Two men were talking, one in a harsh cockney accent. Though she strained to hear, maddeningly, she could not make out the actual words. Robin was still sleeping off the effects of the head injury, but she sat up, too tense to lie still.

She scarcely breathed as heavy footsteps approached, the planks creaking under the weight of a large man. Simmons must be near enough to push the shield of carpets from that cover, or to hear the hammering of her heart.

The footsteps halted within a yard of her head. This was infinitely worse than meeting an enemy in the open. Her nerves stretched to the point where she felt a hysterical desire to scream or pound the hatch with balled fists-anything to end the suspense.

In the silence, Robin stirred and drew in his breath, as if preparing to speak. Instantly she reached out, fumbling a little in the dark, and clamped one hand over his mouth.

In the charged silence, she clearly heard Simmons say, "Anyone who 'elps criminals is flouting the king's justice, and it will go 'ard with 'im."

She gasped at the pious way the scoundrel was invoking the law. The devil could cite scripture for his purposes; indeed!

Robin tensed when she first touched him, then relaxed and gave a nod of understanding. As the footsteps moved away, she started to lift her hand away. Before she could, he pressed his lips to her palm in a gossamer kiss.

She inhaled, shaken. Remarkable how different kinds of touch could produce such varied reactions. Why did that swift butterfly caress affect her when muting his speech had not?

The darkness around them was no longer charged with danger, but with intimacy. She reached out, her fingers drifting across his hair and the bandage. Finding his face, her hand curved to stroke his cheek. The faint masculine prickle of whiskers contrasted with smooth skin. It reminded her of the sensuality of watching him shave, and she blushed in the darkness.

Her fingertips delicately skimmed his lips, and he touched them with the tip of his tongue. She shivered involuntarily. When he curled his hand around her neck and drew her down on top of him, she was willing. More than willing. Her lips parted to meet his in an openmouthed kiss.

She forgot her tension, her fear of the searchers above. Nothing existed but the man in her arms, the velvet roughness of his tongue, and the masculine power of his body. Wherever they touched, heat swirled through her veins to smolder deep within.

His hand slid down between their bodies until he reached the sensitive juncture of her thighs. When he rubbed her there, she gasped and rocked against him. The energy of passion and creation was flowing through her, sweeping her toward fulfillment in the eternal dance of mating and renewal. Her hand moved down his torso to rest on the taut, potent ridge of male flesh.

His whole frame went rigid. She caressed him, rejoicing in her power as much as she resented the clothing that separated them. He jerked up the back of her shirt and began stroking the small of her back, his palm warm against her spine. The skin to skin contact felt deliciously wanton.

Then the deck above creaked with heavy footsteps again. They both froze. The barge rocked in the water from the weight.

Closer, closer… stopping right next to their hiding place. Then Simmons's voice rumbled, appallingly close. His words were an unintelligible mumble, but the angry menace was unmistakable.

Jerked back to an awareness of their situation, Maxie felt like kicking herself. What had happened to her resolve to avoid deeper involvement with Robin? She had no more wit than a chipmunk. She eased herself away.

Robin clutched spasmodically at her wrist. She stiffened, and he released her instantly. His reluctance to let her go was evident in the slow, erotic slide of his palm over her wrist and the back of her hand. The feather touch added fuel to the flames that threatened to consume her.

When his fingers glided over hers, she felt the irregularity of the crooked, badly mended bones. Desire was joined by a dangerous tenderness. She could not have been more conscious of him if they had both been naked in a bed.

When their contact finally ended, she had to force herself not to renew it. If she touched him again when she was in this state, there would be no going back.

Wishing their hideaway was larger, she silently retreated as far as possible, flattening herself against a wall of bulging carpets. Her heart was hammering so hard that it almost drowned out Robin's harsh breathing.

Planks creaked as Simmons shifted his massive weight. There was a rasping noise, as if the carpets above were being pushed. Dear God, did he know there was another hatch below the pile?

A voice called from the front of the barge. With more squeaking of planks, Simmons moved toward whomever had spoken.

After that, there was a long silence while Maxie prayed he would not return to investigate further. When the barge began moving again, she expelled her breath, so relieved she was almost shaking. Even so, she kept her voice to a whisper when she said unevenly, "I'm sorry. It might not seem that way, but I wasn't really trying to drive you berserk."

"I know. What happened was my fault," Robin replied, his voice rueful. "Most parts of me are working, but my judgment appears to have been scrambled by that blow on the head."

She thought of the feel of his taut body against hers. Yes, all of his parts were working very well. Once again, the heat in her face made her grateful for the concealing darkness.

It wasn't like her to avoid a difficult situation. Deciding that it was time to grasp another bull by the horns, she said, "We seem to be cursed with a strong physical attraction and grave doubts about acting on it. A blazing nuisance, isn't it?"

He chuckled. "Attraction between male and female is what makes the world keep spinning. Since you and I are living in each other's pockets, the situation does get a bit awkward sometimes, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Would you?"

She thought about it-the restless aching in her body, the sheer, wicked pleasure she found in his embrace, the void that would be left in her heart after they said goodbye. Rather to her surprise, she replied, "No, I don't suppose I would."

"I'm glad to hear that," he said quietly.

The atmosphere between them changed, the sense of lambent passion dissipating. With unerring instinct, Robin reached through the darkness and found her hand. Then he pulled her into the sort of affectionate embrace that was normal between them. She relaxed against him, at peace again.

He murmured into her hair, "Are we ready for the captain's questions when he lets us out of here?"

She said "Yes," without elaboration.

His hand glided down her back. "Is there anything I should know in support of your story?"

"No. This will come as a shock to you, but I decided it will be best to tell him the truth."

"The truth," he said in a tone of wonder. "That would never have occurred to me."

She snorted. "That is one of the few things you've ever said that I believe unequivocally."

He chuckled. "Believe me, I tell the truth much more often than not. Keeping one's lies straight can be quite exhausting."

"I wouldn't know," she replied, trying to sound blighting.

She felt his chest shake with silent laughter. "Are we still married? Or are you going to retract what you said earlier about me being your husband?"

"I suppose we're still married," she said reluctantly. "I would rather not explain what we are. I don't think there is any good definition."

She felt his amusement again, but he didn't comment.

Now that Robin was awake and on guard, she felt free to relax and get some rest herself. She settled her head on his shoulder. Soon enough it would be time to face the world again.

Maxie didn't wake until the removal of the hatch cover let in the long rays of the setting sun. She looked up warily, but it was the barge captain's face above, not Simmons's.

"You two all right down there?"

"We are indeed, and very grateful to you," Robin replied. He got to his feet and swung up to the deck, then extended a hand to help Maxie out. "My name is Robert Anderson, by the way, and this is my wife Maxima."

She noted that he was now Anderson, not Andreville. Thank heaven he had the sense not to use a fraudulent title. The pair of them looked questionable enough without that.

She glanced around and found that the barge was moored at the bottom of a large lock. Nearby was a stone stable and a small lockkeeper's cottage surrounded by flower gardens. It looked peaceful and blessedly safe.

The captain took his pipe from his mouth. "I'm John Blaine. My boy Jamie is stabling the horse."

The two men shook hands. "I hope Simmons wasn't too rude to you," Robin said.

"Happen he was." A smile hovered behind the cloud of pipe smoke. " 'Fraid there was a bit of an accident. The fellow tripped on the tow rope and fell into the canal. Lost his taste for barges and went stomping off afterward."

Maxie smiled, wondering how Blaine had managed the accident.

He continued, "Care to join us for a bite of supper?"

His words reminded Maxie that they had not eaten since a very early breakfast with the drovers. Was it really only that morning that they had shared a pot of tea and a loaf of bread with Dafydd Jones? "Supper would be very welcome, Captain Blaine."

He gestured for them to follow him into the barge's simple cabin. The table was covered with cold food that had been prepared by Blaine's wife in Market Harborough. Fortunately, she had expansive ideas about what it took to keep her menfolk from starving, and there was more than enough mutton pie, bread,cheese, and pickled onions. The four of them ate in the cabin with the door open to admit the evening breeze.