The marquess broke off abruptly, his face tight. Several heartbeats passed before he continued. "To give you an idea of the sort of thing he accomplished in his 'disgraceful' career, last year he helped frustrate a plot aimed at blowing up the British Embassy during the Paris peace conference."
Desdemona gasped, thinking who might have been killed in such an explosion. Likely the Foreign Minister, Castlereagh, perhaps even Wellington. The political ramifications were staggering, not only for Britain, but for the whole of Europe.
Wolverton smiled wryly. "You see why I said this must be confidential? That's only a sample of what Robin accomplished. I'm told the powers at Whitehall are considering making him a baron for services rendered, only they don't know what to say that could be made public knowledge."
"Being made a peer for espionage might be a first."
"Robin has been breaking new ground his whole life. As a boy there was no harm in him, but he could be mischievous in amazingly inventive ways." The marquess's expression lightened. "For example, I believe he was the only boy ever expelled from Eton on his very first day of school."
Desdemona chuckled. "A dubious honor. How did he do that?"
"He introduced six sheep into the headmaster's drawing room. I never did learn how he managed it. It was a calculated act, performed because he wanted to go to Winchester, not Eton." Wolverton smiled reminiscently. "Even if a title is offered, I'm not sure he would take it. Once when we were boys, we were swimming in the lake at Wolverhampton when I got a vicious cramp. I almost drowned. He dragged me out, an impressive feat considering that I was twice his size and thrashing like a reaper. When I recovered, I pointed out that he could have left me in the water and been the next Marquess of Wolverton."
"And?" Desdemona prompted.
His eyes twinkled. "Robin said that was the best possible argument for fishing me out of the lake."
Desdemona bit her lip. "The more I hear about your brother, the more dreadfully likable he sounds."
"Robin got all the charm and dash in the family. And despite what you think, he's honorable as well."
Desdemona surveyed the marquess's substantial frame, a faint smile on her face. "You seem to have inherited an adequate share of all three traits."
Wolverton stared for a moment, color rising in his face. Then he got to his feet and wandered to the window to avoid her eyes. It was the first time she had seen him disconcerted.
Served him right, she thought with satisfaction; he had been disconcerting her from the first moment they had met. Deciding that it was time to leave the personal, she asked, "Do you suppose Simmons and his men caught up with our fugitives?"
The marquess's glance outside had been idle, but his gaze sharpened. "Perhaps he did. There are two very battered-looking fellows walking down the high street. Since I saw one of them with Simmons earlier, my guess is that they tried and failed to take Robin and your niece."
She joined him at the window and incredulously surveyed the two mauled bruisers. "Your brother did that?"
"Probably. He was small and almost girlishly attractive as a boy. Such are the horrors of the English public schools that he had to choose between fighting or groveling. If he'd stayed at Eton, I could have looked out for him, but as it was..." Wolverton's voice trailed off.
"Obviously your brother had no taste for groveling." Suddenly aware of how close she was to the marquess's very large, very masculine frame, she unobtrusively edged away. "What now, my lord? I doubt they will return to the drovers."
His brow furrowed. "I agree. Now that our fugitives have been alerted, it will be almost impossible to find them on the road. There are too many routes, too many ways for them to disguise themselves. Perhaps the time has come for you to go to London and wait for your niece to call."
She eyed him suspiciously. The sense that they were allies was eroding rapidly. "You've something else in mind?"
"A possibility has occurred to me." He forestalled her question with one hand. "I promise that if I guess correctly, I will bring both of our runaways to you in London."
Avoiding the question of whether she would give up searching, she asked, "What if they don't wish to come?"
"I will use sweet reason to persuade them." He gave a half smile. "Using force on Robin would not be advisable."
Remembering the battered ruffians who had just passed, she had to agree.
Wolverton picked up his hat and prepared to leave, then paused. "Why were you named Desdemona?"
"It's a family tradition to give the boys Latin names and the girls Shakespearean ones," she explained.
"But your niece's name is Latin."
"There are occasional exceptions. My brother Maximus was named after Great-Aunt Maxima, and passed the name on to his daughter. Aunt Maxima died a few months back, ripe in years and wickedness. I'm going to miss her."
"Do you mean Lady Clendennon? She was the only Maxima I ever met." When Desdemona nodded, he said, "Forceful females are clearly another Collins family tradition. Less and less do I think your niece could have been persuaded to stay with Robin against her principles."
"That remains to be seen," Desdemona said dryly. Recalled to a sense of her mission, she tugged her shawl close, collected her reticule, and prepared to leave.
The marquess stood aside, but before opening the door, he halted and looked down at her, his gaze intense. As if mesmerized, he raised a hand to her face, tracing the lines of temple and ear, brushing across her cheek, caressing the curve of her throat. His touch was very delicate, as if he were trying to memorize the tones and texture of her skin with his fingertips.
She stood stock-still, fighting to maintain her composure. Everywhere he touched blazed with sensation. She had never known gentleness in her marriage, and it was shocking to realize how vulnerable she was to it.
She raised her eyes to Wolverton's and was immediately sorry. The warmth she saw there was far more dangerous than a blow. He was so large, powerful not only physically but in his air of authority. In another moment he would bend over to kiss her, and if that happened...
She jerked away and opened the door herself. "I shall hope to see you and our errant relations in London, Wolverton." Then she bolted.
Giles gazed at the door that had slammed in his face. Why would a strong-minded woman of the world become as skittish as a convent-bred virgin when he showed interest in her? The simple explanation was that she had taken him in aversion.
He had no doubt that in this case the simple explanation was wrong. It was not distaste he had seen in her eyes, but fear.
The Marquess of Wolverton had a well-deserved reputation as an easygoing man, but when he decided on something, he was immovable. As the sound of her swift footsteps faded away, he resolved that he was going to learn what lay at the root of Lady Ross's distress.
Then, perhaps, something could be done about it.
Chapter 19
Even though Robin did as much as he could, Maxie had to half carry him. The canal seemed endlessly distant. The back of her neck prickled in anticipation of Simmons waking or his men returning to come after the fugitives.
Given a choice, she would prefer Simmons himself He had shown signs of a conscience, but she would trust his men no further than hungry wolves in a butcher shop.
She kept hoping that other people might appear, but the area seemed deserted. People must be eating their midday meals. As she and Robin entered the shadowed alley between two of the warehouses, she prayed for a miracle with what energy she could spare. They could not go much farther like this.
They emerged onto the sun-drenched wharf to find a loaded barge sitting at the mooring. A man and a boy were on deck preparing to cast off. The captain was a short fellow with a broad muscular figure and grizzled hair. He straightened and eyed the newcomers curiously, which wasn't surprising since Robin was draped over Maxie like a shawl.
A straightforward plea for aid seemed best. Letting her desperation sound in her voice, Maxie said, "Please, sir,
can you help us? We were attacked and my husband has been injured."
The captain's startled face reminded her of how she was dressed. With her free hand, she yanked off her hat. The man blinked, his interest thoroughly engaged.
She had thought Robin beyond awareness, but he murmured in her ear with irrepressible amusement, "Brought out the heavy guns, I see. Poor devil hasn't a chance."
"Hush!" she hissed, keeping an arm around his waist as the captain jumped to the wharf and walked over to the newcomers.
"You were attacked by thieves in town in broad daylight?" he asked, visible skepticism on his weathered face.
What story would be likely to appeal to a canal man?
When in doubt, tell some variation of the truth. "It wasn't thieves, but my cousin and his friends. They're trying to stop us from reaching London." She glanced back, having no trouble looking anxious. "Please, can we go with you for a little way? I can explain everything, but they will be here at any moment."
She turned a pleading gaze on the captain, trying to look like the sort of female a man would feel protective about. She should have paid more attention to her cousin Portia, who had spent years cultivating helplessness.
The freckled-faced boy ventured, "Mebee they're only lookin' for a free ride, Pa."
The captain studied Robin, who was wavering on his feet. "That blood looks real enough." Coming to a decision, he said, "All right, lass, I'll take you on faith for a few miles."
He stepped forward, stooped, then lifted Robin and slung him over a broad shoulder as if he were a schoolboy. "Come along."
Maxie followed, stepping across the narrow gap between wharf and boat. The barge was simply constructed with two blunt ends and a square cabin in the middle. Tarpaulin-covered mounds were secured to the deck, and the air was redolent with a strong, not unpleasant scent of wool. The cargo must be carpets, which Dafydd Jones had said were made in the area.
"I expect you would rather be out of sight if your cousin comes," the captain said. "Take the aft hatch cover off, Jamie."
The boy scrambled to obey, excitement on his round face. The hatch cover was lifted to reveal a hold packed with more carpets. After Jamie climbed in and rearranged the rolls to create space, the captain deposited Robin's limp body. "Don't let 'im bleed on my cargo."
"I'll do my best," she promised. "Do you have some rags and water I can use to wash the blood away and bandage him?"
Jamie immediately bounced off to fulfill the request.
She climbed into the hold and knelt beside Robin, parting his golden hair to examine the damage. A lump was already forming, but she was glad to find that the gash was shallow and the bleeding almost stopped.
A minute later, Jamie returned with the supplies she had requested, as well as basilicum powder to put on the wound. As gently as possible, she washed away the blood and applied a bandage. Robin accepted it stoically, though she saw his hand opening and closing on the carpet beside him.
When Maxie finished her ministrations, the captain said, "Time we were on our way. Might be best to close the hold again."
"You're right," she agreed. "My cousin might follow if he guesses that we're trying to escape this way. It's... it's a complicated tale."
The weathered face looked satiric. "I don't doubt it."
After he lowered the heavy hatch cover, dragging noises sounded overhead and the slivers of light around the rectangular hatch disappeared. The captain must be putting carpets on top. She blessed him for his foresight. Even if Simmons followed the barge, he was unlikely to find their hiding place.
But the precaution made the darkness in the hold absolute. Their niche was about six feet long, four feet wide, and three feet deep, with yielding carpets beneath them. The effect was like a cozy coffin. She did her best to repress her distaste for the confinement. All that mattered was that they were heading away from Simmons, and the captain seemed to be a good ally.
Dimly she heard Jamie order the tow horse to get along. The barge began to move. Exhausted now that there was nothing more to be done, she stretched out alongside Robin. "Are you there?"
His voice a faint thread, he replied, "I have been more or less present through the last act, even though I had to be carted about like a wheel of cheese."
She smiled, relieved. "Sounds like your wits weren't scrambled by that rock."
"Of course not. My head is the most unbreakable part of me." Not quite able to conceal the strain in his voice, he said, "Is there any more water?"
She raised his head and shoulders so he could drink from the bottle. After corking what was left, she asked, "Did you sustain any damage apart from the head wound?"
There was a pause and more rustling sounds while he took inventory. Eventually he said, "Nothing to signify."
"Good. Then you can think up a convincing reason why my cousin Simmons and his merry men are after us."
"But you're doing such a good job of invention that it would be a pity to interfere," he protested.
"Next to you, I am the veriest amateur at tale-spinning."
"Perhaps at tale-spinning, but that was a splendid bit of acting. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn that you were frightened and helpless."
"What makes you think I wasn't?" she asked, not sure whether to be flattered at his faith or offended by his lack of concern.
"Because, Kanawiosta," he said, amusement and approval in his voice, "a female who will attack a professional fighter three times her size is brave to the point of being suicidal." He rolled over and put one arm around her, drawing her close, then added in a drowsy whisper, "You make a wonderful bodyguard."
Smiling, she relaxed against him, her cheek resting on his chest. Though she knew it was irrational, she felt safe in his arms, as if the outside world could never harm her.
His breathing soon slowed and he slipped into a doze. It would have been easy for her to sleep as well, but she resisted the temptation. Instead she listened to the soft splash of water against the hull, and tried to think of a convincing story to tell the captain.
* * *
The barge Penelope was just entering the first of the Foxton locks when two men trotted into sight on the towpath, panting heavily. "'Ey, you there!" the large one yelled in a cockney accent. "'Old a minute; I want to ask you some questions."
John Blaine pulled his pipe from his mouth and surveyed the newcomer. The fellow looked like he'd been in a fight, and no mistake. "A canal boat doesn't stop when it's in a lock," he said tersely, then called to his son, "Open the ground paddle."
Jamie turned the windlass and water began flowing into the lower lock.
"Dammit, I'm speaking to you," the cockney barked.
Blaine did not find the stranger's attitude endearing. The little lady, on the other hand, had been quite charming. "And I've a job to do," he retorted. "Make yourself useful and help with the gates. I'll have time to talk at the bottom."
The water level between the first and second locks equalized and Jamie opened the gate between them. The horse pulled the barge forward, the gate closed behind, and the paddles on the next gate were opened so water could flow into the lower pound.
As he watched the Penelope drop rapidly below ground level, the cockney balanced uncertainly, as if debating whether to jump on the barge and put his questions forcefully. After a moment, he scowled and gestured to his henchman. The two added their considerable weight to working the gates and the paddles.
The Foxton locks consisted of two flights of five locks each, joined by a central pool where two boats could pass. Passage through ten locks is a slow business and Blaine could have found the time to answer a few polite questions on the way, but under the circumstances, he kept himself conspicuously busy.
Eventually the barge reached the bottom of the locks, seventy-five feet below where it had begun. With exaggerated courtesy, the cockney jumped on the vessel's deck and asked, "Now will you answer a few questions?"
Blaine tamped fresh tobacco into his clay pip
e, struck a spark, and drew on the stem until it was burning cleanly. "What do you want to know?"
"I'm looking for two criminals, a blond man and a young lad. They're very dangerous."
"Aye?" Blaine's expression was bored.
The cockney began to stalk the length of the barge, his suspicious gaze searching for signs of his quarry as he began to describe the fugitives and enumerate their misdeeds.
* * *
It felt as if they had been trapped in the thick warm blackness for days, though it couldn't have been for more than an hour or two. Maxie snapped out of her drowsiness when she heard vibrations on the deck above. A rumble of voices cut through the softer sounds of lapping water.
Two men were talking, one in a harsh cockney accent. Though she strained to hear, maddeningly, she could not make out the actual words. Robin was still sleeping off the effects of the head injury, but she sat up, too tense to lie still.
She scarcely breathed as heavy footsteps approached, the planks creaking under the weight of a large man. Simmons must be near enough to push the shield of carpets from that cover, or to hear the hammering of her heart.
The footsteps halted within a yard of her head. This was infinitely worse than meeting an enemy in the open. Her nerves stretched to the point where she felt a hysterical desire to scream or pound the hatch with balled fists—anything to end the suspense.
In the silence, Robin stirred and drew in his breath, as if preparing to speak. Instantly she reached out, fumbling a little in the dark, and clamped one hand over his mouth.
In the charged silence, she clearly heard Simmons say, "Anyone who 'elps criminals is flouting the king's justice, and it will go 'ard with 'im."
She gasped at the pious way the scoundrel was invoking the law. The devil could cite scripture for his purposes, indeed!
Robin tensed when she first touched him, then relaxed and gave a nod of understanding. As the footsteps moved away, she started to lift her hand away. Before she could, he pressed his lips to her palm in a gossamer kiss.
Angel Rogue: Book 4 in the Fallen Angels Series Page 18