Angel Rogue (7 page)

The Chanleigh Court morning room was full of  choice little objets d'art, but having come nearly three hundred miles, Desdemona Ross wasted no time in admiration. "What do you mean. Maxima has gone to London to visit me?" she inquired, her thick auburn brows rising. "I am not in London, I am here in Durham. Against my better judgment, I might add."

Lady Collingwood gave her sister in law a frosty glance. "Read her note for yourself." She took a folded sheet of paper from her desk and handed it over. "The ungrateful chit decamped in the middle of the night three days ago."

Desdemona frowned as she read. "Maxima says I invited her for an extended visit, which simply isn't true. I came north to meet her, with the idea that she could return with me if we got on well, but I had not suggested that in writing."

"Maxima is a most unaccountable creature, not at all civilized or gently bred." Lady Collingwood gave a bored shrug while she evaluated her sister in law's clothing. Desdemona had a talent for dowdiness that amounted to genius. Looking attractive must be against her bluestocking principles.

Then again, perhaps Desdemona was wise to go about swaddled in dark concealing cloaks and bonnets. Her flaming red hair was hopelessly ungenteel, and deserved to be pulled back ruthlessly. And her figure… there was no way that figure would ever be fashionable, either.

With a smug thought for her own undeniable elegance, Lady Collingwood continued, "Bolting off at midnight to catch a mail coach is exactly the sort of thing one would expect of her. For that matter, so is lying." She yawned delicately behind her hand. "Really, Desdemona, you're fortunate to have missed her. It amazes me that Maximus dared bring her to Chanleigh. She belongs back in the forest with her savage Red Indian relations."

"As opposed to staying with her savage English relations?" Desdemona said with lethal sweetness. "Her mother may have been a Red Indian, but at least her family wasn't in trade."

Althea Collins flushed at the gibe, for she had spent years attempting to forget where her father had made his money. Her furious retort was forestalled by the entrance of her husband.

"Dizzy!" Lord Collingwood said, his long face showing pleased surprise. "You should have written that you were coming. It's been too long since you visited."

In spite of the twenty year difference in age and no physical resemblance whatsoever, Desdemona and her brother were fond of one another. She rose to give him a quick hug, feeling him flinch at the demonstrativeness. She had known that he would flinch, just as he had known that she would hug him anyway. It was long established family tradition. "Apparently I should have arrived three days ago, Clete."

His lordship looked pained. He didn't like the nickname any more than Desdemona liked being called Dizzy.

Formalities completed, she favored her brother with a scowl. "I came to see how my niece was faring, only to be told that she has run off with some story about visiting me."

He frowned as he realized the implications of his sister's presence. "Why aren't you in London waiting for Maxima?"

"Because I didn't invite her," Desdemona snapped. "Apparently the poor girl was so miserable here that she ran away in the hope that I would treat her better. What kind of care have you been giving your brother's only child?"

"Maxima is not a child—she's a woman grown, only a few years younger than you," her brother said defensively. "She did not consult my wishes before vanishing."

"I'm surprised she had money for the coach fare," Desdemona said. "I thought that Max was virtually penniless when he died."

There was sudden silence while the Collingwoods exchanged glances. "You're right, she had little money," her ladyship said, a line appearing between her brows. "I had to pay for her mourning clothes when Maximus died. We
have
been taking care of her, though she's shown precious little gratitude."

"If she was expected to be grateful, no wonder she left." Desdemona swung around to her brother again. "She may be a woman grown, but she is a stranger to England. Anything might happen to her, particularly if she is walking to London."

"Good God, surely she would never consider such a thing." Lord Collingwood halted, his face reflecting uneasiness. "This morning I noticed that my old map of the London road was not in my desk. I assumed that someone must have borrowed it."

"Apparently that is exactly what happened. Since she and Max spent much of the year roaming the wilds of New England, a journey to London must have seemed quite tame." Desdemona gave up trying to hold her temper. "You two should be ashamed of yourselves! Surely Max had a right to believe that his daughter would be safe here at Chanleigh. Instead, you drove her away."

Collingwood flushed. "I thought Maxima was happy here. I was planning to present her in London with the girls, but never pressed the issue. It didn't seem appropriate to talk about her future until she had recovered more from the loss of her father."

Desdemona fixed her sister in law with a gimlet eye.

"Did you make her welcome, too, Althea? No snide little comments about her background? Did you order a proper wardrobe for her, introduce her to the young men of the neighborhood?"

"If you were so concerned about the little savage, why didn't you do something yourself?" Lady Collingwood said with the anger of the guilty. "You could have visited anytime these last four months, but all you did was write a few letters."

"We've been working for a Parliamentary bill that would protect apprentices, and since we were finally making progress I was unable to leave London," Desdemona said uncomfortably. "But you're right, I should have done more. I thought she would be safe here until I had time to come north."

"There's no point in recriminations," Collingwood said, hoping to head off a major altercation. "The important thing is to get Maxima back here safely."

"How do you intend to accomplish that?"

After a moment's thought, her brother gave a relieved nod. "I know just the man to send after her. Simmons is in Newcastle now. I'll send for him and explain what needs to be done. With luck, Maxima will be home in no time."

"Send for your man if you wish, but I'm going after her myself," Desdemona said tightly. "Someone in the family should care enough to try. What does she look like?"

Lord Collingwood started to say that his sister was being absurd, that such matters should be left to those with experience. A glance at Desdemona's set face made him decide that it was easier to let her go. After all, his sister was an independent and worldly widow, attended by her servants. How much trouble could she get into?

The miles and the afternoon rolled by, and Maxie's unwanted companion showed no signs of boredom. He didn't flag from the brisk pace she set, either. Occasionally Robin made an entertaining comment on the passing scene and they would converse a bit. Sometimes he whistled, very musically. Maxie had to admit that his presence made the miles go more quickly.

They left the forest and joined a wider road with more traffic. It was coming on to dinnertime when they entered a quiet, gray stone village. Robin gestured at an inn called the King Richard. "Shall I buy you dinner? Anything you like as long as it costs less than two shillings."

Maxie gave him a cold stare. "You may stop if you wish, but I intend to continue. Have a pleasant journey, Mr. Anderson."

"Andreville," he said, impervious to the snub. "Anderson is too common to impress anyone. Are you sure you don't want to stop? While I have enough food for another day, a warm meal would help us make it through a cool night."

"There is no
us
, Mr. Andreville," Maxie said in a doomed attempt to maintain formality. "We are two individuals who have chanced to travel the same road for a few hours."

"You still don't take me seriously, do you?" Her companion seemed unfazed by the observation. "People seldom do, so you're in good company. Very well, cold food it is."

"For pity's sake," Maxie muttered as she walked past the inn and Robin stayed at her side. The man was becoming a blessed nuisance.

An idea occurred to her. If she agreed to stop for dinner, she could surely find an opportunity to slip away from him. With a few minutes' lead, she could vanish into one of the small side lanes. The next day she would cut across to another southbound road and he would never find her. "You're right, a hot meal would be welcome, but I will pay for my own."

His blue eyes danced, and she had the uneasy feeling that he had guessed her intentions. She would have to relax and behave as if she had resigned herself to his escort.

They entered the inn and found seats in a high backed booth in a corner of the smoky taproom. It was so dark that no one would notice that Maxie didn't remove her hat. There was no choice of meals. They ordered the specialty of the day and were served plates of food described as griskin and potatoes.

At Maxie's questioning glance, Robin explained, "Griskin is from the loin of a bacon pig. It's not bad."

Maxie took a bite and chewed it thoughtfully. "You're right. It's not bad. On the other hand, it isn't good, either."

"True, but it's hot, and it tastes better than one would expect anything named griskin to taste."

She hid her smile with a forkful of food. "I've had worse. Porcupine, for example, is good only if you're starving."

As they ate, she exerted herself to be friendly. It wasn't hard, but success proved treacherous. There was too much intimacy in laughing and sharing a table with an attractive man who gave her all of his attention. The darkness of the taproom made it seem as if she and Robin were quite alone. Even eating humble griskin couldn't destroy the romantic effect.

The thought strengthened her resolve. The last thing she needed was to take up with an alluring wastrel. She bent her attention to her plate and waited for a chance to slip away.

Robin finished before she did. His idle gaze went to the back wall of the booth, where devices made of hammered, interlocked iron pieces were hanging from nails.

"Do you have this sort of puzzle in America? The object is to take them apart, then remember how to put them together again." He took one of the devices down. "They're hard enough to solve when sober— frustrated drunkards have been known to use crowbars to rip the pieces apart."

"I'm familiar with tavern puzzles. They probably exist wherever there are blacksmiths to forge them, and taverns where people like to amuse themselves." She swallowed her last bite of potato. "I suspect you're rather good at solving them."

"On the grounds that I would excel at all useless skills?"

She had to smile. "Precisely."

He frowned at the puzzle. The outline was vaguely bellshaped, with several interlocking circles and triangles attached to it. "I guess I haven't spent enough time in taverns lately. I'm not even sure which pieces are removable."

As she gazed at the device, she noticed that his left wrist and fingers were subtly misshapen from what must have been numerous broken bones. He had elegant hands that he used expressively, more like a European than an Englishman. A pity that one had been so badly damaged, especially since he was lefthanded.

She studied the irregular contours more closely. The pattern of breaks was unusual, so regular that it seemed the result of a deliberate effort. Torture? A shiver ran down her spine. Perhaps an angry husband had chosen this way to wreak revenge for injured honor.

She reached across the table and took the puzzle from him. "This reminds me of a specimen called the devil's stirrup, only this version is more complicated. I think these pieces should come apart." After a minute of study, she made several quick twists and the puzzle separated into three sections.

He chuckled. "Which of us has the useless skills?"

"Taking it apart is only half the battle. Reassembling it is just as hard." She pushed the pieces across the table to him. "I'll wager sixpence that you can't get it back together by the time I return from the necessary."

"You're on." He lifted a triangle and a ring and tried to link them together.

The moment had come. No man would admit that a woman could best him at something like this. He would be so intent on solving the silly puzzle that he wouldn't miss her for the next hour.

Maxie slid out of the booth, holding her knapsack unobtrusively at her side. The food had been paid for when ordered, so she could leave with a clear conscience. She headed across the taproom to the door that led into the back courtyard. Once she was outside, she cut quickly through to the lane that ran parallel with the high street, behind the buildings.

Her sense of satisfaction was shortlived. The lane was only a dozen buildings long, and when she returned to the high street she almost collided with Robin, who was lounging against a garden wall, his arms crossed on his chest as he waited for her.

"Your opinion of my intelligence really is low if you thought I could be eluded so easily," he said with undiminished good nature.

She glared at him, for the first time believing that the imbecile man truly meant to accompany her all the way to London. "The issue is not your intelligence, but your presumption. I do not want your escort, your company, or your free meals. Now, leave me alone!"

She turned and started stalking down the street. Robin stayed at her elbow. Whirling angrily, she snapped, "I have warned you. Believe me, I am quite capable of defending myself."