Angel Rogue (47 page)

Obviously reading her mind, Sally said, "You should wear your pearls instead of the cameo. They'll make you feel a mite less exposed."

The triple strand of pearls did fill the vast expanse of bare skin better, though Desdemona still felt as if she were in one of those beastly nightmares where one is caught in public in one's shift. Again she studied herself with horrified fascination. A shift would not have been half so revealing. "I look like a harlot."

"But the very most expensive kind, my lady," Sally said with a naughty smile.

Desdemona began to laugh. "I'm being absurd, aren't I?" She turned to the mirror and tried to see herself objectively. Devonshire brown was a dark shade with reddish tones that did not suit many women, but Desdemona had to admit that it was perfect with her vivid titian hair and fair complexion.

Sally had also scorned her mistress' usual severe hairstyle in favor of a tumble of waves and curls threaded with a thin gold chain. She had even talked her mistress into accepting a subtle application of cosmetics. Desdemona acknowledged to herself that if the image in the mirror belonged to a stranger, she would have thought the woman a dashing and not unattractive female. In an Amazonian sort of way.

The rap of the door knocker sounded through the house; the marquess had arrived, and it was too late to change now. Desdemona put her shoulders back and straightened to her full height. Unfortunately, the action emphasized a portion of her anatomy that was quite prominent enough already, but the only way she could survive the evening was by pretending that she was comfortable with her own appearance.

Giles was waiting at the foot of the steps. As Desdemona descended, he simply stared at her, his expression stunned.

Anxious again, she stopped and clutched the railing. She was a tough old fowl dressed up as a game pullet, and she was making an absolute fool of herself. She raised her shawl around her shoulders and started to draw it close.

The marquess mounted the two last steps and caught one of her hands in his, effectively preventing her from hiding in her shawl. "Forgive my stupefaction, Desdemona. I knew you were lovely, but tonight you positively take my breath away." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it

Her fingers tingling, Desdemona exhaled the breath of air she hadn't known she was holding. There was absolutely no doubt about the sincerity of Giles's admiration. Best of all, the warmth in his eyes didn't make her feel hunted. It made her feel… quite pleased with herself.

She smiled up at the marquess and took his arm. "Shall we be off?" It was going to be a good evening.

Maxie and Robin had spent so long talking that by the time they went downstairs, guests had begun to arrive. Margot came to greet them at the entrance of the small salon. Inside, six or eight people were talking with the ease of established friends.

After a smile for Robin, the duchess said approvingly, "Maxie, you look marvelous. Thank heaven that Rafe prefers blondes. Let me introduce you to the other guests." More quietly, she said, "Courage! Most of the people in this room have backgrounds every bit as unusual as yours."

Before they could move forward, a tall blond man and a slim, quietly lovely woman with brown hair came up to them. With a broad smile and an outstretched hand, the man said, "Robin, I'm sorry I missed you at Whitehall this afternoon." As they shook hands, he studied Robin shrewdly. "You're looking much better than when I saw you last in Paris."

"There was considerable room for improvement." Robin drew Maxie forward. "Miss Maxima Collins, meet Lucien Fairchild, the Earl of Strathmore. The lady, I suspect, is his wife, whom I have never met."

The tall young woman smiled. "Correct. I'm Kit Fairchild. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Collins."

The name Lucien rang a bell. After responding to the countess' greeting, Maxie said, "You're Robin's semidistant cousin in the Foreign Office?"

Lord Strathmore chuckled. "Second cousin, once removed."

"Luce was always better at details than I," Robin remarked.

So this was the man who had coaxed Robin into a life of espionage. He didn't look dangerous, but then, neither did Robin. Maxie said thoughtfully, "You may be semidistant cousins, but you resemble each other more than Robin and his brother do."

"If they were horses, their traits would be worth breeding for, don't you agree?" Kit said, face straight but eyes dancing.

Maxie decided she was going to like Lucien's wife. They were on a firstname basis within minutes. No longer concerned about her American guest, Margot went off to greet others.

A pair of new arrivals approached their group. Robin broke off what he was saying and stared. Maxie had never seen him so thoroughly startled. Rallying, he extended his hand to the newcomer, a darkly handsome man with an easy smile. "The last time we met, you were calling yourself Nikki and cheating an Austrian lieutenant at a horse fair outside Vienna."

"He deserved to be cheated," the man said as they shook hands. "That piebald you got from me was all right, wasn't it?"

"First class. Excellent stamina, which was useful for a shady character like me." Robin shook his head. "In all the times we passed messages back and forth, it never occurred to me that you weren't a genuine Gypsy horse trader. But since you're here, I assume you're Lord Aberdare, the infamous Gypsy Earl."

Aberdare grinned. "Don't blame yourself for not guessing that I was more than I seemed. Not everyone in Lucien's far flung network was an old school friend."

"It wasn't for lack of trying," Strathmore said dryly.

Everyone laughed. Then the group split by gender as the men started exchanging news. Taking over the introductions, Kit said, "Maxie, this is Clare Davies, the Countess of Aberdare."

Lady Aberdare was scarcely taller than Maxie, with dark hair and vivid blue eyes. "I'm delighted to meet you." She studied Maxie, then gave a smile of satisfaction. "That gown looks better on you than it ever would have on me."

It took Maxie a moment to understand. Then she exclaimed, "Good heavens, did Robin and Margot plunder your wardrobe on my behalf?"

"Not quite. I was having several gowns made up. Since you and I are about the same size, Margot asked if there were any garments that I was having second thoughts on." Clare smiled. "I was regretting the crimson one. The fabric was lovely, but no Methodist minister's daughter could comfortably wear that color in public. You, however, look quite splendid."

A little helplessly, Maxie said, "I was expecting to be shredded. Instead, everyone is being so
nice
."

The others laughed. "London society has more than its share of cats and worse, but you won't meet any tonight." Kit gestured around the room. "I must say that the men here have turned out rather well for a group of over privileged Old Etonians."

"Rabblerouser," Clare said without rancor. "Kit is our residential radical."

The conversation turned to politics, with all of them agreeing that the recent war between Britain and the United States had been a piece of utter nonsense that never would have happened if women ran the government. As they spoke, a footman came around with sherry for the two countesses, and lemonade for Maxie. She felt delightfully pampered, and had never enjoyed a party more in her life.

Desdemona and Giles arrived together, acting as if they belonged that way. Her aunt looked positively spectacular; Giles was having trouble taking his eyes off her.

After greeting her aunt and Giles, Maxie looked around for Robin but didn't see him. Lady Strathmore was nearby and not engaged in conversation, so she asked, "Kit, have you seen…"

Then her voice trailed off as the woman turned toward her. Eerily, she was Kit, yet at the same time not Kit. Maxie blurted, "You're not Lady Strathmore, are you?"

The other woman chuckled. "You're correct, I'm not Kit, I'm her sister, Kira Travers. You're very observant to deduce that so quickly. Some people never do grasp that there are two of us. And no, my sister and I did not plan to wear gowns the same shade of blue—we simply do things like that Last year our darling daughters were even born within twentyfour hours of each other."

Maxie grinned. "I glad to know I wasn't imagining things."

"You're Miss Collins, the American, aren't you? My husband is also from your side of the Atlantic." Kira scanned the room, then gestured him over.

Maxie stiffened as a rangy, brownhaired man approached. He would surely recognize her as a halfbreed, and he would be more likely to have prejudices on the subject than a Briton would.

Kira said, "Miss Collins, my husband Jason Travers, the Earl of Markland."

He bowed politely. For a moment Maxie thought that his pained expression was for her. He quickly dispelled that by saying, "My wife loves using my title, knowing that it hurts my Yankee heart to hear it." He gave Kira a deeply affectionate smile. Looking back to Maxie, he said, "You have Indian blood?"

She straightened to her full height. "My mother was a Mohawk," she said warily. He could insult her if he liked, but if he said a word, one single word to disparage her mother, she would go upstairs for her knife.

He must have guessed what was in her mind, because there was a distinct twinkle in his eye when he said, "I hope you don't hold to the old feuds. Since my great grandfather was a Huron, that would make us blood enemies."

She had to laugh. So much for anti Indian bigotry. Making a connection on the name, she said, "Are you the Jason Travers who owns the Travers Shipping Company in Boston?"

His face lit up. "You're from Boston?"

It took them only a few minutes to establish that they had several mutual acquaintances. The two of them could have spent the rest of the night talking.

When the dinner gong sounded, Robin appeared at her elbow. Amused, she asked, "How do you do that? You're like a cat, with the ability to materialize in a spot that was empty two seconds earlier."

"Some of my best spying lessons came from cats. Move quietly, sleep with one eye open, and always be prepared to bolt if the situation takes a turn for the worse." Robin gave her a smile of warm approval. "You're taking to the murky and shark infested waters of London society like a racing swan."

"I'm having a wonderful time. Margot was right about these being genuinely nice people."

It increased her own enjoyment to see how pleased Robin was. London might have its share of sharks, but if she had a handful of friends like the people she had met tonight, the sharks wouldn't matter.