Angel Rogue

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue

DANGEROUSLY CLOSE

Robin raised Maxie's chin and kissed her. As soon as their lips touched, his emotional control disintegrated. But what he felt now went beyond passion to a raw need for her blessed warmth and the bewitching mysteries of her body.

Robin blew lightly in her ear, then traced the delicate whorls with his tongue. She hummed with pleasure, stretching her neck like a cat. He tasted the sensual arc of her throat.

"Time to stop, I think," Maxie whispered breathlessly.

"Not yet." Robin sought and found her mouth. He lifted Maxie's skirt and petticoat with both hands and rested his palms on her stocking-clad knees while he deepened the kiss.

Maxie responded with open-mouthed generosity, but she was too clever to be distracted. When he caressed her inner thighs, she turned her head away and instinctively tried to close her legs. She couldn't, and the pressure of her knees against his hips inflamed him still further.

"Robin, we should go back inside now. This is not the right time or place."

Maxie was not afraid—not yet. To frighten her would be unforgivable, but Robin was incapable of moving away…

A TOPAZ BOOK

TOPAZ

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First published by Topaz, an imprint of Dutton Signet,

a division of Penguin Books USA Inc. Previously published in a different            form as
The Rogue and the Runaway.

First Printing, April,1995

10 9876543

Copyright © Mary Jo Putney, 1990,

All rights reserved

Topaz Man photo
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Charles William Bush
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If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

To the furry friend who's always there.

With special thanks to Theresa Jemison, for letting me use her Mohawk name, Kanawiosta.

Dear Readers,

For those of you who have been wondering about the fate of Lord Robert Andreville, the handsome, dangerously enigmatic spy in
Petals in the Storm
, the wait is over.

Quick-witted, silver-tongued, and with a core of pure steel, Robin has always been one of my favorite heroes. He needed a very special heroine, and I found her in Maxima Collins, who is as much a maverick as Robin. With laughter and passion, the two of them find each other and a future in the course of a wild chase the length of
Great Britain
.

I first wrote their story as a long Signet Regency,
The Rogue and the Runaway
. The book was always more historical than Regency, so it was a pleasure to come back and expand it into a full-fledged, simmeringly sensual historical romance.

Though Robin is technically not a member of the Fallen Angels, his life connected with all the men who were, so I considered his story a suburb of the series. The last official Fallen Angel book,
Shattered Rainbows
, will bring Lord Michael Kenyon to a happy ending in December 1995.

I hope you're enjoying my dangerous men as much as I am.

Mary Jo Putney

The great estate of
Wolverhampton
graced the Vale of York like a royal crown, its placid majesty dating from the late days of the seventeenth century. The mansion had been built by the first Marquess of Wolverton, whose grand taste in architecture had been matched by his eye for heiresses; in his long life he had married and buried three of them.

In the century and a half since its completion,
Wolverhampton
had been visited by the great and notorious of every generation, and had provided a splendorous setting for a succession of worthy lords and ladies. The Andrevilles were the first family of northern
England
, its members known for unimpeachable honor, conscientious management, and sober behavior. At least, most of them were.

It would have been more sensible to hire a post chaise, but Robin preferred to ride through the English countryside after so many years away. The weather was dry and relatively warm for early December, though there was a hint of snow in the air, the hushed stillness that heralds a coming storm.

The ancient
Wolverhampton
gatekeeper recognized him and rushed to open the gates, almost falling over himself with eagerness. Robin gave a brief smile of greeting, but did not linger to say more.

The mansion itself was half a mile farther, at the head of the elmlined drive. He reined to a halt and scanned the vast granite facade.
Wolverhampton
was not a homelike place, but nonetheless it had been his home, and it was here his weary spirit had demanded to return when his duties in
Paris
were done.

A footman spied him and bustled out. Robin dismounted and wordlessly handed over his horse before climbing the steps to the massive, ten foot high double doors. He should have notified his brother that he was coming, but he had chosen not to. This way, there was no chance to be told he was unwelcome.

The footman who crossed the marble paved foyer was young and didn't recognize the newcomer until he looked at Robin's calling card. Eyes widened, he blurted out, "Lord Robert Andreville?"

"In person," Robin said mildly. "The black sheep returns. Is Lord Wolverton receiving?"

"I shall inquire," the footman said, his face properly blank again. "Would you care to wait in the drawing room, my lord?"

"I can find my way there on my own," Robin remarked when the servant started to show the way. "I was born here, after all. I promise I shan't steal the silver."

Coloring, the footman bowed, then disappeared into the depths of the house.

Robin strolled into the drawing room. He was overdoing the nonchalance; anyone who knew him well would realize that he was nervous. But then, he and his elder brother did not know each other well, not anymore.

He wondered how Giles would receive him. Despite their vastly different temperaments, they had been friends once. It was Giles who had taught him to ride and shoot, and who had tried—with little success—to keep peace between formidable father and contrary young brother. Even after Robin left
England
, he and Giles had maintained a tenuous contact.

But it "had been fifteen years since they had lived under the same roof, three years since the last brief meeting in
London
. The occasion had been bittersweet, the pleasure of reunion undermined by a tension that had ended in a short, furious quarrel just before it was time for Robin to leave.

Giles seldom lost his temper, and had never done so with his brother, which had made the incident all the more upsetting. Though they had managed to patch matters up and part amiably, the painful regret was with Robin still.

He studied the drawing room. It was brighter and more appealing than before:
Versailles
softened by a touch of English coziness. Probably that was Giles's doing; he had never had much patience with pomp. Or perhaps the redecoration had been done by the woman who had briefly been Giles's wife. Robin had never met her, did not even recall her name.

He considered taking a seat, but it was impossible to relax when he could almost hear the echoes of old rows with his father rebounding from the silk clad walls. Instead he paced the drawing room, flexing his aching left hand. It had not healed well after the incident several months earlier when an unpleasant gentleman had carefully broken the bones one by one. A pity that Robin was left handed.

Portraits of stern, upright Andrevilles adorned one wall, their reproachful gazes following their unworthy descendant. They would have respected the goals for which he had worked, but they certainly would not have approved of his methods.