"If you were so concerned about the little savage, why didn't you do something yourself?" Lady Collingwood said with the anger of the guilty. "You could have visited anytime these last four months, but all you did was write a few letters."

"We've been working for a Parliamentary bill that would protect apprentices, and since we were finally making progress I was unable to leave London," Desdemona said uncomfortably. "But you're right, I should have done more. I thought she would be safe here until I had time to come north."

"There's no point in recriminations," Collingwood said, hoping to head off a major altercation. "The important thing is to get Maxima back here safely."

"How do you intend to accomplish that?"

After a moment's thought, her brother gave a relieved nod. "I know just the man to send after her. Simmons is in Newcastle now. I'll send for him and explain what needs to be done. With luck, Maxima will be home in no time."

"Send for your man if you wish, but I'm going after her myself," Desdemona said tightly. "Someone in the family should care enough to try. What does she look like?"

Lord Collingwood started to say that his sister was being absurd, that such matters should be left to those with experience. A glance at Desdemona's set face made him decide that it was easier to let her go. After all, his sister was an independent and worldly widow, attended by her servants. How much trouble could she get into?

The miles and the afternoon rolled by, and Maxie's unwanted companion showed no signs of boredom. He didn't flag from the brisk pace she set, either. Occasionally Robin made an entertaining comment on the passing scene and they would converse a bit. Sometimes he whistled, very musically. Maxie had to admit that his presence made the miles go more quickly.

They left the forest and joined a wider road with more traffic. It was coming on to dinnertime when they entered a quiet, gray stone village. Robin gestured at an inn called the King Richard. "Shall I buy you dinner? Anything you like as long as it costs less than two shillings."

Maxie gave him a cold stare. "You may stop if you wish, but I intend to continue. Have a pleasant journey, Mr. Anderson."

"Andreville," he said, impervious to the snub. "Anderson is too common to impress anyone. Are you sure you don't want to stop? While I have enough food for another day, a warm meal would help us make it through a cool night."

"There is no us, Mr. Andreville," Maxie said in a doomed attempt to maintain formality. "We are two individuals who have chanced to travel the same road for a few hours."

"You still don't take me seriously, do you?" Her companion seemed unfazed by the observation. "People seldom do, so you're in good company. Very well, cold food it is."

"For pity's sake," Maxie muttered as she walked past the inn and Robin stayed at her side. The man was becoming a blessed nuisance.

An idea occurred to her. If she agreed to stop for dinner, she could surely find an opportunity to slip away from him. With a few minutes' lead, she could vanish into one of the small side lanes. The next day she would cut across to another southbound road and he would never find her. "You're right, a hot meal would be welcome, but I will pay for my own."

His blue eyes danced, and she had the uneasy feeling that he had guessed her intentions. She would have to relax and behave as if she had resigned herself to his escort.

They entered the inn and found seats in a high backed booth in a corner of the smoky taproom. It was so dark that no one would notice that Maxie didn't remove her hat. There was no choice of meals. They ordered the specialty of the day and were served plates of food described as griskin and potatoes.

At Maxie's questioning glance, Robin explained, "Griskin is from the loin of a bacon pig. It's not bad."

Maxie took a bite and chewed it thoughtfully. "You're right. It's not bad. On the other hand, it isn't good, either."

"True, but it's hot, and it tastes better than one would expect anything named griskin to taste."

She hid her smile with a forkful of food. "I've had worse. Porcupine, for example, is good only if you're starving."

As they ate, she exerted herself to be friendly. It wasn't hard, but success proved treacherous. There was too much intimacy in laughing and sharing a table with an attractive man who gave her all of his attention. The darkness of the taproom made it seem as if she and Robin were quite alone. Even eating humble griskin couldn't destroy the romantic effect.

The thought strengthened her resolve. The last thing she needed was to take up with an alluring wastrel. She bent her attention to her plate and waited for a chance to slip away.

Robin finished before she did. His idle gaze went to the back wall of the booth, where devices made of hammered, interlocked iron pieces were hanging from nails.

"Do you have this sort of puzzle in America? The object is to take them apart, then remember how to put them together again." He took one of the devices down. "They're hard enough to solve when sober- frustrated drunkards have been known to use crowbars to rip the pieces apart."

"I'm familiar with tavern puzzles. They probably exist wherever there are blacksmiths to forge them, and taverns where people like to amuse themselves." She swallowed her last bite of potato. "I suspect you're rather good at solving them."

"On the grounds that I would excel at all useless skills?"

She had to smile. "Precisely."

He frowned at the puzzle. The outline was vaguely bellshaped, with several interlocking circles and triangles attached to it. "I guess I haven't spent enough time in taverns lately. I'm not even sure which pieces are removable."

As she gazed at the device, she noticed that his left wrist and fingers were subtly misshapen from what must have been numerous broken bones. He had elegant hands that he used expressively, more like a European than an Englishman. A pity that one had been so badly damaged, especially since he was lefthanded.

She studied the irregular contours more closely. The pattern of breaks was unusual, so regular that it seemed the result of a deliberate effort. Torture? A shiver ran down her spine. Perhaps an angry husband had chosen this way to wreak revenge for injured honor.

She reached across the table and took the puzzle from him. "This reminds me of a specimen called the devil's stirrup, only this version is more complicated. I think these pieces should come apart." After a minute of study, she made several quick twists and the puzzle separated into three sections.

He chuckled. "Which of us has the useless skills?"

"Taking it apart is only half the battle. Reassembling it is just as hard." She pushed the pieces across the table to him. "I'll wager sixpence that you can't get it back together by the time I return from the necessary."

"You're on." He lifted a triangle and a ring and tried to link them together.

The moment had come. No man would admit that a woman could best him at something like this. He would be so intent on solving the silly puzzle that he wouldn't miss her for the next hour.

Maxie slid out of the booth, holding her knapsack unobtrusively at her side. The food had been paid for when ordered, so she could leave with a clear conscience. She headed across the taproom to the door that led into the back courtyard. Once she was outside, she cut quickly through to the lane that ran parallel with the high street, behind the buildings.

Her sense of satisfaction was shortlived. The lane was only a dozen buildings long, and when she returned to the high street she almost collided with Robin, who was lounging against a garden wall, his arms crossed on his chest as he waited for her.

"Your opinion of my intelligence really is low if you thought I could be eluded so easily," he said with undiminished good nature.

She glared at him, for the first time believing that the imbecile man truly meant to accompany her all the way to London. "The issue is not your intelligence, but your presumption. I do not want your escort, your company, or your free meals. Now, leave me alone!"

She turned and started stalking down the street. Robin stayed at her elbow. Whirling angrily, she snapped, "I have warned you. Believe me, I am quite capable of defending myself."

She was about to say more when he cut her off with a sharp warning gesture. "People are coming. If you want to maintain your masquerade, don't make a scene here."

Several approaching locals were watching them curiously, but even so, Maxie would have exploded with fury if she hadn't been caught by Robin's gaze. His blue eyes had measureless depths, the eyes of a man who had seen more of shadows than sunshine.

He was also older than she had thought. She had assumed he was near her own age, but she revised that upward, past thirty. She stared at him, feeling that she was in the presence of a dangerous stranger.

Before she could react, Robin took a firm grip on. her arm and started walking toward open country. As they passed the interested group of villagers, an elderly woman said in a broad Yorkshire accent, "Eh, Daisy, isn't that gent-"

"No, it isn't." Robin's clear tones cut across the woman's sentence. His interruption was accompanied by a dazzling smile that made her mouth go slack with admiration. Leaving a murmur of voices behind them, he marched Maxie down the road before anything more could be said.

Fuming, she considered calling to the villagers for help, but that would require endless explanations, and she was sure that Robin could talk his way out of any accusation she made.