Petals in the Storm (14 page)

In spite of her protests, she was not indifferent to him, and this evening her hostility seemed to have lessened. It was time for them to put aside the past and enjoy each other as they were now, without recriminations or complications.

Instead of sparring with her, he would make a straightforward offer. Perhaps part of the reason she had been so adamant about keeping her distance was because she didn't want to give away what usually was a source of profit.

Well, he was a reasonable man, and recognized that Maggie had to support herself. Though he had never paid for a mistress before, he was willing to make an exception in her case. In fact, he was prepared to be extremely generous. If she agreed to a long-term arrangement, he would even consider making a permanent financial settlement, so she would have some security for the future.

He turned decisively and headed back to the Boulevard des Capucines. Though it was late, he returned to the alley behind her house, hoping for some sign that she was still awake, perhaps as restless as he was himself.

As he scanned her windows, he saw a stealthy figure coming along the alley from the other direction. Rafe stepped farther back into the shadows so that he wouldn't be seen.

Instead of passing by, the other man stopped and looked around warily. Rafe flattened himself against the wall, glad that he was wearing dark clothing.

Apparently satisfied that he was unseen, the stranger climbed Maggie's back steps and knocked at the door. It swung open immediately. Maggie was standing inside, illuminated by a lamp in her hand. She had changed to a flowing dark robe and her bright hair was loose around her shoulders, like the white queen.

Her visitor bent to kiss her, and Rafe stayed to watch no more.

The stealthy newcomer was Robert Anderson, the white king himself. No wonder she had talked to him with such intensity at the reception; they had been setting up an assignation.

Rafe was coldly furious without quite understanding why. He knew that Maggie had lovers, so why should it anger him to see one entering? It certainly wasn't jealousy; he hadn't felt jealous about a woman since ... since he was twenty-one, and Margot had betrayed him with Northwood.

He swore out loud, rejecting the idea. His anger was not a result of jealousy, but concern for his mission. Maggie had been told not to associate with the lesser members of the British delegation, yet she was defying Lucien's orders.

This was a dangerous, complicated business, and getting more so by the hour. Rafe stalked the streets until long after midnight, thinking hard about the new development.

Since Maggie was an expert at espionage, he had assumed that she would not make foolish errors of judgment. That had been careless of him. While he still refused to believe that she would deliberately betray her country, in the future he would be more skeptical of her actions.

Though her affair with Anderson might be irrelevant to the business at hand, it was safer to assume the worst. Women were just as susceptible to misjudging bedmates as men were. If Anderson was a traitor, he might be using Maggie exactly as she had used countless other men.

By the time Rafe reached his hotel, he had decided on a strategy. He knew enough of Maggie's stubborn independence to be sure that if he asked her not to see Anderson, she would laugh in his face. Rafe would have to become her lover so that he would have more influence over her. Then he would tell her to get rid of Anderson—and any other damned men she had on her string.

He had wanted to bed her for purely physical reasons. Now that desire was reinforced by a need to secure her loyalty. For the sake of their mission, he was prepared to use every weapon he had to gain the upper hand with Maggie.

How convenient that in this instance, duty would march with pleasure.

He didn't doubt that ultimately he would be successful; he had never failed to win a woman he really wanted. But he would have to move very carefully. Since time was critical, he daren't risk antagonizing her. Rather than make a straight financial offer, he would first soften her resistance with expensive gifts.

He also decided that he should develop some information sources of his own. A wealthy lord has many employees; it took Rafe only a few minutes to think of two clever, discreet, and trustworthy Frenchmen who worked for him.

Before going to bed, he wrote a letter to his agent, summoning both men to Paris immediately.

Robin looked tired and worried, which was unusual, so after giving him a welcoming kiss Maggie insisted that he join her in a midnight supper. They sat at the kitchen table and worked their way through pate, sliced squab, and sundry other delicacies that had been left by Maggie's cook.

When they finished, he pushed the remnants aside. "Nothing like good food to restore one's optimism. Did you learn anything useful this evening?"

Maggie described her encounter with Colonel von Fehrenbach, ending with her conclusion that he was probably not the man behind the conspiracy. "Now it's your turn, Robin. What has happened to worry you?"

He ran his right hand restlessly through his hair. It was a paler blond than Maggie's and looked silvery in the candlelight. "An informant told me that someone has been making discreet inquiries for a brave fellow who would like to bring down 'the Conqueror of the Conqueror of the World.' "

Maggie bit her lip. The Parisians had hung that nickname on the Duke of Wellington after his victory at Waterloo. It was appropriate, since Bonaparte had gotten into the habit of thinking himself the Conqueror of the World, and Wellington had most certainly cleared up that bit of hyperbole.

"So they really are going for Wellington," she said with depression. "They could hardly make a better choice for stirring up a hornets' nest. Were there any indications of who was making the inquiries?"

"Only that it was a Frenchman, which fits with the conclusion you reached tonight." Robin polished off the last slice of pate. "How are things going with Candover?"

Maggie shrugged and traced a pattern on the table in a few spilled drops of wine. "You were right, he's an excellent cover for my inquiries. He's perceptive, too—he reached the same conclusion about von Fehrenbach that I did. But I'm concerned ..." Her voice trailed off.

"About what?"

"Though he's been cooperative so far, tonight he made a remark about me dragging him around like a fur muff to disguise my activities." Robin chuckled, but she said seriously, "For the moment it amuses him to play this game. I don't doubt his patriotism, but I'm afraid of what he might do when he is no longer amused."

Robin's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Only that he is used to being in charge, and doing exactly what he wants. The man is no fool, but if he gets all lordly and pigheaded at the wrong time, it could cause serious problems."

Robin's blue eyes crinkled slightly around the corners. "I rely on you to keep him in line."

Maggie leaned back in her chair, suddenly exhausted. "You overrate my abilities, my dear."

"I doubt it." He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. "I'll be going along now. Who will your next target be?"

"I hope to intercept the Count de Varenne within the next day or two. He lives outside of Paris, but he is a habitué of the king's court and attends many social events. I should be able to further my acquaintance with him soon."

Maggie followed Robin to the back door. When he gave her a good-bye kiss, she put her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. She had a sudden, intense desire to ask him to spend the night with her. Not only did she yearn for the warmth and fulfillment of lovemaking, but perhaps he would be able to drive thoughts of Rafe from her mind.

But she said nothing, for using Robin in such a way would be unforgivable. Nor would it be more than a temporary cure for what ailed her. Sadly she said, "When will this be over, Robin?"

He was touched by the note in her voice. For a moment, Maggie sounded like the girl she had not been able to be for too many years. He put his arms around her, holding her tight for a little longer than was wise. "Soon, my dear. Then we can all go home to England."

She looked up at him, her eyes widening. "Do you want to go back to England, too?"

"Perhaps." He gave a teasing smile. "I shall lie down until the feeling goes away."

Then he was gone. Maggie bolted the door after him, thinking that it was the first time Robin had ever shown any desire to see his homeland. Even he, with his eternal energy and good nature, must be weary of the endless deceit, and the tension that was a constant companion.

In that case, she was quite justified in having a few tears of exhaustion in her eyes, wasn't she? After all, she was only a woman.

The next afternoon was hot, and most of the fashionable ladies who had come to St. Germain lolled under shade trees, leaving the walks private for Maggie and Helene. Maggie was glad that her friend had requested this meeting, for there was much to discuss.

They spent some time exchanging the usual pleasantries of friends who hadn't seen each other in a while. Helene had just returned from taking her two young daughters to their grandmother's home near Nantes, where she had stayed several weeks before returning alone to Paris.

Though she wanted her daughters out of harm's way, Helene herself felt an obligation to contribute what she could to the cause of peace. Until terms for a treaty were settled, information was critical, and she was well placed to hear rumors. She knew that what she learned was passed to the British, and her love for her country was so strong that she chose to do what some would call treason.

The two strolled along the garden paths in their wispy muslin dresses, for all the world like any other ladies of leisure. Only when they were well clear of possible eavesdroppers did Maggie ask, "Have you heard anything of special interest? Your note implied urgency."

"Yes." Helene's brow furrowed. "I have heard that someone is plotting to assassinate Lord Castlereagh."

Maggie inhaled sharply. "Where did you hear that?"

"One of my maids has a brother who works in a gambling hell at the Palais Royale. He heard two men talking very late last night, careless from too much wine."

"Could the brother identify the men?"

Helene shook her head. "No, the light was poor and he only overheard a fragment of conversation while serving someone at the next table. He thought that one was a Frenchman and the other probably a foreigner— German or English, perhaps. The Frenchman asked if the plan was set, and the other man said that Castlereagh would be out of the way within a fortnight."