"What!" Robin's eyes snapped open. "I assumed I would be lucky to get a shilling for candles. Ruxton is the best of the family estates after Wolverhampton. Why on earth would he leave it to me?"

"He admired you because he could never force you to do anything you didn't want to do."

"That was admiration?" Robin asked, his voice edged. "He had a damnably strange way of showing it. We couldn't spend ten minutes in the same room without quarreling, and it wasn't always my fault."

"Nonetheless, it was you who Father boasted about to his cronies." Giles gave an ironic half smile. "He used to say that the blood had run thin in me, and that it was a pity his heir was such a very dull dog."

Robin frowned. "I'll never understand how you could be so patient with the old curmudgeon."

Giles shrugged. "I was patient because the only other choice would have been to leave Wolverhampton, and that I would never do, no matter what the provocation."

Robin swore softly and rose from his chair, crossing to the fireplace to prod the embers unnecessarily. After coming down from Oxford, Giles had taken over the hard work of administering the immense Andreville holdings. He had always been the reliable one, quietly doing the difficult tasks with little reward or recognition. "Typical of Father to be insulting when you were making his life so much easier."

"It wasn't an insult," Giles said calmly. "I am a dull person. I find crops more intriguing than gaming, the country more satisfying than London, books more amusing than gossip. Father must have found some satisfaction in knowing his heir was reliable, but that didn't mean he particularly liked me."

Robin searched Giles's face, wondering if his brother was genuinely detached about such painful insights. Yet he couldn't ask; their friendship had very clearly defined limits. He settled for saying, "People are interesting because of what they are, not what they do. You have never been dull."

Expression unconvinced, Giles changed the subject. "I imagine you'll want to visit Ruxton. I've been looking after the place, and it's doing well."

"Thank you." Robin watched a log break apart and send sparks dancing up the chimney. "Between Ruxton and the inheritance I received from Uncle Rawson, I'll have more money than I know what to do with."

"Get married. Wives are excellent at disposing of excess income." For the first time, there was bitterness in Giles's voice. After a brief pause, he continued more smoothly, "Besides, Wolverton needs an heir."

"Oh, no," Robin said with a flicker of amusement. "Producing an heir is your duty, not mine."

"I tried marriage once, and failed. Now it's your turn. Perhaps you'll be more successful."

The flat comment made Robin wonder what the late marchioness had been like, but his brother's expression did not invite questions. "Sorry, but I've only ever met one woman I thought I could live with, and she had more sense than to accept me."

"You refer to the new Duchess of Candover?"

Robin gave his brother a hard stare. "Apparently I am not the only one in the family with a talent for spying."

"Hardly spying. Candover is an old friend of mine, and when he returned to England, he knew I would be interested in news of your welfare. It wasn't hard to deduce that there was more to the tale than what he told me." Giles's voice warmed. "I met the new duchess. An extraordinary woman."

"She is indeed," Robin agreed in an unforthcoming tone. Then he sighed and ran his hand through his fair hair. Though they had never been as close as Robin would have liked, he knew he could trust Giles's discretion completely. "If you've met Maggie, surely you understand why the idea of marrying a bland English virgin is so unappealing."

"I take your point.There can't be another like her." His brother smiled slightly. "If neither of us is willing to do our duty by the family, there's always cousin Gerald. He has already sired a whole string of little Andrevilles."

Remembering Gerald, Robin assumed that any children would be dull, but worthy.

If Maggie had children, they would not be dull. He felt the familiar ache, and forced himself to cut it off before it could worsen. The past was a damned unhealthy place to live.

His thoughts were interrupted when Giles asked, "Do you intend to stay at Wolverhampton long?"

"Well," Robin said cautiously, fearing that speaking the words aloud might invite a rebuff, "I had thought through Christmas. Perhaps longer. If you don't mind."

"You can spend the rest of your life here if you choose," Giles said quietly.

Lord Robert Andreville, rebellious younger son, master spy, black sheep, and survivor, shut his eyes for a moment, not wanting to show how affected he was by his brother's welcome. Then he returned to his wing chair and settled in again, the peace of Wolverhampton beginning to dissolve tensions so old that he had thought they were part of him.

Giles was right to say that Robin was unlikely to spend the rest of his days rusticating in Yorkshire. God only knew what he would want to do.

But for now, it was good to be home.

Chapter 1

The moors of Durham were very different from the forests and farms of America, but they had their own kind of beauty. Since her father had died two months before, Maxima Collins had walked the hills every day, absorbing the wind and sun and rain with mindless gratitude. She would miss these barren moors more than anything else she had found on this side of the Atlantic.

After two hours of wandering, Maxie settled crosslegged on a hillside, absently nibbling a tender stem of wild grass. The bright spring sunshine seemed to dissipate the haze of grief that had numbed her since her father's death. Quite clearly, she saw that it was time to return to America.

Her uncle, Lord Collingwood, was kind in a distant way, but the rest of the family regarded their guest with feelings that were dubious at best. Maxie could understand their position; she was an oddity that never should have set foot in an English country house. She suspected that the fashionable world would be even less welcoming. No matter; she had no desire to enter that world. In her own country, there was more room to be different.

The major deterrent to returning home was that she had less than five pounds to her name. However, Lord Collingwood would surely lend her the fare to America, plus a little extra to support her until she was established.

His lordship would probably balk at first, worrying whether he was doing his duty by his late brother's only child. Proper English girls would not want to go off on their own; the correct behavior was to live on someone else's charity.

However, Maxie was neither proper nor English, as had been made clear in a hundred subtle and not so subtle ways in the four months since she and her father had arrived in Durham. She did not choose to become one of her uncle's dependents.

Even if his lordship was reluctant to see her leave, he couldn't prevent her from doing so. Maxie had just turned twentyfive, and she had been taking care of herself and her father for years. If necessary, she would find work and earn her own passage home.

Her decision crystallized, she rose to her feet with an unladylike athleticism, brushing crushed grass from the skirt of her black dress. The mourning gown was a concession to the sensibilities of her English kinfolk. She herself would have preferred no outward display of her loss. Well, it would not be for much longer.

Half an hour of brisk walking brought her back to the magnificent pile known as Chanleigh Court. Unluckily, as she cut through the gardens, she came upon her two female cousins languidly engaged at the archery butts. Portia, the elder, fired and managed to miss the target entirely from a distance of no more than a dozen paces.

Maxie was about to retreat when Portia glanced up and saw her. "Maxima, how fortunate that you have come by," she said with a note of malice. "Perhaps you can show us how to improve our skills. Or is archery one of the fashionable amusements of which you have been deprived?"

Portia was eighteen, pretty, and petulant. Even at the beginning she had not been friendly to her cousin, but after Maximus Collins's death caused Portia's London debut to be postponed, her attitude had become positively hostile, as if Maxie was personally responsible for the disappointment

Maxie hesitated, then reluctantly joined her cousins.

"I've done some archery. As with most things, it is practice that refines one's skill."

"Then perhaps you should practice your hairdressing," Portia said with a significant glance.

Maxie had gotten very good at ignoring gibes. "You're right," she said mildly, "my appearance is quite disgraceful. I had hoped to slip into the house unobserved." Even at the best of times her hair was too long, straight, and black for fashion, and at the moment she was windblown and disheveled from her walk.

Portia and Rosalind, by contrast, were as bandbox neat as when they received callers in their mother's parlor. They also towered over the smaller American. Almost everyone did.

Sixteen year old Rosalind, who was friendlier than her sister, looked uncomfortable at Portia's rudeness. "Would you like to use my bow, Maxima?" she offered in a timid attempt to warm up the atmosphere.

Maxie accepted the bow and expertly drew it several times to get the feel. Though she had not handled one for some time, her muscles remembered the old skills.

Portia murmured, "I should have remembered that archery was a skill for savages long before it became fashionable."