It promised to be a most interesting few weeks.
The Englishman had been blindfolded for his trip through the Paris streets, and he suspected that the carriage had driven in circles to confuse him. His jaw clenched whenever he thought about the upcoming meeting. The man who had summoned him was known only as Le Serpent. Like the snake he was named for, he was regarded with fear and loathing by those few people who knew of his existence. The Englishman knew it was dangerous to make Le Serpent's acquaintance, but without risk there would be no reward.
The shabby hackney rumbled to a halt. How long had they been circling-fifteen minutes? Thirty? Time was hard to judge when one was helpless.
A whiff of fresher air entered the malodorous hackney when the door opened. The silent escort grasped the Englishman's upper arm and jerked him out of the carriage and across a narrow strip of pavement, indifferent to the fact that his blindfolded charge stumbled and nearly fell.
They entered a building, descended a closed stairway, then walked along a narrow, echoing passage. After a very long walk and a climb up more stairs, the escort stopped. There was the sound of a turning knob, then the Englishman was thrust into a room. He raised one hand to remove the blindfold, but stopped at the sound of a sibilant voice that was clearly disguised.
"I would not advise you to do that, mon Anglais. If you saw my face, I should have to kill you. That would be a great waste, for I have better uses for you."
The Englishman dropped his hand, demoralized by being blind and alone. It was impossible even to guess the nationality of his dangerous employer; considering what a political stew Paris was, the bloody man could be anything.
Trying to sound confident, the Englishman said, "Don't waste my time with threats, Le Serpent. You must like the information I give you, or you would not be paying me for it. And you must want more, or you wouldn't have asked to meet me in person for the first time."
There was a throaty chuckle. "The tidbits you gave me in the past were useful, but they were trivial compared to what I need from you now. Over the next few weeks, I want complete information on the movements of Lord Castlereagh and the Duke Of Wellington, plus daily reports on what the delegation is doing."
"I'm not in a position to know all of that."
"Then find someone who is, mon Anglais."
The menace in the silky tone was unmistakable. Not for the first time, the Englishman wished he had never gotten involved in this. But it was too late for regret: Le Serpent knew far too much about him. Wanting to put the best face on this, he said, "It will cost extra to learn more. Most of the staff won't talk at all, and those who do are expensive."
"You will be reimbursed for expenses, as long as they are legitimate. I will not pay for your whores and gambling."
Sweat formed under the blindfold as the Englishman wondered if Le Serpent knew about the money skimmed from the sum provided to pay lesser informants. It had been unwise to appropriate some for his own use, but if he hadn't paid that particular gambling debt, he might have lost his position with the delegation. Tersely he said, "You need have no fears on that score."
"How comforting," Le Serpent said with unmistakable irony. "Send your reports the usual way. Remember, I want daily information, for matters are becoming critical. You will be informed when I need to see you igain. Now go."
As the escort came and led him from the room, the Englishman speculated about what was brewing. If he knew what Le Serpent had in mind, the information could be very valuable.
The danger lay in the fact that he wouldn't know where to sell it unless he discovered who the snake was. But when was profit without danger?
Chapter 5
After Inge had dressed her for the reception, Maggie dismissed the maid and studied her reflection with clinical detachment. She wore a striking coral pink gown that guaranteed that she would be noticed. Gold chains wound around her neck, and her shining hair was twisted into an elaborate knot high on her head.
Thinking that she looked too formal, she loosened a single ringlet. It drifted delicately across the bare skin of one shoulder in a subtle invitation for a man to wonder what it would be like for his lips to trace the same path.
She gave a nod of satisfaction; she had found the perfect balance between lady and trollop.
It wasn't yet eight o'clock, which gave her time to think about Rafe. It was important to understand her feelings before they began their charade, because she found that her emotions fluctuated wildly when she was near him. She kept swinging from exasperation to anger to amusement, and that was dangerous. The project they were undertaking was too important to be endangered by personal issues.
She must not make the mistake of allowing any more kisses. Above all, she must not challenge him, or he would feel compelled to prove his virility. It would be safer to tease a tiger.
Granted, Rafe had acted very badly when he ended their engagement, but she had not been without blame in the affair. He had made amends for that particular sin when he had taken the bodies back to England. It was an odd, generous gesture to make on behalf of a woman he had once claimed to despise. But whatever his motives had been, he had balanced the scales between them.
She would try to pretend they had met just two days before. She would accept him as an attractive, enigmatic man who shared her goal of uncovering a dangerous plot: no more, no less. A pity he was so handsome, because that complicated matters. He was used to getting what he wanted, and he obviously wanted her. Partly, she supposed, it was simply because she was there, and partly because he had not had her all those years ago.
Men were like fishermen; they never forgot the one that got away.
Over the years, she had become very familiar with Rafe's type. A complete lack of response would intrigue him since he was accustomed to women falling into his arms. Therefore, her best approach would be friendliness, tempered with a wistful regret that business prevented her from getting on closer terms with him. That should flatter him enough to salve his ego.
Her reflection looked back at her, cool, glamorous, and self-possessed. That image was her armor in the covert wars she had fought, and it was very effective. Though the features were identical, it was not the face of Margot Ashton, daughter of Colonel Gerald Ashton and fiancee to Rafael Whitbourne.
Maggie felt a wave of sadness. Where had she gone, that impetuous girl who had been so disastrously honest, and who had been so unable to control her temper when it mattered most? Gone to where all youth and innocence went.
Luckily Inge chose that moment to announce that the duke had arrived. Maggie lifted her chin and turned away from her mirror. After living so long among the French, she was developing their deplorable habit of morose philosophizing. Thank God she had been born an Englishwoman, with all the pragmatism of her race.
Looking ridiculously handsome, the duke wore his impeccably tailored black evening clothes with the same graceful unconcern that he would have bestowed on his oldest riding garments. If he was impressed by Maggie's flamboyant appearance, it showed only in the faint lift of a dark brow. As he offered his arm, he murmured, "Is this the same urchin who scrambled out of my bedroom window last night?"
Maggie relaxed as she took his arm. As long as Rafe behaved, it shouldn't be hard to stay on amiable terms with him. "You have urchins in your bedroom, your grace? Of which sex?"
As they stepped out through the door, a hint of a smile played around his mouth. "It was hard to say. Alas, I didn't have the opportunity to investigate more carefully."