"From what I've seen, it's easier for sisters to be friends than brothers," she said gravely. "Brothers often compete with each other, which can interfere with warmer feelings. It must be even harder when the elder is heir to a great title and fortune."
"You're right-I've seen that with other brothers. It's probably a blessing that Giles and I are so different." Robin hugged her shoulders and started them walking again. "We decided that the underlying cause of tonight's argument goes all the way back to my mother's death. My father blamed me for it, which warped the whole family. Giles became serious and responsible and tried to take care of everyone, which no child should have to do, and I grew up rebellious. As a result, Giles and I were incapable of showing how much we meant to each other. When I returned from France last fall, I wasn't sure if Giles would want me at Wolverhampton. I didn't realize that he was hurt by the fact that I had gone so far and stayed away so long."
"Did you and he manage to resolve your differences?"
Robin smiled. "Yes, thank God. We're closer now than we ever have been in the past."
"I'm so glad." Unable to keep the vehemence from her voice, she added, "But your father deserved to be whipped. Taking all of his guilt about his wife's death and piling it onto a defenseless infant was despicable."
"Guilt-my father? What for?"
"Your mother didn't get pregnant without help," Maxie pointed out tartly. "Do you know if she had a history of problems with childbearing?"
"As a matter of fact, Giles said that she was never strong, and she'd had several miscarriages."
Maxie nodded, unsurprised. "If your father had shown more restraint, her health might not have broken down."
After a long silence, Robin said in a wondering voice, "I never thought of that"
"Any woman would."
He smiled ruefully. "A pity we didn't have a sensible female like you at Wolverhampton to sort us all out."
Their wanderings had brought them to the folly, a tiny, circular Greek temple. The columns and proportions were so perfect that Maxie suspected that some earlier duke had bought the temple in Greece and had it shipped home in pieces.
Side by side, they climbed the steps. The folly was a pleasant, airy place, with curved benches built against the halfwalls. A rectangular stone altar stood toward the rear, waiting for picnics rather than sacrificial goats. In the moonlight, the effect was quite enchanting.
Robin looked down at his companion. The moonlight made her features a symphony of elegant planes and shadowed contours. No longer able to wait, he raised her chin and kissed her.
He had meant it to be light and affectionate, but as soon as their lips touched, his emotional control disintegrated. In the last few days, he had been battered by the memories of every bad experience of his life. He would not have survived if not for the woman in his arms, and he yearned for her as a man dying in the desert thirsts for water.
They had been doing a slow dance of desire, beginning when he had gone to her room and building through the evening with lingering glances and private smiles. But what he felt now went beyond passion to a raw need for her blessed warmth and the bewitching mysteries of her body.
He slid his hands under the wool shawl so he could knead her soft curves. When she made a little purring sound of response, he teased her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. It hardened immediately under the layered silk.
He wanted more, much more. Catching her by the waist, he perched her on the stone altar. She inhaled with surprise, then relaxed, her hands curling over the edge of the altar.
Raising her made it easier to reach various delicious bits of her anatomy. He put his hands over hers, trapping them against the stone. Her fingers fluttered for an instant under his, then became still.
He leaned forward and rubbed his cheek against hers. Her skin was petal smooth, cool on the surface with radiant life pulsing below. He blew lightly in her ear, then traced the delicate whorls with his tongue. She hummed with pleasure, stretching her neck like a cat.
The shawl was so large that she was sitting on it, yet still had enough fabric to cover her shoulders and chest. He nudged the shawl aside with his chin. The dark wool slithered down and pooled on the back of his hands where they held hers to the stone. Her position thrust her breasts forward alluringly.
He tasted the sensual arc of her throat. She was sane and whole and he wanted to devour her, to make that sanity and wholeness part of himself.
When his trailing lips reached her necklace, he quickly skipped lower. He'd paid a small fortune for the thing, but rubies and diamonds were cold and lifeless compared to the satiny swells above her decolletage. He kissed them with ardent tenderness, inhaling the haunting womanly scent from the cleft between her breasts.
Trying to mask his urgency, he released her hands so he could shape the ripe curves of her buttocks with his open palms. Then his hands slid forward, gliding over the gentle curve of her abdomen toward the sensitive mound between her thighs.
She said breathlessly, "Time to stop, I think."
"Not yet." Under the shimmering skirt, her knees were several inches apart. He spread them farther and stepped between so that she could not close them again. He was so close he could feel her sultry female heat.
He sought and found her mouth, wanting her to be so beguiled that she would not question what he was doing. He lifted her skirt and petticoat with both hands and rested his palms on her stockingclad knees while he deepened the kiss. Then he massaged upward, over her garters, seeking her hidden female essence.
She responded with openmouthed generosity, but she was too clever to be distracted. When he caressed her inner thighs, she turned her head away and instinctively tried to close her legs. She couldn't, and the pressure of her knees against his hips inflamed him still further.
Trapped by his body, she became still. "Robin," she said unevenly. "Robin, we should go back inside now. This is not the right time or place."
She was not afraid-not yet. To frighten her would be unforgivable, but he was incapable of moving away.
His breath ragged with effort, he straightened and wrapped his arms around her. A hard pulse beat in his temples, a harder one in his loins, where his straining sex was pressed against her intimate heat, trying to tear through his tight garments to meld with her. She was so small, so easily enfolded, yet supple with female strength. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "You're right, but-Christ, I have the most absurd feeling that if I don't have you, I will die."
He tried to sound amusing, to make a joke that would obliterate the foolish melodrama of his words, but for once frivolity failed him. The hammering of his blood repeated, If I don't have you, I will die. If I don't have you, I will die.
That stark need was not only for tonight, or for the physical act of union that his body demanded. He wanted her for always, his mistress, his match, his mate. But he also, rather frantically, wanted to make love to her right now.
Unable to repress a forlorn hope, he said, "You didn't want to lie with me in Maggie's house… but we're not in the house now."
"Oh, Robin, Robin, you're a wicked, silver tongued devil, half angel and half rogue." She gave a soft sigh that held both gentle reproach and laughter. "What am I to do with you?"
He shut his eyes, embarrassed that she knew him so well, yet grateful that she could still speak with affection.
Her hand brushed his hair, then fell away to skim his face. Her fingers were cool against his heated forehead and cheek.
She stroked her thumb across his parted lips, then put her hands on both sides of his head and pulled him down for a kiss. As their mouths joined, her hand slid downward, gliding over his chest and hips. When it reached the fall of his breeches, her palm curved, clasping the hard ridge beneath the taut fabric.