She paused on the verge of leaving. "You won't have nightmares if you're alone, will you?"
"If I do, they won't be as bad as the ones in the past." He smiled with a warmth as intimate as a kiss. "You were right-burdens are lighter for being shared."
As she went to say good night to her hosts, she realized how easy it would have been for Robin to use her concern to talk his way into her bed. Underneath all his dangerous charm and wicked skills there really was an honest man.
It was a warming thought to take to her solitary rest.
The Duke of Candover was brushing his wife's long wheatgold hair. Margot leaned back, face contented and eyes half closed. "What do you think of Robin's friend Maxie?'
He smiled. "I like her. Did Robin tell you how they came to turn up on our doorstep?"
"Not in any detail." After a moment she added, "He wants to marry her."
"Really!" Rafe's hand stilled. "He can't have known her long."
"What does that matter? I wanted to marry you the first night I met you."
"You never told me that before." He felt absurdly pleased as he resumed brushing.
"You are quite conceited enough," his wife said, then jumped with a squeak when he tickled her ribs.
"She's not at all in the common style," Rafe observed. "Intelligent unconventional, versatile. Rather like Robin, in fact. And very lovely, in a very individual way."
"I knew you would notice that," the duchess said tartly.
Rafe grinned. "I prefer blondes myself." Setting down the brush, he began to massage her neck and shoulders. "Does it bother you to see him with another woman? I find it a little surprising that he brought her here."
"On the contrary, I would be surprised, and hurt, if Robin didn't feel he could come to me." She gave a self mocking smile. "I suppose every woman, in some selfish corner of her mind, would like her former lovers to remember her with a heartbroken sigh and the words, 'What a woman she was. If only things had been different."
"Like I thought about you for a dozen years?"
"Exactly like that," she said with a gurgle of laughter. "But I truly want to see Robin happy, not pining for the past or marrying some vapid girl because he is lonely and there is no one better to be found."
"I can't imagine him doing anything so foolish."
"I'm not so sure," Margot said, a line appearing between her eyes. "I've been concerned about Robin ever since we left Paris. Even though his letters were always amusing, they felt brittle, as if he was hiding his real state of mind. But tonight when I saw him, he was like his old self again." After a moment, she added, "No, better than that."
"Do you approve of the inappropriately named Maxima?"
"Very much so." Margot chuckled. "The poor girl was bristling like an angry cat when we were introduced because Robin hadn't bothered to explain where he was taking her, but on the whole, she behaved with great restraint. In a world full of nobodies, she is very much somebody."
"I suggest you go slowly with your overtures of friendship," Rafe said dryly. "Miss Collins may not be enthusiastic about Robin's close friendship with another female."
Hearing between the lines, Margot tilted her head back to look up at him. "Surely you know that you needn't be jealous of Robin? I had thought that you and he had become friends."
Rafe ran a caressing hand down her slim arching throat. Though he had learned to accept his wife's relationship with Robin, it had not been easy for a passionate and possessive man. "Not jealous. Envious, perhaps, for all the years he had you and I didn't."
She shook her head, her solemn gray green eyes fixed on his. "He had Maggie, the spy. But the circumstances that created her are done, and so is she."
"I know that. You are Margot now." Rafe leaned over and gave his wife a slow, possessive kiss. "And Margot is mine."
Then he swept her up in his arms and carried her to their bed and proved it, in the most profound and satisfying of ways.
It was very late when Lord Collingwood reached the Clarendon Hotel, but in spite of his fatigue, he had trouble getting to sleep. After a half hour of tossing, he sat up and reached for the flask of spirits he had left on the bedside table.
In the dark, he drank directly from the flask while he contemplated his mission. Maxima might be in London already. Perhaps, God forbid, she had already discovered the truth about her father. The thought made Collingwood queasy.
He took another swig of brandy. As if the situation wasn't sufficiently fraught with potential scandal, there was also the question of the blond mountebank his niece had taken up with. If he was still with her, the fellow would be another source of trouble. He'd have to be removed from the picture.
It was a damned bad business any way one looked at it. What made it worse was that he was rather fond of Maxima, in spite of her irregular upbringing and ancestry. That was why he was going to all this effort. If he failed, Althea would say that it was his fault for not being more ruthless.
Stilling a groan, he buried his head under the pillow again. Family was the very devil.
Chapter 28
Desdemona entered her sunny parlor, reveling in the pleasure of being in her own home again. Everything seemed so normal that she could almost believe the last mad weeks had been imagination, the result of too much lobster or too many political dinners.
At the sound of a carriage stopping outside, she peered out the window, then smiled. There was nothing imaginary about the broad athletic figure of the Marquess of Wolverton, who was now mounting the steps. He had said he would call this morning at the unfashionable hour of eleven, and the clock was chiming as he knocked. Desdemona liked a man who could be relied upon. As she waited for him to be shown in, she rang for coffee.
After greetings had been exchanged and coffee poured, Giles said, "My brother is in London. In fact, I missed him this morning at the bank by only a few minutes."
"Splendid! Did they have any notion where he was staying?"
"Unfortunately not, but at least we know now that he has arrived in London and that he's not trying to avoid detection. I should locate him in the next day or two, and surely he will know where your niece is."
She was about to reply when her parlor maid entered and bobbed a curtsy. "Excuse me, my lady, but Miss Maxima Collins and Lord Robert Andreville are here to see you." She sniffed disapprovingly. "Neither of 'em have proper calling cards."
Desdemona's jaw dropped. Rallying, she said, "Show them in anyhow, Alice."
A minute later, the object of her long pursuit walked calmly into the parlor.
Desdemona had been told that her niece was small, dark, and attractive, but that description did not do justice to the reality. The ebony haired young lady who entered was petite and self possessed, with a face as striking as her perfectly proportioned figure. Though her muslin dress was demure, nothing would make Maxima Collins seem like a butter wouldn't melt in her mouth miss. She did not look like someone who would be easily victimized by life.
Maxima studied her tall and titianhaired aunt, apparently equally surprised. Desdemona thought with amusement that they must look like two cats touching inquiring noses.
Maxima said, "I hope you'll forgive this unannounced intrusion, Aunt Desdemona." She indicated her companion. "This is my friend Lord Robert Andreville. Robin, Lady Ross."
Desdemona spared a glance for her niece's escort, then another which bordered on a rude stare. The golden Lord Robert looked like a gentleman, not a rogue, and he was handsome enough to turn any female's head. No wonder the girl had run off with him.