Mary Putney: Angel Rogue

"Trust your brother to cause as much trouble in death as in life. A pity he didn't stay in America," her aunt complained. "The matter of the inheritance is proving to be a great nuisance, and what if Maxima finds out how her father really died?"

"The legacy question is nearly resolved, and she won't learn the truth about her father. I've made sure of that."

"You'd better be right, because if she does find out, the fat will be in the fire," her ladyship said waspishly. "The little heathen isn't stupid."

Voice edged, her husband said, "Would you be so rude about the girl if our daughters were as pretty as she is?"

After a shocked pause, his wife sputtered, "The idea! As if I would want my daughters to look like Maxima. They are wellbred young English ladies, not dusky little savages."

"Wellbred they may be, but no one will notice them if their cousin is in the same room."

"Of course men notice her, just as stallions notice a mare in heat. No real lady wants to draw that kind of attention," Lady Collingwood said viciously. "I'll never understand how your brother could bring himself to marry a Red Indian. That is, if he did marry the creature. The audacity of him, bringing his halfbreed daughter here!"

"Enough, Althea," her husband snapped. "Max might have been a wastrel, but he was a Collins, and Maxima is his daughter. I have seen no deficiencies in either her manners or her understanding. Indeed, she has been far more of a lady to you than you and Portia have been to her."

"Not an hour since, she threatened Portia with a bow and arrow! I live in terror that she will run mad and murder us in our beds. If you won't get rid of her, I will."

"Just be patient. We can present her in London next spring when she comes out of mourning for her father. Rosalind will be old enough to bring out then, so we can fire off all three girls together. With her looks, Maxima will have no trouble finding a suitable husband."

Maxie's recoil at the thought of a London season was profound, but it paled next to her aunt's reaction. Lady Collingwood gasped. "You can't possibly expect me to present her with our daughters! The idea is unthinkable."

"I can and do expect it. There's nothing unthinkable about presenting cousins together."

"We can't keep her here for a full year," his wife said in a voice that could have scratched glass. "Marcus will return from his Grand Tour soon, and you know how susceptible he is. Are you prepared to risk your son becoming infatuated with his cousin? Would you welcome the little savage as a daughter in law?"

After a long silence, her husband said in a shaken voice, "It is not the match I would wish for him."

Lady Collingwood made a reply, her voice blurred as if she were moving away from the door.

It didn't matter, for Maxie had heard more than enough. Feeling nauseated, she retraced the route to her room, forcing herself to walk slowly. After locking her door, she collapsed on her bed and curled into a tight, shuddering ball while she tried to make sense of what she had overheard.

First and foremost was the clear implication that her father's death was not of natural causes. Could he have been killed in an accident, or at the hands of footpads? But in that case, there would be no reason for her uncle to conceal the fact. Could Max have died in a whore's bed? Not only was that unlikely, but such an occurrence was not scandalous enough to require such extraordinary efforts to suppress.

Try as she would, the best interpretation Maxie could find was that someone had murdered her father.

But why would anyone want to kill charming, feckless Max?

Money and passion were the usual reasons for murder. Since Maximus Collins had scarcely had a penny to bless himself with, no one would have murdered him for gain.

Yet lethal jealousy seemed even less probable. Her father had never been a womanizer, and he had been away from England so long that ancient feuds were unlikely to be still smoldering.

Lady Collingwood had mentioned an inheritance. Maximus had been disinherited by his own father, but perhaps he was heir to some distant relative, and he had been killed to prevent his claiming the legacy. If so, was she herself in danger since she was her father's heir? Maxie shook her head in disbelief. Such things belonged only in melodramatic novels, not real life.

Could Max have made money from some mad scheme, then been murdered for it? The night before leaving for London, he had said cheerfully that their financial problems would soon be at an end. His darling daughter could be a lady and have the life and grand husband she deserved. It was not the first time he had made such statements, so Maxie had only laughed and said that she was quite content as she was.

It was hard to imagine any legitimate way that Max could have made a large amount of money. Unfortunately, it was not inconceivable that he had tried an illegitimate method. She had loved her father dearly, but she was aware of his weaknesses. Perhaps he had scandalous information about some long ago schoolmate and had threatened to reveal it. If so, his intended victim might have decided that it was easier to eliminate a blackmailer than to pay. It wouldn't have been a great risk, for no one would miss an impecunious reprobate.

Except, of course, his daughter.

If her father had tried blackmail, could it have been aimed at his brother? Family secrets would be the easiest to come by.

Maxie's fists clenched so tightly that the nails gouged her palms. She must consider the possibility that Lord Collingwood might have had his own brother killed. Perhaps the villainous looking man from London was a hired assassin.

Was her uncle capable of such a monstrous crime? She wished that she could dismiss the idea out of hand, but she couldn't. Though her uncle had seemed fond of Max, filial affection might have vanished in the face of attempted blackmail. One thing that Maxie had learned in the last months was that the English had a passion for appearances. Threatening to reveal a particularly ripe scandal could easily have gotten Max killed. Her uncle would have undertaken extreme measures with regret, but she did not doubt that he would do what he thought necessary.

It was all horribly farfetched, but then, so was murder. She closed her eyes, wondering if she were going mad. She had always had a vivid imagination-lurid, according to her father-and that imagination was running riot. Perhaps there was a simple, noncriminal explanation of what she had overheard.

If so, she could not guess what it was.

The logical thing would be to ask her uncle what he had meant in that damning conversation, but that did not seem like a prudent course. He was unlikely to reveal what he had gone to such trouble to conceal. Worse, if he were guilty of a crime, he might be a threat to her. She didn't think he would want to harm her, but if he had ordered his own brother's death, he was unlikely to have compunctions about doing the same to his niece.

She bit her lip, her mind churning with grief and confusion. Only two things seemed sure: Her father had not died naturally, and she herself was persona non grata in her ancestral home. She had known that Lady Collingwood did not like her, but even so she was appalled by the depth of hostility revealed in that overheard conversation. Heathen… dusky little savage … halfbreed .

She must leave Chanleigh this very night, after the household had retired. But she would not return tamely to Boston-not until she had gone to London and discovered the truth about her father's death.

She sat up, the need to plan steadying her chaotic emotions. She had the address of the inn where Max had been staying, as well as the names of several old friends he had intended to visit. That was enough to begin an investigation.