He shook his head. "The good manners you learned from your parents and at those Boston dinner parties will be fine."

"Speaking of manners, since I'm nominally an innocent maiden, you really shouldn't be in my bedroom."

"True." He gave her a wickedly intimate smile. "But we both know how nominal the innocent maiden label is."

Trying without success to look severe, she took his arm and guided him toward the door. "Nonetheless, we should await the other guests in some sober place like the library."

"Before we do, I have something for you." With a sleightofhand flourish, he produced a slim, velvet covered jewelry box. "You said that I'm a magpie, and we're a breed known for collecting glittering objects to present to the objects of our adoration. Here's the proof."

Dismayed, she said, "It's quite definite that nominally innocent females do not accept valuable gifts from gentlemen."

"How fortunate that I am not a gentleman." His expression turned serious. "I don't know what the future will bring, Kanawiosta. I hope to God that we will find out together. But even if you choose to take a separate path, I'd like you to have something that came from me."

She gave him a level look. "You also want to make sure that I will have something valuable as insurance against possible financial problems."

One corner of his mouth turned up wryly. "I could have used you in my spying days. You have the most unsettling ability to read minds."

"Not all minds." She opened the box, then caught her breath. Nestled in the white silk lining were a necklace and matching earrings. Magnificent rubies and tiny, starry diamonds were set in delicate gold filigreed medallions. "Oh, Robin, how exquisite. You don't do things by half, do you?"

"Actually, I did in this case," he replied. "If I'd thought you would accept them, I would have bought a whole parure, everything from combs to diadem and belt."

Her eyes widened. "You're not joking, are you?"

"Not this time."

Her gaze fell away from the intensity in his eyes. There was no question that he wanted her. She wished that she could be sure it was for the right reasons.

"These will be perfect with this gown." She stepped over to the mirror and removed her plain gold studs. Then she slipped on the dangling ruby earrings.

As she turned her head, light splintered brilliantly through the swinging gems. Robin fastened the necklace for her, then stood at her back, his magician's hands gliding over her upper arms before coming to rest on her waist. She marveled at how easily he could arouse her, with only the lightest of touches.

After taking a slow breath, she studied herself in the mirror. She had never looked better in her life. The rubies were splendid with her dark coloring. She did not look like a hoydenish colonial book peddler; she looked like a lady. And if she felt like a fraud inside, it didn't show in her face.

Her gaze went from her own image to Robin's. He was the quintessential English aristocrat, a creature of refined features, cool detachment, and exquisite tailoring. Yet his hands held her as if she were the most precious being on earth, and there was honesty in his eyes.

Quietly he said, "You've spoken as if you think that the only possible future for us is in England, but that's not true. If you prefer, we could live in America."

She looked up in surprise. "You would do that for me?"

He kissed her below the ear, his lips warm and firm. "In an instant. The one great blessing of wealth is the freedom it brings. Together we can create the life we want. Even if you'd be willing to stay in England, I would want to visit America, meet your mother's people, see the land that shaped you."

When she shivered a little, it was as much because his offer moved her as in reaction,to his kiss. "But you would prefer to live here, wouldn't you?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "It's strange. I've spent almost my entire adult life in foreign lands. I can speak a dozen languages with varying degrees of skill, and find a good meal or a cheap bed in any city on the Continent. Yet when I returned to England last winter, I felt more at home than when I actually lived here."

She put a hand over his where it rested on her waist. "You left a boy and returned a man. Surely that made a difference."

"You're right-I no longer have a youthful need to rebel against everything familiar." He kissed her again,this time on the exquisitely sensitive angle between throat and collarbone.

Her breath quickened. She was acutely aware of his nearness and compelling masculinity. The mirror revealed that awareness in the brightness of her eyes and the sultry fullness of her lips.

Robin saw it, too. His hands tightened. "A good thing most of the men coming tonight are happily married, or I'd worry about someone carrying you off. You are irresistible, Kanawiosta."

At that instant, she made a promise to herself: No matter what happened in the future, she must make love with him at least one more time. If she didn't have that to look forward to, she would be unable to leave this room without ravishing him on the spot. Voice uneven, she said, "We'd better go down now."

He exhaled. "Or we won't make it out of this room for the next two hours." He stepped back, then offered his arm formally. "Ready for the den of lions, my lady?"

He might be willing to leave his country for her sake, but he would lose more by going than she would by staying. She must do her best to see if she could find a place for herself among these alarming aristocrats.

Tucking her hand under his arm, she said, "The lions can't have sharper claws than the good ladies of Boston, Lord Robert."

With Robin beside her, she could face anything.

Wolverton had sent a note suggesting that he escort Desdemona to the dinner party. She had agreed with alacrity, but now that it was too late for her to back out, Desdemona was staring at her reflection with blind panic. "Sally, I can't possibly go out looking like this! When you said you would alter the gown, I didn't know you intended to cut it to the navel."

"Now, now, my lady, you're exaggerating," the abigail said soothingly. "The decolletage is stylish and not at all extreme."

"The gown might not be extreme, but my figure certainly is!" She swung an accusing gaze on her maid. "You kept me away from the mirror until it was too late to change either the gown or the hair, didn't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sally said, unrepentant. "Please trust me on this-you look fine and fashionable, and that handsome marquess will be groveling at your feet."

Desdemona's face blazed with heat. "Have I no secrets?"

"Of course you do," Sally said, soothing again. "But only a fool wouldn't see what's right in front of her nose."

In other words, she had been gazing at Giles like a mooncalf, Desdemona thought gloomily. She might as well have hung a sign around her neck. Her very, very bare neck.

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."