Mary Putney - Angel Rogue

"There will never be any guarantees, Desdemona," he said gravely. "I think it is enough to trust that love will carry us through." He touched her cheek in a gossamer caress. "And I do love you, very much."

"I love you, too," she whispered. "But I don't have as much faith as you. I think it would be better if we… tried first."

He stared at her. "Desdemona, are you propositioning me?"

She nodded, blushing, and ducked her head again.

He wrapped his arms around her and began to laugh. Humiliated, she tried to jerk free.

He held tight, not letting her escape. "Do you have any idea how alarming it is for a man to be told that his whole future depends on one night's performance? The thought is paralyzing."

When she realized that he was laughing not at her, but at himself and the splendid absurdity of human nature, she was able to laugh with him. "It doesn't have to be only one night We can take as long as necessary." She smiled mischievously and wriggled closer. "And while it's been a very long time since I've been this close to a man, if my memory serves, the indications are that you don't seem the least bit paralyzed."

Giles gasped, his arms tightening. "Shall we see if I can convince you that you will make the best of all possible wives?" He bent over for another kiss that left them both breathless.

Wordlessly she guided them upstairs to her room, her head resting on Giles's shoulder, more happy than she could ever remember being in her life. Somewhere during that last kiss, she had realized that he was right, that the powerful attraction she felt for him meant that she really was capable of being a warm and willing wife. But it would be a pity to skip the proof.

After closing the bedroom door behind them, Giles said softly, "Let me look at you."

Her maid had left a single lamp burning on the bedside table. It gave enough light to show the intentness of his expression. Shyly she stood still while he circled around her. He unfastened her pearls, pressing a kiss on her nape when he was done. Then he used his fingers to roughly comb her hair down over her shoulders. He buried his face in it, murmuring, "I've wanted to do this for so long. Your hair is all fire and silk, just like the rest of you."

His breath warmed her throat; his admiration warmed her heart. With dawning confidence, she said, "I want to see you, too, Giles."

She untied his cravat, then unfastened his collar buttons so she could lay her hand on the warm expanse of his chest. Brown hair tickled her palm and she felt the acceleration of his heart.

Garment by garment, they took turns undressing each other. They moved with deliberate slowness, feeding the fire between them with soft words and gentle touches.

When her shift whispered to the floor, leaving her naked except for her stockings, he said huskily, "You are beautiful, so splendidly beautiful. Boadicea, the ancient British warrior queen, must have been like you, all redgold hair and blazing womanly strength." He smiled. "Ever since Daventry, I've been thinking what a magnificent neck you have."

She blushed. "Is that what you were staring at all evening?"

"Of course it was your neck. Am I not a gentleman?" He slid his hands under her lush breasts, lifting and molding them. Breath rough, he said, "I've wanted to do this as well." He rubbed his face in the deep, warm cleft, then began licking and kissing her nipples, worshiping her with his touch.

She gasped and arched her head back. For the first time in her life, she loved her harlot's body, for it gave him such pleasure. More than anything on earth, she wanted to please him, to return the joy that was blossoming in her.

When they lay down together, it was as partners. When they joined, it was at her frantic urging, her need to have him become part of her. And when they cried out, it was together.

It was a night of shyness and discovery, passion and laughter, too precious to waste on sleep. She discovered that she was not a cold woman, not at all, and in the process she convinced Giles that only a complete ninny could have found him boring.

When not making love, they lay in each other's arms and talked, sharing their thoughts as intimately as they had shared their bodies. It was with the greatest of reluctance that Giles acknowledged the lightening sky outside. "Dawn comes too early at this season." His breath stirred her tangled hair. "I don't want to leave, but it's time."

She rolled over so that she lay half across him, her chin on his chest. There was no trace of the angry, defensive woman who had first exploded into his sedate life. Now she was all soft welcome. "Why leave? The servants will already have deduced what is going on."

"Except for my coachman, not necessarily." He smiled. "I admit that for persons of our advanced years, propriety is not of first importance, but I prefer there be no gossip around your name."

Smiling impishly, she wiggled her lush curves to such good effect that he drew her down for another kiss. When it was necessary for survival's sake to stop for air, he panted, "You're a shameless woman. And I'm a lucky man."

Her pale redhead's skin colored rosily again.

He said with interest, "Your enchanting blushes go much farther than I realized."

That made her blush even more. By the time Giles had finished investigating exactly how far the blushes went, another half hour had passed. After, as they lay twined together, she said softly, "I didn't know it could be like this."

"Neither did I."

She raised her head and regarded him with surprise. "Truly?'

"Truly." He stroked her bare shoulder. "I suppose I've had the normal amount of experience, but I've never before made love with my beloved. Nothing in the past has ever equaled this." He kissed her again, lingeringly. "Are you ready to make a decision about marriage, or do you need more time?'

She laughed and linked her arms around his neck. "Do you think I'm such a fool as to let you go?"

The Abingdon Inn was on a street called Long Acre near Covent Garden. As the hackney carriage halted in front, Maxie's face tightened. Ever since she'd awakened, the black anxiety had been suffocatingly close. She could not shake the feeling that she was on a course that would shatter forever the life she had known. Yet she had no choice but to go forward.

She and Robin had agreed that it was best to simply visit the inn and make inquiries. Surely the death of a guest would be remembered. And if they did not receive straightforward answers to their questions, well, that would give her another kind of information.

Robin helped her out of the carriage. She took a moment to study the building. It was small and respectable, but only just. Her father had not had money for grander establishments.

Taking Robin's arm, she lifted her chin and walked to the door.

As the welldressed young couple disappeared into the inn, the owner of the tobacco shop next door peered through the grimy glass of his front window, squinting to confirm that the pair matched the description he had been given: a blond fellow as cool as a lord, and a dusky little pocket Venus. The old man nodded. Aye, these must be the ones.

Turning to the lad who assisted him, the tobacconist said, "Go 'round the corner and tell Simmons that the folk he asked me to watch for are in the Abingdon now. Mind you hurry, and if he ain't there, go after 'im. There'll be a halfcrown for you if 'e gets here in time."

And there'd be three quid, less the halfcrown, for himself. Vastly pleased, the tobacconist treated himself to one of his own most expensive cigars.

They had agreed in advance that Robin would speak, since men were usually taken more seriously. When they found a spotty young clerk, Robin asked, "May we speak with the landlord, please?"