Mary Putney: Angel Rogue

Now he was submerged in a gray melancholy unlike anything he had ever experienced, a weariness of the soul rather than the body. Apart from a brief duty visit to Ruxton, he had spent the last six months sleeping, riding, tramping the countryside, and catching up on his reading and correspondence.

His most energetic activity had been avoiding the lures of wellborn local maidens. The two eligible Andrevilles had been much in demand at winter social gatherings. While Giles had the title and the superior fortune, it was generally assumed that he was unlikely to remarry, so more feminine wiles had been exercised on Lord Robert. Besides his blond good looks, mysterious past, and more than adequate assets, the chance that he would inherit the title had added to his appeal.

He sighed and hitched his bag of provisions over his right shoulder. He would not have objected to falling madly in love, but it was impossible to imagine manying one of the vapid innocents he had met in the great houses of Yorkshire. He had not known Maggie when she was a proper young lady, but even at seventeen she would not have been so bland.

The day was warm, and it was pleasant to reach the shady forest. Robin had worn old clothing, so he was unconcerned about the snagging undergrowth as he explored the winding paths made by deer and other wildlife.

The sun was high when he reached a little clearing by the stream that wandered through the heart of the forest He smiled at the sight of the fairy ring of mushrooms. The gardener had said that a ring this large must be centuries old. As a child, Robin had thought of the spot as magical. He would lie under the tree, dream of the world beyond Wolverhampton, and hope that a fairy might call. Perhaps he would find magic here again.

He set down his bag and stretched out on the grass in the shade between a tree and a bush. Arms crossed beneath his head, he gazed idly at the branches above.

It was a mistake to let his mind become empty, for soon a dark thread of despair began winding through. Grimly he fought it off. It was possible to chase the demons away in the daylight, though he knew from experience that they would return as nightmares. Each spell was worse than the one before, and sometimes he feared that it was only a matter of time before he fell over the edge of sanity.

But he wasn't there yet. He forced himself to think about his future. Despite Giles's generosity, Robin could hardly spend the rest of his life at Wolverhampton.

He could travel. Though he knew Europe like a mother knows her child's face, he'd never seen the Orient or the New World.

But he was weary of traveling.

Giles had suggested Parliament; one of the Andreville controlled seats would be vacant soon, and it would give Robin a forum for his opinions on public affairs. Another possibility, more in keeping with his temperament, was political journalism. Journalists were a rowdy and irreverent lot. He would fit in well, if he recovered his rowdiness and irreverence.

Apparently the clearing was no longer magical, for his thoughts circled in the same vague paths as they had for months, striking no sparks of enthusiasm. Since the sun was warm and the grass scents sweet, it was easier to slide into sleep, and hope that the nightmares would wait for night.

Maxie enjoyed the coolness of the forest road after the heat of the midday sun The farmer who had given her a wagon ride in the morning had done well to recommend this route. She had been avoiding the main highways in favor of quieter roads where a lone boy would attract little attention. This track was so quiet that she hadn't seen a person or dwelling for hours.

The only drawback was that she had run out of food the day before and her stomach was complaining. From what the farmer had said, she wouldn't find a place to procure food until late in the day. In America she could have lived off the land, but England's ferocious game and property laws made her wary of doing the same here. Though if she got hungry enough, that would change.

The sound of hoof beats and wheels made Maxie stop and cock her head. A heavy vehicle was coming along the track behind her, and she would rather not meet anyone in such a remote spot.

She scrambled up the bank into the underbrush, then swung away from the track into the forest. Skirting tollgates in order to save money had given her plenty of practice at such detours. In three days of travel, she had experienced no difficulties at all. Indeed, except for rides with two taciturn farmers, she had not so much as spoken with another person.

Harness jangled and hooves clumped as a wagon rumbled by. She was about to return to the track when a bird trilled a liquid hu-eet, hu-eet .

She paused, a smile spreading across her face. Discovering new creatures and plants was one of the pleasures of traveling. This birdsong sounded like one of Britain's famous nightingales. She thought she had heard one the month before, but her cousins had been unable to confirm it. The only birds they recognized were roasted and served in sauce.

Silently she made her way through the underbrush. Her search was rewarded by a brief glimpse of brown feathers in a thicket ahead. She pressed forward through the shrubbery, her gaze on the leafy canopy above.

Her carelessness caught up with her when she tripped over an unexpected obstacle. Swearing, she tried to regain her footing, but the weight of her pack wrecked her balance.

She crashed with humiliating clumsiness, falling sideways so that her shoulder struck first. In the next instant, she realized that instead of hitting the cool forest floor, she was sprawled full length on a warmer, more yielding object.

Warm, yielding, and clothed .

As she gasped for breath, she realized that she was lying on top of a man. Apparently he had been dozing, but he awoke with a start, his hands reflexively jerking upward, skimming her body before locking on her upper arms.

The two of them were chest to chest and eye to eye. Startled alertness showed in the vividly blue depths, followed an instant later by amusement For a long moment they stayed pressed together, strangers as close as lovers.

The fellow's mouth curved into a smile. "I apologize for getting in your way."

"Sorry," Maxie said gruffly. She broke away, giving thanks that her hat was still in place, shadowing her' face. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

She scrambled to her feet, ready to vanish into the forest Then, like Lot's wife, she made the mistake of looking back.

Her first impressions of the man had been fragmentary. Compelling eyes, fair coloring, a wellshaped, mobile mouth. It wasn't until she stepped away that she realized he was the handsomest man she had ever seen. His longish hair shimmered with every blond shade from gilt to dark gold, and the bone structure of his face would make angels weep with envy.

A fairy ring in the center of the circle gave her the wild thought that she had stumbled over Oberon, legendary King of Faerie. No, he was too young, and surely a fairy would not be wearing such mundane clothing.

The blond man sat up and leaned back against the tree trunk. "Females have thrown themselves into my arms a time or two before, but not usually quite so hard," he said, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling humorously. "However, I'm sure we can work something out if you make a polite request."

Maxie tensed. Lowering her naturally low voice still further, she said brusquely, "You haven't woken up yet. My name is Jack, and I'm not a female, much less one interested in hurling myself into your arms."

He raised his brows. "You can pass as a lad at a distance, but you landed with considerable force, and I was awake enough to know what hit me." A sapient gaze surveyed her from head to toe. "A word of advice-if you want to be convincing, make sure your coat and vest stay in place, or else find looser trousers. I've never seen a boy shaped quite like you."