"Who are you calling a pigheaded, vindictive female?" Desdemona's hand jerked upward as she fought an instinctive desire to box Wolverton's ears.

She had forgotten the pistol. As her fingers clenched, the gun discharged with shattering loudness, the bullet blazing past Wolverton. One of the drivers shouted, and both guards dropped what they were doing and hastened toward her.

"Jesus Christ!" Ashenfaced, the marquess instinctively dodged to one side. "Are you insane!"

She dropped the pistol and her reticule and pressed her hands to her temples, her whole body shaking violently. "I didn't mean to do that," she gasped, feeling on the verge of fainting. "I forgot I was holding a gun." She looked down to where the pistol lay in the dust, acrid smoke curling from the barrel. "I swear before God, it was an accident."

Wolverton waved off the guards, then took her arm and helped her to her carriage. She thought he was going to thrash her, but instead he sat her on the top step of the carriage and pushed her head between her knees. Speaking past her, he asked, "Does Lady Ross carry any brandy?"

Her maid answered in the affirmative. A minute later, Wolverton pressed the flask into her hand. "Drink this."

She raised her head, took a gulp, and choked, but her head cleared. Looking directly into his face, she said painfully, "I have a beastly temper, and too often I say things I regret, but I would never, ever try to hurt someone."

"I believe you," he said soothingly. "If you'd actually intended to shoot me, I'd be lying bleeding in the dust."

She shuddered at the image. "Please don't say that."

"Sorry." He took the flask and downed a goodly swig before handing it back. "We're both upset, and understandably so. But truly, I'm sure that our runaways are all right."

She smiled wanly. "I hope you're right. I suppose I must carry the bodies of the robbers to the next town and report the incident to a magistrate. With luck, I'll find Maxima and Lord Robert between here and there. They may have had enough of adventures if they've just been robbed of everything of value."

"Perhaps." Wolverton straightened. "It's also possible that they might have cut across country to a busier road, so I'm going to look for them on a parallel route."

She nodded, knowing that she and the marquess were not allies, even if they were being civil for the moment. "If you locate them, could you send a messenger to find me? So that I'll know that Maxima is all right."

"Very well. I'd appreciate it if you did the same."

"Of course." She got to her feet. "And… thank you, Wolverton. For being willing to help another traveler who might be in trouble, and for being so tolerant of what could have been a fatal mistake on my part."

He smiled, and she realized that he was really very handsome when she wasn't driving him berserk.

"Lady Ross, my life has become infinitely more exciting since meeting you." He turned and walked back to his carriage, collecting his servants with a glance. She watched him leave with mixed feelings. His search complicated her own. Yet she didn't mind the thought that she might see him again.

Chapter 7

Half an hour after Robin and Maxie started walking south on Rotherham road, a taciturn farmer offered them a ride in his wagon. Robin accepted for both of them, since they had agreed that the less Maxie spoke, the better. Ignoring Robin's hand, she scrambled into the wagon and burrowed into the crevice between two sacks of seed corn. Then she pulled her hat over her face and gave an excellent imitation of sleep.

Robin frowned as he settled back, pillowing his head on his knapsack. Maxie hadn't looked him in the eye since they had kissed. He didn't blame her for being unnerved; he was, too. What had started as an impulsive, affectionate embrace had turned out to be searing. Emotions that had been numb so long that he had forgotten their names were smoldering into life, and it felt damned uncomfortable.

How long had it been since he had truly desired anything or anyone? Too long.

He glanced over at his companion. Poor Maxie; no female so determined and practical would approve of becoming involved with a vagabond. Nonetheless, she had certainly participated enthusiastically in that kiss. Now she was regretting it. He doubted that she was the sort to waste time feeling guilty. More likely she was afraid that he would press his attentions on her. He would have to convince her of the nobility of his nature.

He smiled wryly at the thought. Noble he was not, but his selfinterest forbade any attempts to seduce his companion. Trying to bed her would surely destroy the companionship that was making him happier than he had felt in a long, long time.

Not that he wasn't lusting after her. She had fascinated him from the start, and that kiss had made him obsessively aware of everything about her. The rhythm of her breathing, the shapely legs that looked so good in trousers, her small brown hands, as strong as they were graceful. He was so conscious of her as an alluring female that it was hard to remember that the world saw her as a boy.

But it was her spirit that drew him. Her bright clarity made him feel younger. Less tarnished. He tried not to think what would happen when their journey ended. Maxie obviously had some goal in mind, and it didn't include him. But he was going to be very reluctant to see the last of her.

Yet what could he offer her? She thought him a worthless vagabond, and he preferred to leave it at that since his real past was far uglier than what she believed. As an American, she would not be overimpressed with the aristocratic birth and fortune that meant so much to English girls. Rather the contrary, he suspected.

It was better that she think him hopelessly ineligible. Her low opinion would prevent her from doing anything foolish if his willpower weakened and he tried to kiss her again.

He found himself watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. What would she look like if her breasts weren't bound?

Damnation! He forced himself to look away when he realized how his body was responding to his speculations. While it was a pleasure to feel desire again, if he weren't careful it would increase to the point of pain.

With a sigh, he settled back on the seed sacks and started considering ways to mend bridges with his wary companion.

The next village had a shop where they were able to buy a decent coat and hat for Robin. After treating themselves to a hot meal in the village tavern, they headed south again.

Shortly before sunset, Robin pointed toward a small barn across a field. "Shall we shelter there for the night? It looks suitably isolated."

"Fine." Maxie turned and headed across the field, wondering uncomfortably what would come next. Though Robin had been his usual easygoing self, she could not forget that unnerving kiss, nor the shameless way she had responded.

The barn proved to be quite comfortable, with few drafts and a stack of sweetscented hay. As they examined the place, Robin said, "I'm considering writing a guide for impoverished travelers, rating the relative merits of various barns and hedges. Do you think there would be a market for it?"

She set her knapsack down by the far wall, as far as possible from where Robin had placed his possessions. "Those who would need such a guide could not afford it."

"Mmm, I knew there would be a catch. There goes another plan to make my fortune."

She almost smiled before she remembered that she was trying to look forbidding so he wouldn't take her earlier weakness as an invitation. Moving past him, she said, "I'll gather the wood."

Robin went to bring water from a nearby stream while she collected an armload of dry kindling that would burn with a minimum of smoke. Then she built a small fire in a gravelly, protected spot not far from the barn.

As dusk darkened to night, Robin sat by the fire a few feet from her and began to peel the bark from a short stick he had found. In a conventional tone, he said, "You needn't think I'm going to try to ravish you, Maxima."

Her head shot up, and she stared at him.

"It won't do to pretend that we didn't kiss," he continued. "It happened. I enjoyed it. You seemed to also. That doesn't mean that I regard you as prey."

"You're very blunt," she said uncomfortably.

"Directness is not my specialty, and it is yours, but I am not incapable of it." With his pocketknife, he began to whittle a rounded end on the stick. "I decided to speak up since I don't want to walk the rest of the way to London with you acting like a stunned rabbit."

Outraged, she said, "A rabbit?"

He grinned. "I knew that would engage your attention. You're worrying too much about that kiss. It was an accident that occurred because we were relieved and happy."

She sat back on her heels, knowing that she must be as honest as he. "Perhaps it was an accident, but ever since we met, I've sensed that… that you find me attractive."

His brows rose expressively. "Of course I do. What man wouldn't? You are very beautiful."

"I wasn't fishing for compliments," she said, embarrassed.

"I know. You've probably had them hurled at you so often that you find the whole subject tedious."

"What I've usually heard is that I look beddable, which is not the same thing as beautiful," she said dryly.

"No, it isn't," he agreed. "But you are both. Small wonder that you've learned to mistrust male attentions." With the edge of his blade, he began to smooth the surface of the knob he had carved. "Perhaps it's my imagination, but I've had the feeling that you find me somewhat attractive also."