"Would you have regrets?" he asked softly.
"Certainly I would if you did," she replied, knowing that her simple words contained the essence of the dilemma. Loving him, she would be unable to endure his regrets. No matter how carefully he hid them under politeness and charm, she would know.
"You're wrong, you know. The differences between us are superficial, but the similarities are profound," he said intensely. "We were both born outsiders, Maxie. In your case, it was because of your mixed blood, never wholly belonging with either your father's or your mother's people. I know something of what you endured because in spite of wealth, privilege, and endless noble ancestors, I was a natural misfit, no more at home in my world than you were in yours.
"Perhaps it would have been different if I'd had a mother, or if my father had been able to bear the sight of me." His expression became ironic. "But I probably would have been a misfit even if my mother had survived. Every generation or two the Andrevilles throw up a black sheep, and my keepers were convinced that I was one before I was out of leading strings. Something had only to be forbidden to attract me. Everything I did was wrong, proof of my natural wickedness. I questioned things that shouldn't be questioned, disobeyed orders I disagreed with, made up stories that were seen as malicious lies."
He held up his misshapen left hand. "The Latin word for left is sinister, which says a great deal about how lefthanders are perceived. The tutor I had before I went away to school thought I used left hand just to spite him. Sometimes he tied it behind my back so I must use the right, other times he beat my left palm with a brass ruler until it bled." He smiled without humor. "I was probably one of the few boys in England who thought that public school was an improvement over life at home."
For the first time, she fully understood the desolation of his childhood. No wonder he thought he wasn't very good at love. How had he survived with his humor and sanity and kindness intact? Her heart ached for him and Giles, two lonely boys who deserved so much better than what they had received. Thank God they had at least had each other.
Still… "Granted that both of us grew up feeling like outsiders," she said slowly. "Is that enough of a bond to hold us together? Are we defined by our weaknesses?"
"Not by our weaknesses, but by our trust." In his white shirtsleeves he looked lean and strong and overpoweringly attractive as he lounged against the desk, his hands curved around the edge. "We dare show our weaknesses only to those we hope will understand and accept us in spite of them. Even when I scarcely knew you, I found myself speaking of things I have told no one else, had barely even admitted to myself."
"That is part of what worries me, Robin," she said, matching honesty with honesty. "I wonder if you want to marry me because I was there when you were hurting. Have you come to think I am special because you needed to talk and I listened? Would any woman have done as well?"
"Do you think so little of my judgment?" He smiled with a sweetness and intimacy that melted her heart. "No other woman could ever be the same. With you, I am whole."
Seeing that she still hesitated, he said softly, "You taught me many things, but most of all, about love." He took a deep breath. "And I do love you, Kanawiosta."
Maxie sucked in her breath as she heard the words she had never thought to hear. "You said you were not very good at love."
"I didn't think I was, but between you and Giles, I've recently received an intensive education in the subject," he said wryly. "I believed that I loved Maggie as much as I was capable of, and that she left me because it wasn't enough, because there was some vital deficiency in me. Now I know it was not that I was incapable of loving more, but that I had not met the woman I could truly fall in love with. Maggie tried to explain that to me once, but it was beyond my understanding."
He was silent as he searched for words. "With Maggie, there were always emotional limits. With you, Kanawiosta, there are none." His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the desk. "The morning we left Ruxton, you implied rather strongly that you loved me. Was that wishful thinking on my part?"
His words were a shining joy that filled her like the sun's radiance. "Lord, Robin, of course I love you," she whispered. "All my talk of our differences, my doubts about England-they were only smoke. My true fear was that I cared too much to be your wife if you didn't love me."
His coat fell from her shoulders as she stood and opened her arms. Robin walked straight into them.
From the beginning, their bodies had known that it was utterly right to be together. This time there was no doubt, only fierce, compelling desire.
They were lying on the Persian carpet, most of their clothing off, when Robin pulled back. "Damnation, I'm doing it again." He rested his forehead on her bare breast, his chest heaving. "I have trouble remembering that you don't want to make love in this house. I'm sorry." He smiled ruefully. "A pity it's too cold and wet for the garden tonight."
He was starting to move away when she slid her arms around his neck. "No need to go all noble, Robin. Now that I know that you love me, being here doesn't bother me at all."
His face became vivid with laughter. "I'm very, very glad to hear that,"
He bent to her breasts again. She arched against him in wordless response to his mouth and hands and intoxicating nearness. Even more than fire, there was tenderness and understanding and mirth, all woven together into an emotion far greater than the sum of its parts.
This time passion was not a gift of solace, but a sharing of their innermost selves. She felt as if she were soaring through the tangled skeins of his spirit. Though the dark strands were still there, they no longer shivered with anguish, while the bright, sunspun threads of his being flowed around her with joy and laughter, together, they were whole.
Afterward she lay trembling on top of him, her hair spilling over his chest and face. Tenderly he smoothed it back so that he could see her face. "Really, love, we're going to have to get back into the habit of doing this in a bed. Stone altars and library floors definitely have their place now and then, but they aren't especially comfortable."
She stretched her body along his, loving his lean strength. "It's very comfortable where I am."
He smiled. "You do make a superlative blanket."
She crossed her arms on his chest and rested her chin on them. "Feeling like a hopeless outsider is wretched when one is growing up," she said thoughtfully, "but from what I can see, many interesting people start out that way."
"I've noticed that." He stroked her naked back lovingly. "I've also found that one needn't stay a misfit forever."
She grinned. "The two of us fit together perfectly."
After a spell of peaceful silence, Robin murmured, "You're sure it didn't bother you to make love here?"
"Quite sure," she said lazily.
He linked his arms around her and rolled swiftly over so that he was above. Her raven hair wove ebony patterns across the burgundy patterns of the Persian rug, framing her exotically beautiful face.
"In that case, my love," he said softly, "let's do it again."
Epilogue
It was a perfect day for a wedding, and the gardens at Ruxton were ideal for the ceremony and the wedding breakfast. The guest list was small, and many had been at Maxie's first London dinner party. The people she had met that night were becoming the closest friends she'd ever had.
Giles and Desdemona had stood up with the bride and groom. In a fortnight, Maxie and Robin would return the favor when the older couple became man and wife.
After the serious eating was done and the toasts had been drunk, Robin bent to her and said quietly, "Shall we take a walk? Our guests can manage without us for a few minutes."
"I'd like that."
Hand in hand, they strolled through the gardens, which were magnificent with early summer scents and blooms. In a few short weeks, Ruxton had become the home of her heart.
As they wandered into the woods, Robin said, "Did I mention how much I like your gown? I've never seen anyth
ing like it, but it suits you perfectly."
She glanced down at the exquisitely beaded and fringed dress with pleasure. It had been a wedding gift from Margot. "It's a loose interpretation of a Mohawk wedding costume. I sketched out the design and Margot found a dressmaker who was willing to make it even though she didn't have any dyed porcupine quills."
Sunlight shafted through the leaves and small birds fluttered on all sides, filling the air with music. She nodded toward them. "Look at all the songbirds around us, Robin. It's as if they've come to help us celebrate."
He grinned.
Suddenly suspicious, Maxie looked more closely at the grass beside the path. "Lord Robert, did you tell the gardener to sprinkle grain along this path to bring the birds for us?"
He laughed, unrepentant. "What's wrong with creating a little magic? When I first saw you at the Wolverhampton fairy ring, I thought of Titania, the fairy queen."
She joined his laughter. "And I thought of Oberon. Our imaginations work in similar ways."
"Among many other things." He hesitated, then said, "I probably shouldn't ask, but these days, when you think about the future, do you have a sense of its course?"
She nodded. "Many, many happy years with you."
He raised their hands and kissed her fingertips. "That's what I was hoping."
The path led to a clearing that Maxie had not seen before. In the center was a fairy ring like the one at Wolverhampton. She stopped and gazed at it, feeling absurdly happy.
Robin drew her into his arms and gave her a kiss of aching sweetness. Then he whispered, "Now, Kanawiosta, show me again how to listen to the wind."
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