Mary Putney - Angel Rogue

He gasped when one of her elbows smashed him in the stomach, knocking him breathless. She was a dangerous woman to hold against her will, but he dared not use more force. Desperate to calm her before she injured herself, he said sharply, "We don't know for sure what happened, Kanawiosta. Perhaps Jenkins was wrong. We need to know more."

She gave an agonized gasp and became still, her small body trembling in his arms. Somehow he knew that his words had produced the opposite effect of what he had intended: Rather than convincing her that the hostler might have been wrong, they had made it impossible for her to deny the truth.

He ached for her misery, knowing she was in some private hell that he could not share, not unless she would let him. Ignoring the curious onlookers, he continued speaking to her in a low voice, his lips near her ear, hoping the sound would soothe her even though she was beyond absorbing the words.

Then the instinct developed in his dangerous years on the Continent made Robin look up. Half a block away, on the far side of the stream of traffic, stood Simmons, his expression black.

Christ, why did the bastard have to show up now, of all times? Robin hailed a passing hackney. When it stopped, he swept Maxie up in his arms and pushed ruthlessly past a merchant who was trying to claim the same vehicle. To the driver, he snapped, "Mayfair as fast as you can. There will be an extra five quid if you can halve the usual time."

As the hackney lurched wildly into traffic, Robin settled on the seat and enfolded Maxie in his arms. Then he prayed for the wisdom to help her as she had helped him.

Simmons watched with a scowl as the hired carriage departed. Obviously the girl had learned the truth, and taken it even more badly than her uncle had feared. He beckoned to a scrawny urchin who worked for him regularly. "Find out where they go."

The lad darted after the hackney. When he reached it, he leaped up and grabbed a bracket on the back, then squirmed into a comfortable position for the rest of the ride.

When the lad returned, Simmons thought, at least he would be able to tell Collingwood where his niece was staying. It wasn't much, but it was all he could salvage from a job that had otherwise been a disaster from beginning to end.

Though Maxie was conscious, she was deep in shock, her body chilled and shaking. She seemed oblivious to Robin's presence. He cradled her on his lap through the ride back to Candover House, trying without success to infuse her with his own warmth.

When she first mentioned her father's death, Robin had considered the possibility of suicide, because it provided a plausible explanation for Collingwood's secrecy. What had Maxie said at Ruxton when talking about how she could not project her future? Something about a possibility that was literally unthinkable. Knowing her father better than anyone else did, it had never occurred to her that he was capable of taking his own life. Yet he had, and the knowledge had devastated her.

Back at Candover House, Robin carried Maxie inside past the startled butler, throwing orders over his shoulder for hot water, towels, bandages, and salve to be sent to her bedchamber. Then he carried her upstairs, laid her on her bed, and removed her ruined muslin dress and stockings. At the moment he didn't give a bloody damn about propriety.

When the supplies arrived, he dismissed the maid, then gently washed the blood and grit from the abrasions on Maxie's knees and palms. None of the injuries was deep enough to warrant bandaging, though the lacerations must have stung like the very devil when he spread salve on her raw flesh.

She didn't resist, cooperate, or show any discomfort during Robin's ministrations. She simply lay passively, eyes never meeting his. When he was done, she rolled away and buried her head in the pillows.

He wondered if her total withdrawal was an aspect of her Mohawk heritage. Not that the reason was important; what mattered was that she was shutting him out. He would never have guessed how much that would hurt.

When he finished, he pulled a blanket over her, then covered her knotted fist with his hand. "Is there anything I can do?"

She gave her head an infinitesimal shake.

"Kanawiosta, when I was drowning in grief, you told me that a burden shared is lighter," he said softly. "Is there nothing you will accept from me?"

"Not now." Her muffled voice was almost inaudible. "I'm sorry."

"Do you want me to leave?"

She nodded.

Heavy of heart, Robin stood. In spite of her petite size, she had never looked fragile, but now the slight form under the blanket looked diminished and vulnerable. He did not try to define his feelings; he only knew that he would have willingly given everything he possessed to alleviate her misery.

Needing to express some of his tenderness, he touched her raven hair in a caress too light for her to feel. Then he forced himself to leave.

Having heard from her servants that there was trouble, the duchess waited outside in a chair, her hands patiently folded in her lap. When he emerged, she asked quietly, "What happened?"

He sighed, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "Apparently Maxie's father committed suicide."

"Oh, dear Lord." Margot's face whitened. Having lost her own beloved father under tragic circumstances, she would understand Maxie's distress all too well.

"I wish to God that I could do something." Robin's mouth twisted. "But all she wants is to be left alone."

"Give her time to absorb the shock," Margot advised. "Grief is a solitary affair. Sometimes one must go inward and come to terms with it before comfort from others can be accepted."

"I'm sure you're right, Duchess." He tried to smile. "But it's very hard to see her like this."

"Love hurts, Robin." Attempting to lighten the atmosphere, she continued, "So does hunger, and I find myself hungry very often now. Come and have tea with me." Taking his arm, she marched him off to the morning room.

Tea wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

They had finished a silent tea when the butler entered with a calling card. Margot's brows rose. "Lord Collingwood is here."

Suddenly alert, Robin said, "Shall we receive him together? I have a vested interest in anything he might have to say."

"Of course."

The butler left, then ushered the visitor in a few moments later. Lord Collingwood was a tall man with a thin, tired face. After bowing to Margot, he said, "Please forgive the intrusion, Duchess, but I have reason to believe that my niece, Miss Maxima Collins, is visiting you. I would like to see her."

"She's here," Margot admitted, "but unwell and not receiving visitors. Would you like to leave a message for her?"

Collingwood hesitated. While he considered, his gaze fell on Robin, who had withdrawn to an unobtrusive position at one side of the room. The viscount's eyes narrowed. "My niece was traveling with a man of your description."

Robin inclined his head. "I am Lord Robert Andreville."

That rocked the visitor. "Wolverton's brother?"

"The same."

Collingwood shook his head in disbelief. "And here I'd been worrying that the girl had been taken in by some rogue."

"Noble birth is hardly proof against villainy," Robin said dryly. "However, my intentions regarding Miss Collins have been honorable. We met by chance. Knowing the dangers she risked, I offered my escort to ensure that she reached London safely." As he spoke, he studied Collingwood. If one looked closely, there was a faint resemblance to his sister, though he was a staider, more conventional creature than Lady Ross. Nonetheless, he seemed very much the English gentleman; not the sort to have an inconvenient brother murdered. No wonder Maxie had had trouble believing that her uncle could be so ruthless.