Blaine waited until he had finished and stoked up another pipe before asking, "Now, Mrs. Anderson, you said you could explain everything? Your cousin"- there was a faint, sardonic emphasis on the word- "said that you and your husband were guilty of theft and assault."

Maxie said bluntly, "Simmons isn't really my cousin. I said that because it was simpler than the real explanation."

"I didn't see much family resemblance," he agreed. "So what is this real explanation?"

She sketched in the bare bones of the story: that her father had died in London, that she had reason to suspect foul play, and that her uncle was making every attempt to stop her from investigating. She told the truth, though with as few elaborations as possible, particularly where Robin was concerned.

She ended earnestly, "I swear, Captain Blaine, we are not criminals." At least, she wasn't; it was stretching a point to include Robin among the innocent. "I have stolen nothing except an old map of my uncle's, and we have committed no assault beyond selfdefense to escape Simmons and his men."

The captain refilled his pipe, then used a taper to light the tobacco. "Was your uncle your guardian before you married?"

She shook her head. "Never. Even if I were unmarried, I've just turned twentyfive, so I'm well past the age of needing a legal protector. He has no right to interfere with me."

Not only Blaine, but Robin, looked at her, surprise in their faces. Because of her small size, people tended to assume she was younger than she actually was.

"Sounds like the truth, if not precisely the whole truth. I'd like to have seen that selfdefense between you two and Simmons's gang." Blaine drew on the pipestem, and smoldering tobacco glowed in the dusk.

"I imagine that tomorrow you'll be on your way to London, but if you want to spend tonight in the hold, you're welcome to."

She leaned across the table and pressed a quick kiss to his leathery cheek. "Bless you, Captain Blaine. You and Jamie have been wonderful."

He almost dropped his pipe. Trying to suppress a pleased smile, he said to his son, "If you tell your mother about this, mind you mention that kiss wasn't my idea."

They all laughed. Then the evening turned social. Tea was brewed and they moved to the deck, where the rippling sounds of water life were a peaceful background to their conversation. It wasn't long before the lockkeeper and his family came out to join them, bringing warm spiced buns as a contribution.

After the lanterns were lit, Robin gave a juggling and magic performance. Then Maxie was coaxed into playing her harmonica. It was like an informal gathering of New England neighbors, and she felt a degree of contentment she would never have expected to find on this side of the Atlantic.

After the gathering broke up, she and Robin retired to the hold of the barge. As she relaxed within his familiar embrace she gave thanks for this strange journey. She was discovering a different England than that of her aristocratic relations, and it was a warmer, kinder country by far.

Most of all, she gave thanks for Robin.

Simmons cast about furiously for his quarry, but they had vanished without a trace. The thickwitted canal boat captain had offered a vague memory of seeing two people beg a ride on a wagon, and there had been several other possible sightings, but all came to naught.

Cursing himself for his failure, he reluctantly sent a message to Lord Collingwood saying that he had lost the trail and could not guarantee that the girl would not reach London. He finished by suggesting that his lordship might wish to make other arrangements to prevent his niece from learning the truth about her father's death. As for himself, he would continue the hunt.

Chapter 20

Robin eyed the dark roiling sky without enthusiasm. They'd had blessedly good weather for most of the journey, but that was about to change. At the least, there would be heavy rain, and probably a thunderstorm of major proportions.

The oncoming storm helped him make up his mind. He asked Maxie, "Would you care to spend tonight in style?"

"If that means a bath, yes!"

She accompanied her remark with one of the vivid smiles that made his heart behave in odd ways, as if it couldn't remember how to beat. She was the gamest female he had ever met, cheerfully accepting everything that came their way. Sometimes she found him exasperating-and who could blame her?-but never once had she whined or sulked. Maggie had been the same way.

With a start, he realized he hadn't thought of Maggie in days. His companion's beguiling presence was making the past feel very distant. Which was as it should be, and about time.

They had made good speed since leaving the canal boat. Now they were on a southbound road near Northampton, only a few days from London. Their swing to the norm on the canal, plus greater efforts to avoid notice, seemed to have shaken Simmons from the track. They had encountered no new adventures.

That was fine with Robin; being with Maxie and trying to keep his hands off her delightful little body was adventure enough. He managed to control his attraction by mentally considering her "unavailable," as if she were married, a very young virgin, or a blood relation. It had worked fairly well-that is, he had not had to apologize for his behavior again-but he still had a constant, simmering awareness of her.

He suspected that what really constrained him was the knowledge that if he got out of line again, she would retreat, perhaps even vanish. She might desire him, but she had made it clear that her mind ruled her body.

A flash of lightning, followed almost instantly by a horrendous thunderclap, interrupted his daydreaming. The rain began, not a gentle English shower but blasts of water that drenched them to the skin in seconds.

Pitching her voice above the torrent, Maxie called, "How far is it to this place you have in mind?"

"Not far." He increased their pace to a trot. "But this rain is nothing. For vile weather, you should have seen Napoleon's retreat from Moscow."

She laughed, as always amazed at his powers of invention. "Are you going to tell me you were with the Grande Armee then?"

Another thunderclap split the air. "For a while," he said airily, "but it wasn't very amusing, so I stole a horse and made my own way back to Prussia."

She asked teasing questions, which he answered with speed and improbability. He was still spinning tales when he suddenly announced, "This way. We're almost there."

He turned from the narrow road and pushed through a gap in a hedge. She followed, and found Robin waiting by a high stone wall that ran as far as she could see in both directions.

Puzzled, she said, "Perhaps my brain is getting a bit soggy. I can't see anything resembling shelter."

"We have to go over the wall." Robin jumped and caught the upper edge, then swung smoothly to the top. Then he lowered his knapsack for Maxie.

Aghast, she said, "Good Lord, Robin, what are you doing? Surely this wall surrounds a private estate."

"Yes, but the owner is away and the house is empty," he explained. When she still hesitated, he said, "I promise you, there will be no trouble."

She weighed his confidence against her doubts. As always, he looked limpidly sincere. She was reminded of what she had thought when they first met: the face of a man who could sell you a dozen things you didn't want. An angel rogue.

But his judgment had been reliable so far, although her wits might be deficient for trusting him. She grasped the knapsack and scrambled up the wall.

They dropped down on the other side into a stand of large trees, which blunted the force of the rain. Robin led the way along a faint trail, the earth sodden and spongelike beneath their feet. Eventually they emerged at the edge of the woods.

A flash of lightning illuminated the scene for a moment. She halted, startled by the sight of the stately dwelling outlined against the storm darkened sky.

Some buildings would have seemed gothic and threatening under these conditions, but that was not the case here. The Jacobean manor house stood on a slight rise, surrounded by well tended lawns and gardens. It was neither unusually large nor in any way ostentatious. What made it striking were the graceful proportions and the way it suited its setting like a gemstone. Even in the midst of nature's turbulence, it was serene.

"Robin, we shouldn't be here," she said with conviction.

"There are stewards and gatekeepers and such, but all have their own residences. The house itself is vacant," he said reassuringly. "We can stay with no one the wiser."

She still balked. "How can you be sure it's still empty?"

"I make it a point to know such things," he said vaguely. "Come along. I don't know about you, but I'm freezing."

After glancing about to be sure they were unobserved, she started forward. "What is the estate's name and who owns it?"

"Ruxton. For many years it has been a secondary property of one of the great aristocratic families. Perfectly maintained, but scarcely ever occupied," he explained as he led the way around the house toward the back door.

"What a pity." She studied the warm facade. "It should be lived in. Your English nobility are a criminally wasteful lot."

"I wouldn't disagree."

They stopped at a door leading into the kitchen. Robin turned the knob and found, not surprisingly, that it was locked. Without missing a beat, he pulled off his right boot.

To her amazement, he pried up a section of the heel and removed a pair of stiff wires with oddshaped hooks on the ends. After donning his boot again, he inserted a wire in the keyhole.