"Ah, yes, our generous, fairminded father," Robin said bitterly. "You were never around when he grabbed me and stared at my face as if he couldn't believe he had been so unlucky as to have me for a son. Only once did he actually say it was my fault she died-that he wished to God it had been her who survived, not me-but the thought was always in his eyes. Always."

There it finally was, almost palpable with pain: the memory of the woman whose death had ripped the heart out of a family.

Incredulous, Giles said, "Father actually said that to you?"

"Yes." Robin glared at his brother, so angry that he spat out what he had tried never to think. "You never said it aloud, but I always knew you felt the same way."

For the space of three heartbeats, there was silence. Then Giles asked, "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Do I have to spell it out?" Robin said tightly. "She was your mother, his wife. You were five years old and adored her, a feeling that was entirely mutual. Every day she came to the nursery to read stories and sing songs to you. I understand that she even taught you to read."

Face ashen, Giles whispered, "How could you know that?"

"I learned it from the servants. Never having had a mother, naturally I was curious about what I was missing. It was my first exercise in information gathering. She was a legend in the servants' hall, you know, because her behavior was so unlike what they expected of a marchioness." Robin closed his eyes, fighting back a fresh wave of the desolation that had permeated his childhood. "God, how I envied you for having her, even if it was only for five years. In your place, I would have arranged a lethal accident for the brat who had killed my mother."

"Bloody hell, Robin, I never felt like that," Giles exclaimed. "Of course I mourned-losing her was the single worst event of my life. But I never blamed you for the fact that she died and you didn't."

"Father did. And he never let me forget it."

Giles turned back to the garden, his broad shoulders rigid. "When a woman dies in childbirth, most surviving family members accept it as the will of God. A few, like Father, blame the child. Others are like me. They… they cherish the baby who survived because it is all they have left of the woman who died."

Robin's voice softened. "You did that well. It made the guilt worse. I was responsible for your mother's death, yet you were always so patient with me."

Giles made an impatient gesture. "Stop talking as if you committed murder. Mama loved babies-I know that she miscarried at least twice between my birth and yours, possibly more than that. She was delighted when her pregnancy was advanced enough to make it likely to be successful. She used to tell me about the new brother or sister I would have, and how I must watch out for you." His voice caught. "I've wondered if she suspected that she would not survive. Her health had always been delicate, and she had to have known that continued pregnancies were dangerous. Yet I'm willing to swear that she was facing the risk willingly. Did your informants tell you that?"

"I never asked about the events surrounding her death. I… I didn't want to know more."

Giles sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You were several weeks early and not expected to live. After she died, Father locked himself away and wouldn't speak to anyone. The household was in chaos. I heard one of the maids say that you would die without a wet nurse, so I rode my pony into the village. The miller's wife had just lost a baby a few days after birth, so I went to her house and practically dragged her back to Wolverhampton. I insisted that your crib be put in my room, so I could listen during the night and be sure you were still breathing."

Robin stared at him, his chest constricted. "I never knew that."

"It's hardly to be expected that you would-you weren't much bigger than a loaf of bread at the time." Giles made an obvious effort to master his emotions. "You were so like Mama-not just your appearance, but your quick tongue and your charm. Your precocity delighted everyone who met you even when you were behaving like a limb of Satan. I resented the way you got away with tricks that I would have been whipped for."

"Since Father despised me whatever I did, I decided to give him good cause," Robin said dryly. "I was a damned sight better at being outrageous than I ever was at obedience."

Giles shrugged. "Obedience is overrated. Father found my abilities useful, but no matter how hard I tried, I never seemed to be quite good enough."

Beginning to understand what this conversation was really about, Robin asked quietly, "Why are we talking about this after so many years? What do you want of me?"

Giles stared at his large capable hands, looking oddly vulnerable. Beyond the garden walls, a carriage rumbled along the Mayfair cobblestones.

After a very long silence, he said in a voice that was almost inaudible, "It sounds so childish. I suppose what I really want to know is that… that I matter to you. You're the only close family I have. I tried to be a good brother, but because you always went your own way, no matter what the cost, I wasn't usually in a position to help you. Not with Father, not at school, and certainly not when you decided at a ridiculously young age to enter one of the most dangerous trades on earth."

Robin frowned. "Of course you matter to me. How could you not know that? Surely you remember how I followed you constantly whenever you came home from school. You were incredibly patient. I wanted desperately to be like you. It was frustrating when I realized that was impossible. We were simply too different."

"Were and are," Giles said, still looking at his hands.

"Being unlike doesn't mean that caring is impossible," Robin said haltingly. "You were far more my father than our esteemed parent. Whatever I know of honor, discipline, and loyalty I learned from you." He sighed. "I suppose that one reason I became a spy was because I wanted you to be proud of me, and espionage was something I knew I could do well. Granted, it's a low, dishonorable pursuit, but against a monster like Bonaparte, the work was important. It hurt that you disapproved of what I was doing, but once I began, I couldn't draw back."

Giles glanced up, his gaze intent. "I never condemned your activities. Actually, I was enormously proud of your courage and cleverness."

Robin raised his brows. "You were? Every argument we ever had was over my work. It simmered between the lines of your exceedingly rare letters, and came to a boil that last time we met in London, four years ago."

His brother looked away. "I'm sorry I lost my temper that night, but I was concerned. You looked ready to break. I thought it was time to let Britain struggle on without you."

"I was not at my best then," Robin admitted. "But retiring to a quiet life in Yorkshire would have driven me mad. For me, it was better to keep working and take my chances."

"As you said, we're very unlike. For me, Wolverhampton has always been my retreat and my redemption."

There was another long silence before Robin said wearily, "After our mother died, there was never enough love at Chanleigh, not with Father's grief and anger poisoning us all. I didn't dare ask you for too much, for fear that your patience would run out I couldn't bear the thought of that"

Giles smiled humorlessly. "I felt much the same way-that if I did anything that might strain our relationship, you would flit off like a dragonfly and never return."

Robin swallowed against the dryness in his throat, feeling more vulnerable than when he had searched Napoleon's library. "You were the salvation of my childhood, Giles. Now, you're one of two-no, three- people I would give my life for. I wish I had known how to say that sooner. I'm sorry you ever spent a single moment thinking that I didn't care."

Giles rubbed his forehead, his broad hand obscuring his face. When he lowered his arm, there was a gleam of moisture in his eyes. "Brothers are supposed to love each other, but I thought that with us, most of the feelings were on my side."

One of the knots tied around Robin's heart dissolved. Giles was right; brothers were supposed to love each other, and the two of them did. After almost thirty three years of complicated living, he had discovered a bedrock simplicity that had always been there. Without speaking, he reached out a hand to his brother. Giles gripped it hard.

More man when he had returned to Wolverhampton, Robin felt that he had come home.

As he released his brother's hand, Robin said, "We should have talked like this years ago. Still, why tonight, in the middle of a firstrate dinner party?"

Giles gave an embarrassed laugh. "When I saw Desdemona being charmed by you, every brotherly resentment I ever felt came boiling to the surface. I don't mind you fascinating all the other females, but I very much minded about her."

"Believe me, you have nothing to fear. Our whole conversation was about you-the woman thinks you walk on water. I did not disabuse her of the notion. I gather that you have hopes in that direction?"

"I do." Giles smiled. "I think I'll go find her. I'm happier when she's nearby."

Robin understood perfectly. The discussion with his brother had been valuable and long overdue, but he felt as if he had been through an emotional threshing machine. Which meant that more than anything on earth, he wanted Maxie.

Chapter 32

Robin found Maxie talking to Lord Michael Kenyon, a tall man with chestnut hair and the whipcord toughness of a trained warrior. She glanced up mischievously. "Lord Michael tells me that he met you in Spain. When coaxed, he said something about you being disguised as an Irish priest at the time?"

Robin rolled his eyes. "I'm afraid so. During the Peninsular war, a whole network of priest spies operated from the Irish College of Salamanca University. I occasionally masqueraded as one when I was on the Peninsula." He made a face. "I also managed to get shot. I'm sure that Lord Michael didn't mention that he found me bleeding all over my stolen dispatches, and had the sense to haul me into Wellington's headquarters."

So that was how Robin had acquired that dreadful bullet scar. Not caring whether she shocked the other guests, Maxie rose onto her toes and pressed a light, swift kiss on Lord Michael's cheek, "Thank you. It must have taken a whole regiment of guardian angels to keep Robin intact."

Lord Michael gazed down at her, startled but not at all displeased. He had remarkable green eyes. "I'd heard that American women were enchantingly direct, but never been so lucky as to see a demonstration. Are there more like you in Boston?"

Robin said fondly, "Maxima is unique anywhere."

"I was afraid of that" After exchanging a few more words, Lord Michael moved away.

Maxie gazed after him. "Is there a Lady Michael that didn't come tonight?"

"He's unmarried. Are you interested in applying for the position of wife?" Robin said dryly.

She gave him a look. That's an absurd comment even for you. I was merely curious-even though he flirts very nicely, his heart is not the least bit available."

"Interesting. According to Margot, he's spending the Season with Lucien and Kit with the idea of taking a wife if he finds a lady to his taste. Perhaps he's found one." Losing interest in the subject, Robin continued, "I came to see if you were interested in some fresh air. The Candover gardens by moonlight are quite a sight"

As much as Maxie was enjoying the other guests, she was ready for some time alone with Robin. They walked together, to the French doors.

Before going out, he glanced around. "It's a bit cool this evening. If I know Maggie, she will have put some shawls here for female guests who might want to go outside."

Sure enough, a pile of softly folded fabric waited on a small table to the left. As Robin took the top shawl, Maxie said admiringly, "Margot thinks of everything."

He shook out the dark paisley shawl, then draped it around her shoulders, his hands caressing. They stepped out into the flagstone patio. After Robin closed the door, they strolled across the stones and down the steps into the garden itself. A scattering of low lanterns marked the paths for guests, but weren't so bright as to interfere with the magic of the night. The voluminous shawl hung all the way to Maxie's knees, protecting her from the cool evening air.