Mary Putney - Angel Rogue

Robin rolled his eyes. "I'm afraid so. During the Peninsular war, a whole network of priest spies operated from the Irish College of Salamanca University. I occasionally masqueraded as one when I was on the Peninsula." He made a face. "I also managed to get shot. I'm sure that Lord Michael didn't mention that he found me bleeding all over my stolen dispatches, and had the sense to haul me into Wellington's headquarters."

So that was how Robin had acquired that dreadful bullet scar. Not caring whether she shocked the other guests, Maxie rose onto her toes and pressed a light, swift kiss on Lord Michael's cheek, "Thank you. It must have taken a whole regiment of guardian angels to keep Robin intact."

Lord Michael gazed down at her, startled but not at all displeased. He had remarkable green eyes. "I'd heard that American women were enchantingly direct, but never been so lucky as to see a demonstration. Are there more like you in Boston?"

Robin said fondly, "Maxima is unique anywhere."

"I was afraid of that" After exchanging a few more words, Lord Michael moved away.

Maxie gazed after him. "Is there a Lady Michael that didn't come tonight?"

"He's unmarried. Are you interested in applying for the position of wife?" Robin said dryly.

She gave him a look. That's an absurd comment even for you. I was merely curious-even though he flirts very nicely, his heart is not the least bit available."

"Interesting. According to Margot, he's spending the Season with Lucien and Kit with the idea of taking a wife if he finds a lady to his taste. Perhaps he's found one." Losing interest in the subject, Robin continued, "I came to see if you were interested in some fresh air. The Candover gardens by moonlight are quite a sight"

As much as Maxie was enjoying the other guests, she was ready for some time alone with Robin. They walked together, to the French doors.

Before going out, he glanced around. "It's a bit cool this evening. If I know Maggie, she will have put some shawls here for female guests who might want to go outside."

Sure enough, a pile of softly folded fabric waited on a small table to the left. As Robin took the top shawl, Maxie said admiringly, "Margot thinks of everything."

He shook out the dark paisley shawl, then draped it around her shoulders, his hands caressing. They stepped out into the flagstone patio. After Robin closed the door, they strolled across the stones and down the steps into the garden itself. A scattering of low lanterns marked the paths for guests, but weren't so bright as to interfere with the magic of the night. The voluminous shawl hung all the way to Maxie's knees, protecting her from the cool evening air.

Even warmer was the arm that Robin laid over her shoulders when they were out of sight of the house. They were walking much closer than was proper. Not that she minded; quite the contrary. They had already been so close that it was an effort to remember society's strictures.

She looked up to make a comment, then frowned. Robin's light expression was gone, and in the moonlight he looked deeply weary. "Is something wrong?"

He gave her a slanting glance. "I should have known you'd notice. Giles and I just had the worst argument of our lives. Very fatiguing."

She stopped and stared at him. "That's dreadful. No wonder you're looking a bit gray. I thought you two got on very well."

"We always did, to a point, but there's a lot that never got said." Robin sighed. "Tonight we both aired a lifetime of resentments."

"From what I've seen, it's easier for sisters to be friends than brothers," she said gravely. "Brothers often compete with each other, which can interfere with warmer feelings. It must be even harder when the elder is heir to a great title and fortune."

"You're right-I've seen that with other brothers. It's probably a blessing that Giles and I are so different." Robin hugged her shoulders and started them walking again. "We decided that the underlying cause of tonight's argument goes all the way back to my mother's death. My father blamed me for it, which warped the whole family. Giles became serious and responsible and tried to take care of everyone, which no child should have to do, and I grew up rebellious. As a result, Giles and I were incapable of showing how much we meant to each other. When I returned from France last fall, I wasn't sure if Giles would want me at Wolverhampton. I didn't realize that he was hurt by the fact that I had gone so far and stayed away so long."

"Did you and he manage to resolve your differences?"

Robin smiled. "Yes, thank God. We're closer now than we ever have been in the past."

"I'm so glad." Unable to keep the vehemence from her voice, she added, "But your father deserved to be whipped. Taking all of his guilt about his wife's death and piling it onto a defenseless infant was despicable."

"Guilt-my father? What for?"

"Your mother didn't get pregnant without help," Maxie pointed out tartly. "Do you know if she had a history of problems with childbearing?"

"As a matter of fact, Giles said that she was never strong, and she'd had several miscarriages."

Maxie nodded, unsurprised. "If your father had shown more restraint, her health might not have broken down."

After a long silence, Robin said in a wondering voice, "I never thought of that"

"Any woman would."

He smiled ruefully. "A pity we didn't have a sensible female like you at Wolverhampton to sort us all out."

Their wanderings had brought them to the folly, a tiny, circular Greek temple. The columns and proportions were so perfect that Maxie suspected that some earlier duke had bought the temple in Greece and had it shipped home in pieces.

Side by side, they climbed the steps. The folly was a pleasant, airy place, with curved benches built against the halfwalls. A rectangular stone altar stood toward the rear, waiting for picnics rather than sacrificial goats. In the moonlight, the effect was quite enchanting.

Robin looked down at his companion. The moonlight made her features a symphony of elegant planes and shadowed contours. No longer able to wait, he raised her chin and kissed her.

He had meant it to be light and affectionate, but as soon as their lips touched, his emotional control disintegrated. In the last few days, he had been battered by the memories of every bad experience of his life. He would not have survived if not for the woman in his arms, and he yearned for her as a man dying in the desert thirsts for water.

They had been doing a slow dance of desire, beginning when he had gone to her room and building through the evening with lingering glances and private smiles. But what he felt now went beyond passion to a raw need for her blessed warmth and the bewitching mysteries of her body.

He slid his hands under the wool shawl so he could knead her soft curves. When she made a little purring sound of response, he teased her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. It hardened immediately under the layered silk.

He wanted more, much more. Catching her by the waist, he perched her on the stone altar. She inhaled with surprise, then relaxed, her hands curling over the edge of the altar.

Raising her made it easier to reach various delicious bits of her anatomy. He put his hands over hers, trapping them against the stone. Her fingers fluttered for an instant under his, then became still.

He leaned forward and rubbed his cheek against hers. Her skin was petal smooth, cool on the surface with radiant life pulsing below. He blew lightly in her ear, then traced the delicate whorls with his tongue. She hummed with pleasure, stretching her neck like a cat.

The shawl was so large that she was sitting on it, yet still had enough fabric to cover her shoulders and chest. He nudged the shawl aside with his chin. The dark wool slithered down and pooled on the back of his hands where they held hers to the stone. Her position thrust her breasts forward alluringly.