Robin laughed. "No one who knows Maxie could think such a thing. There isn't a duplicitous bone in her delightful body. Full frontal assault in broad daylight is her style, not sneak attack." He gave his brother a slanting glance. "I've asked Maxie to marry me. Will you have any objections if she agrees?"

Giles raised his brows. "Would it matter if I did? You're both of age."

"If you mean would your disapproval stop me, the answer is no. But I would very much prefer that you welcome her into the family. She has not always been accepted as she deserves." Robin glanced down and made a minute adjustment to his elegantly tailored sleeve. "I thought it was time I settled down."

Giles laughed. "I'm not sure that marriage to a pocketsized hoyden with the courage to cross England on foot, attack a professional bruiser, and dine with a duchess is what I would call 'settling down,' but for what's it's worth, you have my blessing. The two of you should suit very well. Is the lady reluctant?"

"She has her doubts." Robin chuckled. "But I'm using every bit of my fabled charm to persuade her."

As Giles set Robin down outside Whitehall, he uttered a fervent mental prayer that the girl would accept his brother's proposal. It had been obvious as soon as the pair of them had entered Lady Ross's drawing room that Robin had recovered from the blackness of soul that had afflicted him. If it took a dark eyed dazzler with a temper to make Robin laugh again, Giles was more than willing to welcome her as a sister-in-law.

Chapter 29

When Maxie returned to Candover House, she was relieved to find that Robin had not yet returned. That meant their visit to the inn where her father died must be postponed until the next day.

More and more she was concerned about what they would find. According to Desdemona, Max had seemed tense during his stay in London. As Maxie had listened, she had felt the hovering shadow of anxiety. It seemed all too probable that he had been involved in some nefarious project that had brought disaster on his head.

But Desdemona had been a delight. Finally Maxie had found an English relation that she actually felt related to. Her father had said several times that his daughter reminded him of his little sister. Now Maxie understood why: Under their superficial differences, the two women were very similar. Her aunt might be a strong willed eccentric by the narrow standards of English society, but Maxie didn't doubt that Desdemona would manage splendidly in the American backwoods.

Robin's brother had also been a pleasant surprise. Though there was little family resemblance, the marquess had a lurking smile and tolerant attitude much like Robin's. He had also been amiable to her, in spite of her irregular background. Perhaps he might not object to her joining the aristocratic Andrevilles.

When she reached her bedroom, Maxie went to hang up her cloak. She swung open the wardrobe doors, then gasped with surprise. In the brief hours since Robin had suggested augmenting her supply of clothing, four gowns had appeared, with matching slippers neatly lined up below. In addition, accessories such as gloves, stockings, and shawls were folded on the shelves that ran down one side of the wardrobe.

She hung up the bonnet, then pulled out the most elaborate garment. It was a lovely silk evening gown in a shade of crimson that would suit her coloring admirably. She didn't bother trying on any of the dresses. Given the combined talents of Robin and Maggie, everything was bound to fit perfectly. They must have been a formidable team in their spying days.

As she closed the doors of the wardrobe, she smiled wryly. Robin didn't even have to be present to distract her from brooding about her father. Now she could brood about him.

It was incredibly tempting to grab his offer of marriage with both hands, before he changed his mind. But she could not escape the belief that her principal virtue was that she was available while the woman who was Robin's first choice was not. If Maxie weren't in love with Robin, they might have been able to make a comfortable marriage, enjoying each other's company and bodies without major conflicts. Though they might not reach the highs of a love match, they would also avoid the lows.

But since she did love him, the imbalance of emotion would be disastrous. It would be slow poison to live with Robin, always knowing that he had chosen her largely because she had been there when he had been having a bad night.

Wearily she rubbed her temples. Unless Robin really and truly wanted to marry her, Maxima Collins, halfbreed American and not at all a lady, she would be a fool to accept him. Once she went back to America, he would forget her soon enough.

With a growl, she decided to find a distraction before she started chewing on the furniture. She was willing to be wise and noble about turning Robin down, but being gracious as well was too blasted much to ask of herself.

Unclenching her jaw, she went down to the library. When she had seen it the night before, Candover had noticed the naked lust on her face and invited her to browse to her heart's content.

The enormous chamber was unoccupied except for a fuzzy black ball on one chair. Maxie studied it a moment before deciding that it was either a misplaced fur muff or a sleeping cat.

She began to prowl, randomly pulling volumes from the shelves. Candover had books she had always wanted to read but had never been able to obtain. There were volumes of poetry, history, philosophy, art, and everything else that might challenge or delight a mind.

Deciding to be methodical, she pushed the rolling library ladder to the far corner of the long room and climbed to the platform at the top. With a complete disregard for propriety, she hitched up her dress, crossed her legs under her, and pulled a volume from the top shelf. With diligence, she calculated happily, she might finish working her way through the library somewhere about the year 1850.

Lost in an epistolary novel by Montesquieu, she had almost forgotten where she was when the sound of someone entering the room caught her attention. She glanced up from her book to see the duchess enter, then close the door and lean against it.

Since the other woman didn't look above eye level, she must have thought she was alone. Maxie frowned, wondering if she should announce her own presence. Before she could, the duchess swayed, then stumbled over to sit on a long sofa.

Alarmed, Maxie hastily descended the ladder. "Are you unwell, your grace?. Shall I call someone?"

The duchess' lovely face was an interesting shade of gray green that did not complement her eyes. Attempting to smile, she said, "Don't do that. The reason I slipped in here was to avoid alarming anyone. Rafe has every servant in the house hovering over me, and he's the worst of all."

She leaned back and closed her eyes. "There's nothing wrong with me, except that I haven't yet acquired the knack of breeding properly. Most women are ill in the morning, but for me it seems to be the afternoon."

"I see," Maxie said sympathetically. From the slimness of the duchess' waist, it was obviously quite early in her pregnancy. "Lie back and put your feet up on the sofa."

While the other woman meekly obeyed, Maxie found a soft, warm blanket on another sofa and spread it over her. "Perhaps you should have a little something to eat."

The duchess shuddered.

Maxie said soothingly, "Many pregnant women find that it helps to eat several times during the day. Nothing elaborate, perhaps something like tea and biscuits."

The duchess considered. "It's worth a try."

A quarter hour later, after the expectant mother had warily consumed two warm scones and a cup of tea, her normal color returned. Curling up in the corner of the sofa, she said, "Thank you for your advice. I feel amazingly better." She made a face. "At least, until the next time."

"Don't worry, your grace, the nausea disappears magically sometime after the third month."

Unable to keep curiosity from her voice, the duchess said, "You sound like a midwife."

"I'm not that, but I've had a colorful past" Maxie swallowed the last bite of a scone. "Did Robin tell you about my background?"

"Of course not." Her hostess gave her a stern look. "He is the last man on earth to talk about another person's private business. Sometimes it is impossible to get him to say anything useful about anything. And I wish you would call me Margot."

"Not Maggie?"

"My real name is Margot and that is what I use now. Maggie is a nickname Robin gave me, and it lasted through my spying days. I'm sure that to him I'll always be Maggie, just as I'll never really think of him as Lord Robert." She tilted her golden head to one side as if weighing whether to say more. Making up her mind, she said, "I know you're uncomfortable with me, but I'm no threat to you. On the contrary, I would like to be friends."

Maxie had to give the duchess full marks for confronting an awkward situation headon. "I haven't meant to return your hospitality with churlishness. But I must admit that I have trouble understanding the relationship between you and Robin."

"You haven't been churlish. I think you have dealt very well with a situation that would send most women into strong hysterics." Margot sipped reflectively on her tea. "I met Robin when he saved me, at considerable risk to himself, from a French mob that had killed my father. I had a passionate desire to fight Napoleon any way I could, so we decided to work together.