreed cast any lures out to the menfolk, Mrs. Lodge was fully prepared to cut the connection. Standards must be maintained, you know. Hard to believe that a gentleman like Mr. Collins had married a savage, but men were helpless victims of their lusts."
She gave Robin a sidelong glance. "And of course, everyone knew what those sluttish heathen women were like."
He muttered a blistering oath. "No wonder you think poorly of society, if that has been your experience." He laid a light hand on her shoulder. The comforting warmth of his touch made it easier for Maxie to shrug dismissively.
"Not everyone was like that. In some houses I was welcome rather than being an inconvenient necessity. I never told my father what I had heard. Max enjoyed those evenings so much. It would have been a pity to take some of them away from him."
Robin's hand tightened. "Mrs. Lodge was surely a bigot, but she may also have been speaking from the cattiness that some aging women feel toward young, attractive females."
Her mouth twisted. "You really think so?"
"I doubt if Boston beldams are very different from London ones. Take away the race prejudice and what is left is exactly what any jealous matron might say about a lovely young girl."
"Perhaps you're right. Mrs. Lodge had three muffin faced daughters with not a waistline among them." Maxie gave a wicked smile, suddenly amused by an incident that had been a secret pain for years. "Why is it so much easier for us to be clear sighted about another person's problems than about our own?"
"It's a law of nature, like the sun rising in the east, and apples falling down from a tree rather than up." Seeing that she had recovered her humor, he dropped his hand. "I suppose that tomorrow we will go to the inn where your father died?"
She was going to nod, then stopped as she was gripped by sudden panic. She had come the length of England to find answers, yet now she was afraid of them.
Did she fear what she would learn, or the fact that when the mystery of her father's death was resolved, she would be faced with a decision about Robin? She loved him, he wanted to marry her… It should be simple, but it wasn't.
"Rather than go there directly, perhaps I should call first on Aunt Desdemona. She saw my father several times before he died. She might be able to tell me about his activities."
Robin nodded. "Shall I accompany you, or would you rather ask Maggie for the company of a maid?"
She made a face; "Respectability is so tedious. Since a frail flower like me can't cross town in a carriage without a companion, I would rather have you. Besides, if Aunt Desdemona proves villainous, you would be far more useful."
"For which vote of confidence I am duly grateful," Robin remarked. "If you don't mind waiting until the end of the morning, I'd like to visit my banker and my tailor first. I was having some new clothing made up. With luck, it won't have been sent to Yorkshire yet." He cast a jaundiced eye on his frayed sleeve. "I shan't miss this coat."
"May I have it? I've some very fond memories of that coat."
"Take it with my blessings." Robin hesitated. "Would you allow me to have another gown or two made up for you? Having only one will prove a nuisance here in London."
"I suppose you're right," she said without enthusiasm. "But I don't want to waste time on fittings."
"No need. Maggie's maid can take the measurements from this dress." His gaze moved appreciatively over her figure. "It looks simple, but the cut and fit are excellent."
"Thank you. I made it myself. Lack of funds makes one wonderfully versatile." She raised a hand to cover her yawn. "I'm ready to retire. It has been a very long day."
Under her breath, Robin said, "I'm going to feel very alone in that bed tonight."
Their gazes caught. Lord, it was only last night that they had become lovers. This very morning, they greeted the dawn like pagan fertility gods, naked and unashamed. At the memory, heat coiled through her, molten and urgent.
Robin felt it, too. A rapid pulse beating in his throat, he murmured, "I'd give you a goodnight kiss, except that I'd end by carrying you upstairs and not letting you go until morning."
She tried to smile. "We might not make it that far, which would be a real breach of hospitality."
"No one stands watch in the corridors here." He reached out and touched the center of her palm. "We could spend the night together and no one would be the wiser."
Her heartbeat accelerated as he drew slow, sensual circles in her palm with a fingertip. She looked at their hands. Even the highest stickler would not be shocked to see that light touch, yet she felt… wanton. As depraved as if she had publicly stripped off her gown.
His fingers glided to the fragile skin on the inside of her wrist. Back and forth, caressing the pulse point, raising her blood to fever heat. She swallowed, ready to agree to anything.
He said huskily, "Shall I come to you later?"
His heated gaze drifted over her. They were lovers, they knew each other's bodies intimately, and with the deftness of a thief, he was picking the lock of her willpower…
The image made her want to giggle, which broke the spell he had cast. She pulled away. "I'm sorry. It doesn't make much sense, but it doesn't seem right to lie with you in this house."
She meant Maggie's house, of course. Robin closed his eyes and his face changed, the planes seeming to shift and harden. When he looked at her again, reason had returned. "I understand why you feel that way, though I wish it were otherwise."