It was hard to imagine a gently bred female undertaking such a journey; the chit must be desperate, depraved, or mad. Or perhaps it was merely that she was an American.
On the day he disappeared, Robin had planned to visit the west woods. The road that cut through the area might have been chosen by someone heading south from Durham. Robin had been emotionally drifting; if he had encountered an attractive, madcap girl, he might have decided on impulse to go with her. While Robin was no rake, he was also no saint, and he couldn't know the potential for scandal in taking up with this particular female.
Robin would have had little or no money on him. Maxima Collins must not have any funds, either, or she would have taken a coach to London. Giles thought that a romantic interlude without a feather to fly with sounded deucedly uncomfortable, but of course he was boringly conservative.
Could Robin have decided to escort the girl to London? Giles seized on the thought with relief; it was exactly the sort of quixotic thing his brother might do. However, if the wench was twenty-five and willing, they might soon be on terms far more intimate than the girl's aunt would approve of.
Lady Ross seemed more agitated than the situation warranted. Perhaps there was more to the story than she was admitting. Then again, maybe she was merely a termagant who enjoyed thundering about like a March storm.
Remembering the woman's rage at the suggestion, he acquitted her of conspiring with her niece to entrap Robin, but that didn't mean the girl herself was innocent of such intentions. Between his fortune and his personal attractions, Robin was a very good catch indeed. Possibly the wench had recognized that fact and decided to take advantage of the situation.
The marquess frowned as he reviewed his thoughts. The facts were that Robin had gone missing, and so had Miss Collins, and they had tentatively been identified as being together. The assumption was that they were traveling south toward London. If trouble befell them on the road, Robin would be handicapped by lack of money and identification.
Lady Ross was pursuing the fugitives, breathing fire and brimstone. If she found them, the results would be damned unpleasant. A scandal would injure the girl far more than Robin, but a vengeful Lady Ross might be too angry to care.
Robin might be indifferent to the prospect of scandal; the marquess, however, was not. Though he would face down the gossips if necessary, it would be far better to keep the affair private if at all possible. Which meant that he must go after the runaways himself. With luck, he would find them before Lady Ross, in time to head off disaster.
If the Sheltered Innocent insisted that only marriage would save her from ruin—well, the marquess would have something to say about that. Quite apart from Robin's personal happiness, his brother's wife would likely be the mother of a future Marquess of Wolverton, and Giles would not permit the line to become tainted with the blood of a vulgar, scheming hussy.
Gloomily he thought about how much he hated travel. Long hours in a jolting carriage, damp sheets, barely edible meals. And he didn't even have a proper valet at the moment since his previous one had just left and not yet been replaced.
In addition to the routine discomforts, he was going to feel like a damned fool chasing across the countryside after an American doxy, a retired spy, and a fire-breathing reformer.
As he considered the prospect, the Marquess of Wolverton realized that he was smiling.
Chapter 6
Maxie adjusted her hat against the sun, using the gesture as an excuse to slant a covert glance at her companion. Once again she was caught in one of those strange, breathless moments that occurred frequently when she looked at Robin. He was too beautiful, too enigmatic, to be real.
Not that he was hard to talk to. On the contrary, he was the only man she had ever met who was as easy to converse with as her father had been. When Robin tired of silence, witty words flowed from him like a burbling brook. He had drawn her into conversations about the passing scene, the fine weather, the late regrettable war between their countries.
Yet he never said a single blessed thing about himself that Maxie felt sure she could believe. Lord, she still didn't know what his real name was. Never again would she assume that mysterious meant silent.
Stranger yet was the fact that he was behaving as a perfect gentleman—so perfect that she was beginning to wonder what was wrong with her. Not that she wanted to be assaulted, but at least that was behavior she could understand.
Instead, she had a charming companion who was utterly incomprehensible. It was all quite unsettling, and far too easy to forget that in spite of his charm, Robin was basically an unreliable rogue.
As the road wound into a small grove of trees, Robin broke the silence by asking, "Did I tell you about the time I worked in a circus in Austria?"
She smiled, wondering what he would come up with this time. "Not yet. Your repertory of entertaining and wholly unbelievable tales seems to be limitless. Tell me about the circus. No doubt you were the star of the high wire act."
"Not at all," he said affably. "Horses are much easier, so I confined myself to daredevil riding tricks. My Cossack routine was much admired."
"Robin, do you ever tell the truth?"
He gave her an offended glance. "Any fool can tell the truth. It takes real talent to be a good liar."
She was laughing when two horsemen burst from the underbrush in a clamor of shouts and thundering hooves. The riders separated, one jolting to a halt in front of them and the other behind, the horses kicking up clouds of gritty dust. Both wore half masks and held pistols in their hands.
The leader bellowed, "Stand and deliver!" He was wiry and blond, with ferretlike eyes gleaming behind the mask.
Maxie's heart spasmed with fear. Though she was willing to face the perils of the road, she had not truly expected armed highwaymen. These two looked nervous and very, very dangerous.
Beside her, Robin raised his hands in the air. "You must be right hard up to rob folks like us," he said calmly, his accent that of a laborer. "We've got naught worth stealing. You'd do better over on the Great North Road, with the fancy carriages."
"Too damned much traffic there," the man behind grumbled. Dark-haired and beefy in build, he kept his pistol trained on Robin's chest. "Easy to get killed."
"Times are hard," the blond man said. "You might not have much, but a couple of shillings are better than nothing. Jem, see what they got."
Jem dismounted and searched Robin's pockets, where he found a handful of coins. After pawing through the knapsack, he said irritably, "He weren't lyin' about not having much."
The blond man gestured with his pistol. "Do the lad. He might be carrying valuables because he seems less likely."
Maxie stood rigid while Jem searched her, praying that he would not feel the unboyish curves concealed by her loose clothing. Though she had mentally accepted the possibility of rape, such detachment was impossible when a criminal was running rough hands over her body and breathing boozy breath into her face.
Luckily, the binding on her breasts prevented him from realizing the sex of his victim. He didn't find the knife in her boot, either. However, he quickly located her inner coat pockets. He pulled out her harmonica. "What's this, Ned?"
"Some kind of mouth organ," Ned replied. "Probably good for a shilling or two."
Maxie bit her tongue against her automatic protest. At least he hadn't found the earrings that were in the same pocket.
It was harder when Jem found her father's watch. He whistled when he pulled it out. "You was right, the lad has the valuables. This is gold, and worth a pretty penny."
"Give it to me." After inspecting it, Ned gave a nod of satisfaction and tucked it inside his coat. "Now check the boy's neck. He's wearing a silver chain."
As Maxie cringed back, Jem stuck a dirty finger under the chain and fished out her cross. "Well, I'll be damned, this is our lucky day." He flicked open the latch and pulled the chain from her neck, then dropped the cross into his pocket.
"No!" she plea
ded. "Don't take that. It was my mother's—the only thing I have of hers."
"Too bad," Jem said with a nasty laugh as he started to dig through her knapsack.
Blind with rage, she was about to go for her knife when Robin grabbed her elbow. Under his breath, he said sharply, "It's not worth your life."
When she gave him a wild glance, he said, "Think, dammit! Would your mother want you to die for a piece of metal?"
His words cleared her mind. She glanced up and saw that the barrel of Ned's gun was trained on her.
He grinned wolfishly. "Take one step toward Jem and you're dead, boyo." He thumbed the hammer of his pistol. "Maybe I'll shoot you both anyhow, before you can report us to a magistrate."
Maxie felt the tensing of Robin's hand on her arm, but his voice was easy when he said, "Leave two corpses on the road, and they'll look for you right hard. Easier to leave us alive. We won't be able to get to a town fast enough to cause you trouble."
With a hint of regret, Ned said, "I s'pose you're right."
Maxie let out a sigh of relief. Seeing that she was in control of herself, Robin released her elbow.
Jem patted his pocket. "This is a damned good haul. We'll have to rob walkers more regular-like."
Ned asked, "Jem, have you got everything worth getting?"
"What about this bloke's coat? It'd fit you pretty good."
Ned inspected Robin's worn but well-cut blue coat. "You're right, he must've bought it used, 'cause no village tailor made that. That fellow Brummel wouldn't be ashamed of one like it." He gestured with his pistol. "Take it off."
Robin looked stubborn. "Stealing clothes off a man's back is pretty low. If you want my coat, you'll have to take it."
Maxie gasped. "Show some sense, Robin!"
"If they shoot me, the holes and blood will ruin it," he said calmly.
Conceding the point, Ned ordered, "Take it off him."
Jem grinned and rubbed his right fist against his left palm while he savored the prospect. Then, with sudden savagery, he slammed a massive fist into Robin's belly, following it with another blow to the chest. Robin gasped with pain and bent forward, falling against his assailant.
With a disgusted sound, Jem shoved him away, then wrenched off the coat. Robin submitted meekly, his face white and his shoulders heaving as he fought for breath. Maxie wanted to hit him herself for his stupid obstinacy.
Jem tossed the coat up to his partner. Ned nodded with pleasure and waved his gun toward the road. "You two get moving while I'm feeling merciful."
Maxie grabbed the knapsacks from the dusty road, then took Robin's shirt-sleeved arm and towed him down the road. He was still bent over and gulping for air.
She hissed, "Idiot! How could you cause trouble over a coat? At least my mother's cross meant something."
They were almost around the next curve when a shot cracked through the air and dust spurted two feet away from Robin. From the roar of laughter that came from the highwaymen, she guessed that the shot was intended to harass rather kill, but she wasted no time in hauling her companion out of view.
As soon as they rounded the bend, Robin straightened up, all traces of injury gone. "Down this lane. We have to disappear before they realize what happened," he said in a clipped voice as he took his knapsack from Maxie.
She glared at him. "What the devil are you babbling about?"
He grinned and opened his hands. In the left was her mother's cross and a wad of money, in the right her harmonica.
She gaped at the objects. "How did you get these back?"
"Picked his pockets, of course." He gave her the cross and harmonica and dumped the money into his knapsack. "Come on, there's no time to waste." He entered the lane at a fast jog.
"Picked his pockets?" After a moment of astonishment, she stashed her possessions inside her coat and darted after him. "Robin, you're disgraceful!"
He gave her a laughing glance. "God will forgive me—that's his business." His expression sobered. "Sorry I didn't get the watch, but I couldn't think of a good way to get close to Ned."
Good heavens, he had deliberately taken those blows in order to retrieve her cross. And she had thought him stupid! As a pickpocket, he was first-class. She had been standing right there and seen nothing.
Shoving aside thoughts of where he had learned such appalling skill, she said, "Never mind. Letting yourself get beaten goes well beyond the call of duty."
As Robin climbed onto a stile that crossed over a fence, he said, "Jem didn't hit me as hard as he thought he did."
Maxie followed him over the stile and dropped lightly to the ground. "What do you mean?"
"Just as there are ways of hitting, there are ways of being hit," he said vaguely.
"It still must have hurt. Thank you for taking the risk. The cross means a great deal to me." She made a sound halfway between amusement and exasperation. "You have the instincts of a gentleman—one who is seriously warped."
His mouth twisted. "There are many who would agree with you."
She regretted the remark, but before she could apologize, Robin went on, "A good thing this area is a maze of fields and woods—it should be easy to disappear. I think we should swing north. If they come after us, they'll probably assume that we continued south, since that was the way we were heading."
A shout of fury sounded from the direction of the road. Maxie made a face. "Time to stop talking and start running."
For the next two hours, they snaked their way through the quiet countryside at a punishing pace, alternately jogging and walking. The sun was dipping toward the western horizon when they crested a hill and found themselves looking down on a substantial road. Two carts, a man on a donkey, and a dozen ambling cows were within view, which meant this route was busier and safer than the quiet tracks they had been following.
They both halted. Every muscle in Maxie's body was trembling with exhaustion. She lowered her knapsack to the ground and wrapped her left arm around Robin's waist for support. When his arm circled her shoulders, it occurred to her that her gesture had been rather forward. Yet it felt natural, for sharing danger had created camaraderie.
After a few blissful moments of relaxation, she panted, "Do you think we're safe now?"
"I doubt they could have tracked us this far," Robin replied, his chest heaving. "They probably decided to save their efforts for the next travelers."
She frowned. "We should tell the authorities."
"Tell them what? They have to know that there are highwaymen in the district. By the time we could lay information, Jem and Ned will be long gone." He chuckled. "I think we came away with almost ten pounds. If not for the watch, I'd say that we got the best of the encounter."
Maxie began to laugh, letting her head fall against Robin's shoulder. "Can you imagine the expression on Jem's face when he found his pockets empty? You made such a fool of him!"
"The Creator beat me to it."
She laughed even harder. He joined her, his arm tightening around her shoulders as they surrendered to the uninhibited hilarity of relief.
She raised her head to speak at the same moment Robin looked down. His shirt had fallen open at the throat to expose several inches of naked chest, and his hair clung to his forehead in damp glittering tendrils. He was vital and beautiful, and she wanted him as she had never wanted a man before.
Trying to distance herself, she said feebly, "Your sense of humor is blasphemous."
"Blasphemy is one of my specialties." He raised his free hand and brushed her lips with feather-light fingers. She touched them with the tip of her tongue. The salty taste made him seem sharply real, no longer enigmatic.
He exhaled roughly and curved his hand around the back of her head, tilting it up for his kiss. His lips were warm, his tongue a delicate tease. As naturally as breathing, she opened her mouth. The kiss deepened and desire coiled deep within, drawing the strength from her limbs. Her eyes drifted shut and she stroked the back of his neck, the silky strands of hair twining aro
und her fingertips.
He murmured her name, the sound coming from deep in his throat. His right hand slid down her back, warming her spine and pressing her close. Her hands opened and closed on his ribs, mussing his linen shirt. She had thought him cool, but there was nothing cool about his mouth, or his hard, demanding body.
She stood on her toes and locked both arms around his neck. Her head tilted back, her hat falling to the ground. The air was chilly on her unprotected scalp and her heated skin, which seemed scarcely able to contain the thunder of her blood. His hand slid up under her coat, kneading the curve of her hip.
A whickering horse brought her back to her senses. With a rush of disbelief, she realized that she was kissing a pickpocket—a rogue who probably didn't even remember what his real name was. And she wasn't simply kissing him, but eating him up like the first piece of spring maple sugar after a long, cold winter.
Her eyes snapped open, and she took a step backward, pushing against his upper arms as she gasped for breath. Their gazes met, and in his eyes she saw the shadows she had glimpsed once or twice before.
Sensing danger, she instinctively retreated to safer ground. "You'll look conspicuous without a coat. How far do you think it will be to a town where you can find another?"
He took a deep breath, and his expression smoothed out. "I think this road must lead to Rotherham," he said in his usual voice. "There will be a used clothing shop there, if not before."
She bent over for her knapsack and hat, giving the latter a hard tug so that her eyes were in shadow. "Being robbed and having to go north again has cost us easily half a day."
Robin lifted his pack. "It could have cost us a lot more."
She thought of that kiss, and knew that it had. No matter how energetically they both pretended that it hadn't occurred, matters had changed between them, and not for the better.