Mary Putney - Angel Rogue

As it was, he was both too near for safety and too far for comfort. Half asleep, she laid a tentative hand on the grass between them. She had no sense whatsoever where he was concerned.

To her great pleasure, he reached out to cover her hand with his, his warm fingers interlacing with hers. She relaxed, knowing she would sleep better because they were touching.

Robin awoke to a cool, misty dawn. He was amused and not surprised to find that he and Maxie had gravitated together during the night. She was now snuggled against him, her exotically lovely face half hidden in his shirt. He loved her dark skin, which had a sensual warmth that made most other women look pallid and only half alive.

Her trousered knee was tucked between his thighs, and his hand was resting on the ripe curve of her bottom. Even though layers of clothing separated them, he felt the unmistakable stirrings of desire.

But she aroused more than simple desire. She had a special kind of innocent sensuality, a quality of being totally comfortable with her body, that he had never seen in a European woman. She also had intelligence, humor and courage.

What she did not have was any obvious interest in acquiring a mate. Her initial distrust of him had turned to liking, even occasional approval, but he suspected that after she had investigated her father's death, she would walk away like a cat, without looking back.

His arm tightened around her as he realized how reluctant he would be to see her go. Maxie had revitalized him; he felt as if he had shed several decades of weariness since they had met.

For the first time, he asked himself squarely what he wanted of her. He was not interested in a flirtation, and a platonic friendship was too limiting. And, though he was entranced by her perfect little body, a casual affair would not be enough. No, what he wanted was a companion with whom he could laugh and play and make love. He had enjoyed that kind of relationship with Maggie, until, because of some fatal lack in him, she had retreated from intimacy.

It was more than unfair to compare Maggie and the young woman in his arms; it was impossible. Yet both had generous and valiant spirits, and perhaps in time he might find the sort of closeness with Maxie that he had known with Maggie. It would take time for trust and openness to grow, for he and Maxie both concealed themselves behind practiced defenses.

But day by day, each was revealing more to the other. It was promising that Maxie had spoken of matters sacred to her mother's people. As for himself, more than once he had found himself saying things he had not meant to say, things that made him vulnerable in uncomfortable ways.

He smiled ruefully. He was willing to endure the discomfort in the hope that something lasting would come of it, but he feared that she had no interest in such an outcome. She wanted a real home and a man she could respect. Robin could provide the home, but he had done damn all that was worthy of respect.

Nonetheless, he succumbed to temptation and lightly kissed her on the end of her elegant little nose.

Her long black lashes swept up and she regarded him with an unblinking brown gaze. "Which of us moved during the night?"

"We both did, I think."

She considered that thoughtfully. "People will be waking soon. We should get up, or at least retreat a few feet."

"Quite right." Yet he didn't release her, and she made no attempt to move away. Instead, her hand slid between his arm and his rib cage, drawing them even closer together. A good thing they were both clothed, or he would be forgetting how public this location was.

Luckily, it wasn't long until other voices began murmuring through the mist. He reluctantly removed his arm. "If anyone notices you're a female, it will do your reputation no good."

She smiled wickedly and sat up. "And if they think I am male, it will do both our reputations even less good."

He laughed as he stood and stretched the kinks from his muscles. He would worry about the future when they reached London. For now, he couldn't remember when the days had seemed so full of promise.

Desdemona Ross had not realized there were as many cattle in England as she had seen in the streets of Market Harborough this morning. Without removing her gaze from the spectacle below, she finished her third cup of tea. This upper chamber at the front of the Three Swans had already been bespoken the night before, but she had used a combination of gold and bullying to secure it for herself.

When the Welsh Blacks first began flowing by, she had been tense with anticipation as she watched from her vantage spot. Now, an interminable length of time later, she was weary, bored, and fearful that her vigil was doomed to failure.

She had seen entirely too many blasted black oxen, a goodly number of Welsh drovers in smocks and trousers and long wool stockings, herd dogs with absurdly short legs, and a handful of country folk who were traveling with the drive. Occasionally she had glimpsed a couple of burly men in an alley on the other side of the high street. They seemed to be watching the drive as closely as she was. Perhaps one of them was the fellow Cletus had sent after Maxima.

What she had not seen was anyone who might be Maxima Collins. Neither had she seen the unreliable Lord Robert.

Setting her cup down, she wondered where the Marquess of Wolverton was. Surely he was near and watching as carefully as she. That is, unless he had already intercepted their mutual quarry, which would explain why Desdemona had had no success.

She had mixed feelings about Wolverton's absence. The man had a talent for getting under her skin, and whenever that happened, she acted like an idiot. Nevertheless, she had enjoyed their encounters.

The end of the cattle drive was finally in sight. Bringing up the rear were three dustcovered people and a pair of briskly trotting herd dogs. With a gasp, Desdemona leaned forward, squinting to confirm what she had glimpsed.

One of the three was a drover, one a lightfooted man of middle height, and the third was a very small figure dressed like a boy and wearing a disreputable hat that had been described time and time again. As she watched, the man in the middle said something that set the other two to laughing.

Brimming with excitement, Desdemona raced for the stairs.

A cattle drive was not quiet in a country lane, but it was far noisier when the clattering hooves, aggrieved lowing, and yipping dogs were trapped between buildings. Maxie and Robin walked behind the unruly river of black oxen, along with Dafydd Jones and a cluster of beasts with missing shoes that slowed their pace. Mr. Jones was in charge of the laggards, with two dogs to prevent the oxen from wandering down side lanes. Most of the town's residents had prudently withdrawn behind doors to wait for the cattle to pass. The drive had taken much of the morning and was leaving the high street in dire need of cleaning.

Droveways usually avoided towns, but this route was essential in order to reach one of the important livestock markets. Being in a town gave Maxie a prickly feeling of danger after the openness of the ridgeways. Still, there had been no sign of Simmons since the encounter in the clearing. He must have given up the pursuit.

It was an unlucky thought. They were nearing the market square when a familiar voice bellowed, "There they are!"

Not fifty feet away, Simmons emerged from a doorway with a look of savage delight on his battered face. Beside him was another bruiser, just as large and even more brutal looking.

"Damnation!" Robin swore under his breath.

They both whirled, only to see two more ruffians coming purposefully from the opposite direction. They were trapped.

An earshattering whistle split the air as Dafydd Jones grasped the situation and acted with a speed that belied his slowmoving appearance. His whistled commands ordered the dogs to turn the last group of bullocks and bring them back along the street at high speed.

A welltrained herd dog does not question a command, no matter how contrary to custom. Within seconds, the street was blocked by churning, confused bullocks. Harried by the sharp nips of the dogs, some turned quickly and galloped fullspeed along the cobblestones. Others milled and bellowed in confusion. It was a scene straight from Bedlam.

Robin grabbed Maxie's arm and called, "Many thanks!"

Mr. Jones waved and yelled, "Luck to you!"

Maxie caught a last glimpse of Simmons's furious face. He and his men were trying to fight their way through the clamorous, blaring oxen, but without success. They'd be lucky not to be trampled flat.

After that, she concentrated on escape, following Robin toward the next alley. The cattle kept a small distance away from the faces of the buildings, so it was possible to force a passage along the edge of the street. She felt small and horribly fragile as the massive bullocks jostled by, but as long as she and Robin stayed by the walls, they were safe.

After a chaotic interval of battling along the street, they reached the mouth of the alley and darted inside. Robin paused, touching her elbow lightly. "How are you faring?"

"Bruised but unbowed." She dragged a dusty hand across her forehead. "Do you know your way around Market Harborough?"

"No, but we're about to learn," he said with a flashing smile.

She felt a burst of irrational exuberance. Robin might be a rogue, but under these circumstances, she couldn't imagine a better companion.

If the truth be known, she couldn't imagine a better companion for any circumstances.