"No," Cynthia said, her wide brown eyes hardening, "now my marriage is nothing to me, and I have found kindness elsewhere."
Maggie sighed inwardly. It was one of the curses and blessings of her life that people felt compelled to tell her their innermost secrets. Even total strangers like this artless chit seemed to assume that she would offer good advice, or at least an understanding ear.
A talent for getting people to talk was an asset to a spy, but did she really want to hear about the Duke of Candover's amorous prowess from his former mistresses? In an effort to head off more confidences, she said, "I am Magda, Countess Janos, but perhaps you know that already."
"Oh, yes, everyone seems to know you. I've been admiring you since you came in. You have such presence. You and Rafe are the handsomest couple here. He seemed so absorbed in you, not like he is with most women."
How could one be insulted by such a naive tribute? Nonetheless, Maggie said severely, "Mrs. Northwood, don't you know how improper such remarks are?"
Cynthia flushed again. "My wretched tongue! My mother died when I was very small, and my father always encouraged me to speak my mind in the most unladylike manner. And… and my friend Major Brewer likes it, too. He says I'm not missish, like most women. Truly, I mean no insult," she said earnestly. "But I am very fond of Rafe, and he looked happy with you. I don't think he is happy very often."
Intrigued against her better judgment, Maggie said, "Surely Candover has everything a man could want: birth, wealth, intelligence, enough charm and address for three men. What makes you think he is not happy?"
"He always seems a little bored. Perfectly polite, but not really caring about what he does. Of course," she added sadly, "perhaps that was just how he was with me. I know he never thought I was interesting, I was nowhere near intelligent enough for him. He only got involved with me because he had nothing better to do at the time."
Maggie listened to Cynthia's speech with horrified fascination and a certain respect. Perhaps there was more to the girl than had been first apparent. "Mrs. Northwood, you really should not say such things to a stranger."
"No, I shouldn't. But I have been doing wrong things ever since I arrived in Paris, and I have every intention of getting worse before I get better." With a lift of her chin, she added, "Countess Janos, I am sincerely sorry if I have embarrassed you. I hope you will believe that I wish both you and the Duke of Candover well. I wish everyone well, except my husband."
Then she left, not without a certain dignity.
Maggie shook her head as she thought over the strange conversation. If ever she had seen a young woman headed for trouble, it was Cynthia Northwood.
Chapter 6
Rafe was quite capable of administering a setdown that would dismiss even so thick-skinned an oaf as Oliver Northwood, but he refrained. Northwood was obviously waiting in hopes of an introduction to Countess Janos, and Rafe had a perverse, unhealthy desire to see how Maggie would react when unexpectedly confronted with her first lover. Assuming that Northwood had been the first, as he had claimed.
With his advantage of height, Rafe could see Maggie making her way through the swirling crowd, pausing sometimes to greet acquaintances. It was all casual, until she stopped to talk with a fair-haired man in the center of the room.
Ordinarily Rafe would have thought nothing of it, but his perceptions had been heightened by his present mission. For a moment Maggie's social mask slipped and intense concentration showed on her face. Then she continued her progress.
The fair-haired man had his back to Rafe, but when Maggie moved away, he turned to gaze after her. With surprise, Rafe identified Robert Anderson, the British embassy underling who had introduced Rafe to the mysterious lady spy. Lucien had told Maggie not to deal with anyone in the delegation except the men at the top, so why had she been talking to Anderson with such earnestness?
Rafe wished he could remember who Anderson reminded him of. The fellow had struck Rafe as negligible on their first meeting, but when he had looked after Maggie, there had been an expression of shrewd capability on his face.
As a smiling Maggie came to his side, Rafe wondered if this foray into spying was making him overly fanciful. Soon he would be suspecting everyone and everything. No wonder Maggie had been prickly and suspicious in their first meetings. After years in the shadowy world of intelligence gathering, she must have forgotten what normal life was like.
Maggie laid one hand on Rafe's arm and raised her smoky eyes to his. "Are you ready to leave, mon cher?" Things are sadly flat here, and I can offer better amusement at home."
"Anywhere you wish to go, Magda, my love." Rafe covered her hand with his own. "But first, let me introduce you to an admirer. This is Oliver Northwood, of the British delegation. Northwood, Countess Janoes."
Maggie's control was admirable. Though Rafe watched her closely, her only visible reaction to Northwood was a faint tightening of her lips. Of course, she probably knew that he was in Paris and that they would meet sooner or later, so she had mentally prepared for this encounter.
Or had she had so many lovers that the first meant nothing? Very few of Rafe's old mistresses could have disconcerted him. Why should Maggie be any different?
Why indeed, except that he wanted her to be different?
Northwood bowed and said ingratiatingly, "It's a great pleasure to meet you, Countess. I have indeed been admiring you from afar."
Maggie acknowledged his words with a cool nod. It had taken her several moments to recognize him. As a young man he had not been without a certain boisterous charm, but the years had coarsened him. Or rather, his actions over time had indelibly shaped his face. His eyes reminded her of slugs-cold, damp, and slimy. She did not offer her hand.
He must be Cynthia Northwood's husband. Poor Cynthia. She would have been too young and innocent to realize the kind of man she was marrying.
Northwood said with heavy gallantry, "Our little northern island is incapable of producing beauties such as you."
From the twitch of Rafe's lips, Maggie gathered that he was amused by the wrongheadedness of Northwood's compliment. Smiling sweetly, she said, "You are too hard on your countrywomen, Mr. Northwood. I have just met one who is the fairest of English roses. Such a lovely complexion, and such a forthright manner!" Drawing her brows together, she added, "But surely she said her name was Northwood, Cynthia Northwood?"
His expression soured. "My wife is held to be a good-looking female."
"You are too modest on her behalf, monsieur." Smiling brilliantly, she continued, "It's been a pleasure to meet you. I trust our paths will cross again. But now we must be leaving."
Deftly she removed Rafe and herself from the reception.
When they were safely alone in his carriage, Rafe said with sardonic admiration, "It's an education to watch you work, whether you're coaxing a man to talk, or depressing his aspirations."
"Mr. Northwood is a common type. Unfortunately." She carefully peeled off her long gloves. "His wife offered her felicitations on my choice of lovers."
Rafe sighed inwardly. Though he had always rather enjoyed Cynthia's forthrightness, he wished she had held her tongue this time. "I'm sure she meant well."
By this time thoroughly tired of the Northwoods, he asked, "What does your intuition tell you about Colonel von Fehrenbach?"
In the brief flare of a streetlamp, he saw a grave expression on Maggie's face. "It should be obvious why we consider him a major suspect. What were your impressions?"
"He certainly hates the French enough to be dangerous, and with his military background he would be a skilled, formidable adversary. And yet"-Rafe paused, trying to define his perceptions-"he makes no attempt to disguise his feelings. Surely a conspirator would be more circumspect?"