Angel Rogue

Chapter 7

Half an hour after Robin and Maxie started walking south on Rotherham road, a taciturn farmer offered them a ride in his wagon. Robin accepted for both of them, since they had agreed that the less Maxie spoke, the better. Ignoring Robin's hand, she scrambled into the wagon and burrowed into the crevice between two sacks of seed corn. Then she pulled her hat over her face and gave an excellent imitation of sleep.

Robin frowned as he settled back, pillowing his head on his knapsack. Maxie hadn't looked him in the eye since they had kissed. He didn't blame her for being unnerved; he was, too. What had started as an impulsive, affectionate embrace had turned out to be searing. Emotions that had been numb so long that he had forgotten their names were smoldering into life, and it felt damned uncomfortable.

How long had it been since he had truly desired anything or anyone? Too long.

He glanced over at his companion. Poor Maxie; no female so determined and practical would approve of becoming involved with a vagabond. Nonetheless, she had certainly participated enthusiastically in that kiss. Now she was regretting it. He doubted that she was the sort to waste time feeling guilty. More likely she was afraid that he would press his attentions on her. He would have to convince her of the nobility of his nature.

He smiled wryly at the thought. Noble he was not, but his selfinterest forbade any attempts to seduce his companion. Trying to bed her would surely destroy the companionship that was making him happier than he had felt in a long, long time.

Not that he wasn't lusting after her. She had fascinated him from the start, and that kiss had made him obsessively aware of everything about her. The rhythm of her breathing, the shapely legs that looked so good in trousers, her small brown hands, as strong as they were graceful. He was so conscious of her as an alluring female that it was hard to remember that the world saw her as a boy.

But it was her spirit that drew him. Her bright clarity made him feel younger. Less tarnished. He tried not to think what would happen when their journey ended. Maxie obviously had some goal in mind, and it didn't include him. But he was going to be very reluctant to see the last of her.

Yet what could he offer her? She thought him a worthless vagabond, and he preferred to leave it at that since his real past was far uglier than what she believed. As an American, she would not be overimpressed with the aristocratic birth and fortune that meant so much to English girls. Rather the contrary, he suspected.

It was better that she think him hopelessly ineligible. Her low opinion would prevent her from doing anything foolish if his willpower weakened and he tried to kiss her again.

He found himself watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. What would she look like if her breasts weren't bound?

Damnation! He forced himself to look away when he realized how his body was responding to his speculations. While it was a pleasure to feel desire again, if he weren't careful it would increase to the point of pain.

With a sigh, he settled back on the seed sacks and started considering ways to mend bridges with his wary companion.

The next village had a shop where they were able to buy a decent coat and hat for Robin. After treating themselves to a hot meal in the village tavern, they headed south again.

Shortly before sunset, Robin pointed toward a small barn across a field. "Shall we shelter there for the night? It looks suitably isolated."

"Fine." Maxie turned and headed across the field, wondering uncomfortably what would come next. Though Robin had been his usual easygoing self, she could not forget that unnerving kiss, nor the shameless way she had responded.

The barn proved to be quite comfortable, with few drafts and a stack of sweetscented hay. As they examined the place, Robin said, "I'm considering writing a guide for impoverished travelers, rating the relative merits of various barns and hedges. Do you think there would be a market for it?"

She set her knapsack down by the far wall, as far as possible from where Robin had placed his possessions. "Those who would need such a guide could not afford it."

"Mmm, I knew there would be a catch. There goes another plan to make my fortune."

She almost smiled before she remembered that she was trying to look forbidding so he wouldn't take her earlier weakness as an invitation. Moving past him, she said, "I'll gather the wood."

Robin went to bring water from a nearby stream while she collected an armload of dry kindling that would burn with a minimum of smoke. Then she built a small fire in a gravelly, protected spot not far from the barn.

As dusk darkened to night, Robin sat by the fire a few feet from her and began to peel the bark from a short stick he had found. In a conventional tone, he said, "You needn't think I'm going to try to ravish you, Maxima."

Her head shot up, and she stared at him.

"It won't do to pretend that we didn't kiss," he continued. "It happened. I enjoyed it. You seemed to also. That doesn't mean that I regard you as prey."

"You're very blunt," she said uncomfortably.

"Directness is not my specialty, and it is yours, but I am not incapable of it." With his pocketknife, he began to whittle a rounded end on the stick. "I decided to speak up since I don't want to walk the rest of the way to London with you acting like a stunned rabbit."

Outraged, she said, "A rabbit?"

He grinned. "I knew that would engage your attention. You're worrying too much about that kiss. It was an accident that occurred because we were relieved and happy."

She sat back on her heels, knowing that she must be as honest as he. "Perhaps it was an accident, but ever since we met, I've sensed that… that you find me attractive."

His brows rose expressively. "Of course I do. What man wouldn't? You are very beautiful."

"I wasn't fishing for compliments," she said, embarrassed.

"I know. You've probably had them hurled at you so often that you find the whole subject tedious."

"What I've usually heard is that I look beddable, which is not the same thing as beautiful," she said dryly.

"No, it isn't," he agreed. "But you are both. Small wonder that you've learned to mistrust male attentions." With the edge of his blade, he began to smooth the surface of the knob he had carved. "Perhaps it's my imagination, but I've had the feeling that you find me somewhat attractive also."

Her face colored. She had been trying to conceal that fact. Deciding to toss his words back at him, she said lightly, "What woman wouldn't? You are very beautiful."

Instead of being disconcerted, he chuckled, "I heard that often as a child, and hated it. I longed for black hair, saber scars, and a pirate eye patch."

"Be grateful that you looked angelic," she advised. "It probably saved you from any number of welldeserved beatings."

"Not enough." He blew some wood chips away. "To return to the main subject, attraction is perfectly normal between healthy adults." He glanced up, his eyes piercingly blue. "But not all attraction is meant to be acted upon. Think of our mutual awareness as merely a bit of spice to enrich our companionship."

She studied his face. He was so reasonable. Yet she kept thinking of how little she knew about him.

"You still look doubtful. Let me conduct a small demonstration." He set down his knife and stick and slid sideways around the fire until he was sitting next to her.

She was about to retreat when she made the mistake of looking up and seeing the lazy sensuality in his eyes. She froze, as wideeyed and helpless as the rabbit he had called her.

He drew her into his arms and bent his head. She shivered from sheer nerves when his lips touched hers, but the kiss was light and sweet. His mouth moved tenderly against hers, warm and firm, while his hands slowly stroked her back.

Her tension began melting away. Before it melted too far, she turned her head and released a soft sigh against his throat. "That was nice, but what were you demonstrating?"

"That a kiss needn't be alarming." He traced the curve of her ear with his tongue, and bright sensations spiraled through her veins.

"Then you're successful," she said a little breathlessly. "I'm not alarmed-yet."

He chuckled and sat back a little. "You look very fine in breeches"-he brushed her knee with his "fingertips-"but someday I would like to see you in silk."

She spread her palms on his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath the linen. "Speaking of clothing, did you know that you manage to make the nondescript coat you bought today look almost as damnyoureyes elegant as the one that was stolen?"

"It's a gift," he said modestly. "A friend once said that I was every other inch a gentleman."

As she laughed, he pulled a pin from her hair. A heavy coil dropped to her shoulder and tumbled down her back. She looked into his eyes, and her laughter died. His gaze was pure flame, yet controlled, not menacing.

Pin by pin, he released her hair, the falling locks caressing her breasts and shoulders. Then he drew her head against his shoulder and combed the thick tresses with his fingertips, spreading her hair in a mantle over her shoulders. "Black silk," he murmured. "The most obvious of metaphors, yet I can think of none better."

He felt warm. Strong. Even safe, though her common sense knew that was an illusion. She closed her eyes, enjoying the yearning that curled through her body. Clever of him to make this demonstration. He was revealing his desire and evoking hers, while at the same time proving that passion need not blaze out of control. They were adults; they could be together without mating like mink.

She should move away, but was reluctant to do so. It was seductively pleasant not to be alone.

As soon as the words formed in her mind, she remembered why she should be wary of Robin. They were merely traveling companions on a journey that would soon end. She must not become too fond of him.

"You've made your point." She straightened and moved away. "I shall stop behaving like a stunned bunny."

Robin moved back to his side of the fire. His chest was rising and falling more quickly than usual, but his tone was teasing. "If you become alarmed in the future, another demonstration could be arranged."

A lock of firelit golden hair had tumbled over his brow. She swallowed and glanced away. "Once was enough. This sort of demonstration could promote the behavior it is supposed to prevent, particularly when provided by a slippery character like you."

He grinned. "Nonsense. Surely you've noticed that I am far too indolent to plan a serious campaign of seduction."

"You've never had to seduce a woman in your life. All you need do is smile and wait for them to melt at your feet."

His smile faded. "Not really." He picked up his knife and stick again and started to sharpen the end opposite the knob.

Thinking there had been enough seriousness, she asked, "What are you doing with that piece of wood?"

"Just a fidget stick." He held it out for her inspection.

The stick was perhaps six inches long and half an inch thick, with a natural curve that nestled comfortably in her hand. As she gave it back, she said, "Some sort of toy for adults?"

"Exactly. I'll carry it in my pocket and play with it when the scenery palls." He rubbed his thumb over the knobbed end. "It's convenient to be so simple that such things amuse."

She put more wood on the fire and hung a pot of water above. "You are many things, Robin, but simple is not one of them."

He grimaced. "Perhaps not, but I'm working on it."

"That's your problem. One doesn't work at simplicity." On impulse, she sat crosslegged next to him and took his misshapen left hand in a loose clasp. "Close your eyes, Robin. Don't talk. Don't think. Just be."

He allowed her to rest their joined hands on the grass between them, but she felt tension in his fingers. Softly she said, "Listen to the wind. Hear the stones, taste the moonlight. Feel the spirits of the trees and flowers and creatures that share the night with us." They were the same words that her mother had used when teaching her to appreciate the world when she was a small child.

At first he resisted. His energy was restless, full of jagged angles. She tried to send him peace, but she could not, for she was not at peace herself.

She was startled to realize that she had not sat and meditated like this since she had heard of her father's death. Though she had spent endless hours riding and walking on the Durham moors, her knotted grief had prevented her from reaching for the one source of solace that had never failed her.

Deliberately she opened her physical and inner senses to the night. An owl gave a lonely call as it hunted the woods, its wings swift and silent. Beneath her was the living earth, its deep thrum exactly the same as it was in her homeland. Fertile soil and ancient stones and small, determined growing things. The wind that rippled the leaves was familiar, though it had blown through skies she would never know.

Earth calm entered her, flowing through limbs and veins until it filled her heart. If not for Robin's gentle lesson, which had smoothed the grief roughened edges of her spirit with sensuality, she would not have been able to find such peace.

Wanting to return the gift, she reached out emotionally, letting stillness flow from her hand into his. He was like a nervous colt, strained and ready to bolt.

Soft as shadow, she whispered, "Know that you are part of nature, not separate."

Gradually he calmed, the tautness disappearing from his fingers. His breathing became slow and regular, and for the space of a dozen heartbeats they were in harmony.

Though she was trying to teach simplicity, she recognized that he was innately a being of great complexity. His spirit was a tangled mass of contradictions, with glittering wit and cool acceptance. Sparks of laughter and curiosity, and a deep pulse of kindness. And darkness-darkness beyond her imagining. With an instinctive desire to comfort, she reached toward one of the pools of tortured regret.

In the space of a heartbeat, harmony shattered. She felt Robin jerk away from her emotionally an instant before he released her hand. He drew a shuddering breath, then said coolly, "How very interesting. I never knew that one could hear stones. Are you a witch, young lady?"

Ruefully she recognized that she had startled him as much as he had alarmed her that afternoon. It would be better for them to keep their relationship safe and superficial. Matching his lightness, she said, "Not a witch. Not even a lady."

"Nonsense." He scanned her from tangled hair to dusty boot tips. "At the very least, you're every other inch a lady."

She smiled as she made two cups of tea, regular for him and herbal for herself. Robin might be a pickpocket, a vagabond, and heaven only knew what else, but for as long as their paths lay together, he would stand her friend.

That would have to be enough.