Lucien studied Robin's face shrewdly. "I've found that the right woman can do wonders for one's peace of mind."

"Indeed. And now it's time for me to repay a debt to this particular right woman. Shall we be off?"

With Lucien's help, it shouldn't be difficult to learn about the last days of Max Collins. Robin hoped to God that the information would make a difference.

Chapter 36

Maxie felt as if she were wandering in a shadow land of evil dreams, but knew that there would be no awakening. Her father had taken his own life, and the knowledge was a pain more devastating than she could have imagined.

Burrowed into her pillows like a woodland creature seeking refuge, she lost track of the hours. The pattern of sunlight slowly shifted across the floor, then disappeared as clouds obscured the sky. Someone entered and left a tray of food, then left without speaking. The room darkened, and eventually the sounds of the household faded as night deepened.

When a distant clock struck midnight, Maxie forced herself to sit up and take stock. She couldn't spend the rest of her life hiding in a bedchamber. How much time would have to pass before her hosts would feel compelled to coax her out-twentyfour hours? Three days? A week? Or would Margot's superb hospitality allow Maxie to stay here forever, a mad mourner served by silent maids?

Even if the duchess would allow that, Robin wouldn't. Maxie buried her head in her hands, wondering dully what would happen next. Finally it was clear why she had been unable to sense her path beyond London. The unthinkable had happened, and now she felt suspended, unable to go forward, unable to retreat, too numb to imagine anything resembling normal life.

Wearily she slid from the bed and found her dressing gown, one of the garments that had magically appeared in her wardrobe the day before. She stopped and thought. Had she really been in London only two days? It seemed a century since she had arrived, met Margot and her aunt, and seriously misbehaved in the garden.

Even that last memory was not enough to warm her.

She belted the robe around her narrow waist, then lit a candle and used it.to light her way down to the library. Books had never failed to make her feel better. Perhaps being surrounded by them would help clear her dazed mind.

There was a desk at the far end of the library. She settled into the leather upholstered chair behind it. The room was cool, and occasional raindrops spatted against the windows. Myriad volumes lined the room in friendly ranks, their titles reflecting dull gold in the candlelight. As she inhaled the pleasant scents of leather bindings and furniture polish, mingled with a faded tang of smoke, the knot in her chest eased a little.

A walnut box of pipe tobacco stood on one side of the desk. Moved by dim memory, she opened the box and put a large pinch of tobacco in a shallow china bowl intended for ashes. Then she used the candle to set the shredded leaf afire.

The pungent scent carried her back to ceremonies she had attended in her childhood. Among her mother's people, tobacco was considered sacred, and it was burned to carry prayers to the spirit world.

But as she watched the smoke twist and dissolve into blackness, Maxie was not even sure what to pray for.

It had been a long day, and Candover House was completely dark when Robin returned. Still, with the considerable help of Lucien and a startled but cooperative Simmons, he had found the information he wanted. Perhaps tomorrow Maxie would be willing to listen.

He let himself in with the key Maggie had given him. He had just relocked the massive front door when his instincts sounded a warning note. After a moment of intense stillness, reaching out with his senses, he recognized what was amiss. Though the household slept, there was a fresh scent of burning tobacco here on a floor that had no bedchambers.

Probably it meant no more than that a servant had smoked while checking that the doors were locked, or that Rafe was working late. Nonetheless, Robin followed the scent to the library, where a sliver of light showed beneath the door.

He entered quietly. Maxie was sitting at the far end of the room, her straight ebony hair cascading over her shoulders and her gaze fixed absently on a spiral of fragrant smoke. Though he was glad she had risen from her bed, her expression was bleak and infinitely distant. It hurt to see the dimming of her spirit. Perhaps what he had learned might rekindle her essential flame.

She looked up without surprise. "Good evening. Have you been skulking about London?"

"Exactly." He walked the length of the room and took a chair near her. Since she was barefoot and wore only a light robe over her shift, he took off his coat, removed several folded sheets of paper from an inside pocket, then offered it to her. "You must be freezing. Put this on."

She accepted the garment mechanically and draped it over her shoulders. She looked very small in the folds of dark fabric.

"I've learned some things I think you'll find interesting," Robin said. "Can you bear to listen now, or should I wait?"

She made a vague gesture with her hand. "It doesn't matter. Now will do if that's what you wish."

Wondering what it would take to break through her lethargy, he said, "Lord Collingwood called here today. His judgment might have been doubtful, but his intentions were good when he hired Simmons to prevent you from reaching London and investigating your father's death. Simmons is a Bow Street Runner."

She dropped another pinch of tobacco on the smoldering pile. "What is a Bow Street Runner?"

"A thief taker. Mostly they work for the chief magistrate of Westminister, whose office is in Bow Street, hence the name," Robin explained. "However, Runners can be hired by private citizens for special tasks, which is what your uncle did."

Maxie nodded without interest.

"Collingwood also said that your GreatAunt Maxima left you five hundred pounds a year, but specified that you couldn't receive it until you were over twentyfive and your father had died. Apparently your greataunt had doubts about your father's financial capabilities."

The faintest of smiles touched Maxie's lips. "Justifiably so. Max was hopeless about money. It didn't interest him."

After a slow breath, Robin went to the crux of his story. "Though he may have concealed it from you, your father's health had apparently been deteriorating for some time. When he came to London, he not only called on your aunt's executor to learn the details of your legacy, he also visited two physicians. Both said that your father's heart was failing. However, it was possible that he might survive a long time as an invalid, in pain and unable to live the life he was accustomed to."

Maxie's head came up at that, her brown eyes finally meeting his, but she didn't speak. She scarcely seemed to breathe.

"I talked to several other people whom your father saw in the days before he died." Robin raised the papers he had removed from his coat, then set them on the desk. "Based on the details in here, I'd be willing to take an oath in court that your father decided to end his life so that you could inherit right away, and to spare you the grief of nursing him through a slow death. It's also a fair guess that he didn't want to die that way, helplessly waiting for the end. He knew your uncle would look out for you, so he wasn't leaving you alone."

Maxie was trembling, and her tongue licked out to moisten her dry lips. "How… how did he do it?"

"With a massive dose of digitalis, a heart medication that is a poison in large quantities. Both physicians had given him some, warning him to be careful how much he used because it can be fatal. It seems likely that your father thought he would have time to dispose of the bottles, but the medicine overcame him very quickly. If he'd had a little more time, no one would have realized that he hadn't died naturally."

Robin paused to let her absorb that before he finished, "Your father didn't abandon you carelessly, but because he cared so much. I think he wanted to give you, with his death, the security he was unable to give you in life. He was wrong not to know that you would rather have had him for whatever months or years were left, but his action sprang from love."

Maxie's brown eyes came alive then. She buried her face in her hands and whispered, "I don't know why, but that makes all the difference in the world."

"You and your father were everything to each other," Robin said quietly., "No matter how insulting strangers were, no matter how much you were taunted for your Mohawk blood, you always knew that your father loved you. To believe that he had killed himself, with no word or thought for you, was like being told that your whole life had been built on a lie."

She raised her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "How did you know that when I didn't?"

"By delving into the shadowy corners of my mind, you also opened yourself to me." He stepped over to her and covered her ears. "When a woman mourns, she cannot hear," he quoted. "Let these words remove the obstruction so you can hear again."

He laid his hands lightly over her eyes. "In your grief, you have lost the sun and fallen into darkness. I now restore the sunlight."

He knelt before her so that their eyes were at the same level, then crossed his hands on the center of her chest. Her heart beat steadily against his palms. "You have allowed your mind to dwell on your great grief. You must release it lest you, too, wither and die."