After greeting her aunt and Giles, Maxie looked around for Robin but didn't see him. Lady Strathmore was nearby and not engaged in conversation, so she asked, "Kit, have you seen…"
Then her voice trailed off as the woman turned toward her. Eerily, she was Kit, yet at the same time not Kit. Maxie blurted, "You're not Lady Strathmore, are you?"
The other woman chuckled. "You're correct, I'm not Kit, I'm her sister, Kira Travers. You're very observant to deduce that so quickly. Some people never do grasp that there are two of us. And no, my sister and I did not plan to wear gowns the same shade of blue-we simply do things like that Last year our darling daughters were even born within twentyfour hours of each other."
Maxie grinned. "I glad to know I wasn't imagining things."
"You're Miss Collins, the American, aren't you? My husband is also from your side of the Atlantic." Kira scanned the room, then gestured him over.
Maxie stiffened as a rangy, brownhaired man approached. He would surely recognize her as a halfbreed, and he would be more likely to have prejudices on the subject than a Briton would.
Kira said, "Miss Collins, my husband Jason Travers, the Earl of Markland."
He bowed politely. For a moment Maxie thought that his pained expression was for her. He quickly dispelled that by saying, "My wife loves using my title, knowing that it hurts my Yankee heart to hear it." He gave Kira a deeply affectionate smile. Looking back to Maxie, he said, "You have Indian blood?"
She straightened to her full height. "My mother was a Mohawk," she said warily. He could insult her if he liked, but if he said a word, one single word to disparage her mother, she would go upstairs for her knife.
He must have guessed what was in her mind, because there was a distinct twinkle in his eye when he said, "I hope you don't hold to the old feuds. Since my great grandfather was a Huron, that would make us blood enemies."
She had to laugh. So much for anti Indian bigotry. Making a connection on the name, she said, "Are you the Jason Travers who owns the Travers Shipping Company in Boston?"
His face lit up. "You're from Boston?"
It took them only a few minutes to establish that they had several mutual acquaintances. The two of them could have spent the rest of the night talking.
When the dinner gong sounded, Robin appeared at her elbow. Amused, she asked, "How do you do that? You're like a cat, with the ability to materialize in a spot that was empty two seconds earlier."
"Some of my best spying lessons came from cats. Move quietly, sleep with one eye open, and always be prepared to bolt if the situation takes a turn for the worse." Robin gave her a smile of warm approval. "You're taking to the murky and shark infested waters of London society like a racing swan."
"I'm having a wonderful time. Margot was right about these being genuinely nice people."
It increased her own enjoyment to see how pleased Robin was. London might have its share of sharks, but if she had a handful of friends like the people she had met tonight, the sharks wouldn't matter.
Chapter 31
Before the evening was half over, Giles had decided that he should spend more time in London. Much as he liked his Yorkshire neighbors, the dinner conversation there was never this good.
After a short spell over the port, the gentlemen went to find their ladies. Giles's gaze immediately went to Desdemona. His stern, worldly reformer was glowing like a schoolgirl. There was nothing girlish about her appearance, though; sitting next to her at dinner had made him feel like a lust crazed youth. It had been all he could do to keep himself from staring at her lovely… neck. Every time she laughed, or lifted her wineglass, he had wanted to drag her from the room to a place of greater privacy. And she knew it, too, the redheaded vixen.
It would have been amusing, except that he found himself feeling twinges of uncharacteristic jealousy every time one of the other men looked at her. Candover and Desdemona had been political acquaintances for years, but Giles was willing to wager that the duke had never looked at her as admiringly as he did this evening. If Candover hadn't been a friend for several decades and famously besotted with his wife, Giles would have been tempted to suggest pistols at dawn.
He smiled at the absurd thought and deliberately turned to other guests. It was an easy, unstructured gathering, with people drifting from one conversation to another. Maxima Collins was fitting in effortlessly, with the wit and presence to equal any other woman in the room. She'd make Robin an admirable wife.
After a lively discussion of free schools with Lady Aberdare, he decided it was time to find Desdemona again. He looked around, and saw her talking with Robin in front of the French doors. This time, it was harder to laugh off his stab of jealousy. Why did she have to look so captivated? A stupid question; Robin had that effect on everyone.
Hating himself for resenting his own brother, he started toward the pair. As he did, Robin snapped his fingers and conjured up a lily of the valley that he must have stolen from one of the flower arrangements. Desdemona accepted the blossom with delighted laughter.
Giles's irritation soared to dangerous heights and his pleasure in the evening vanished. Damn Robin's effortless charm, his gilded tongue, and the impervious marble heart that enabled him to use his gifts so ruthlessly.
Not seeing Giles approach, Desdemona moved away to speak with her niece. Instead of following her, Giles said brusquely to his brother, "Join me for some fresh air."
Robin looked puzzled, but said amiably, "If you wish."
Robin was always amiable; it was another irritating trait.Fighting a losing battle with his temper, Giles stalked out to the spacious stone patio. He had no idea what he wanted to say to his brother, but he was damned well going to say something.
The two men walked to the wall that edged the patio. The famous Candover House gardens were lovely, but Giles showed no interest in the moonlit greenery. Robin studied his brother's grim expression uneasily, wondering what had happened. It was fortunate that Giles's bad moods were very rare, because Robin had always found them deeply disquieting.
Wanting to lighten the atmosphere, Robin remarked, "Lady Ross is splendidly formidable. I wish I'd been there when she swooped into your study with her parasol."
Giles braced his hands on the wall and stared into the night. "If you had been there, a great deal of trouble would have been avoided. I wondered what had become of you."
"Surely you weren't worried?" Robin replied. "Only that morning I'd said I might wander off if something-or someone-interesting came along. Perhaps it was a premonition."
"I reminded myself of that," Giles said with unmistakable dryness. "But I would have felt better if you had sent a note or left a message in the village."
"Sorry. I honestly didn't think of it."
"I'm sure you didn't." Giles's hands tightened on the wall, the knuckles going white. "You never did think of anyone but yourself."
Robin stiffened. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Giles glanced over, every trace of blue leached from his eyes, leaving them as flat as slate. "In all of those years of being a hero, did you ever spare a single damned thought for the people who cared about you? Did you ever wonder what it was like to wait for months on end, wondering if your only brother was dead, and if so, how he had died?" Hard lines appeared around his eyes. "I'm sure you didn't. After all, you had so much more interesting, important things to occupy your mind."
Robin stared at his brother, feeling as if a vast crevasse were opening under them. The crack had always been there, a fatal weakness in the foundation of their relationship, but both of them had preferred to ignore it. They had managed to be friends by never discussing what lay beneath the surface.