"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 habitue 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.
Chapter 7
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."
Maggie was silent as she tried to assimilate this new piece of information. Was this the same plot that she was pursuing, or a separate one? She felt as if she were trying to find a needle in a cellar at midnight. As they entered a new path between bright flowerbeds, she briefly outlined what little she knew of the conspiracy.
Helene's face became bleak as she listened. "It sounds very dangerous. With so many troops of all nations around, the slightest spark could set France into flames again."
"I know," Maggie said grimly. "But other such plots have failed. God willing, this one will too." Shifting the subject, she asked, "What do you know of Colonel von Fehrenbach?"
Helene's softly rounded face was shadowed under her lacy parasol and her voice gave no clue to her thoughts. Though the two women were friends, each had her secrets. "Not very much. We've met several times at social events. He is like many of the Prussian officers-angry, and determined to see France suffer."
"Forgive me if I seem to pry, Helene," Maggie said hesitantly. "But is there anything between you two?"
"He sees me and thinks of everything he hates," her friend said in a colorless voice. "Apart from that, there is nothing."
"Do you think he might be involved in this plot?"
"No, he is an uncomplicated man and would have no use for plots." With a wintry smile, Helene added, "Not unlike my late husband Etienne, going forward bravely, unperturbed by doubt or common sense. Do you have reason to suspect the colonel?"
"Not really. Von Fehrenbach is well placed to do mischief, but my assessment agrees with yours. Still, if you should see him again and observe anything suspicious, you will let me know?"
"Of course." Helene gestured at an unoccupied bench under a chestnut tree. "Shall we sit while you tell me about that magnificent Englishman you have attached?"
Maggie felt strangely unwilling to discuss Rafe. "He is rich, bored, and in Paris. For the moment he fancies me." She brushed a stray leaf from the wooden bench before sitting. "There is nothing else to tell."
Helene's dark eyes studied her skeptically. "If you say so."
It was time to change the subject again. Maggie asked, "Do you know anything about Cynthia Northwood? Her husband Oliver is a member of the British delegation."
Waving her flat reticule like a fan to stir the heavy air, Helene thought for a moment before replying. "She is one of life's heedless innocents. She is having an affair with a British officer, a Major Brewer of the Guards, and she doesn't care who knows it. Having met her husband, I can see why she has strayed, but she shows no discretion whatsoever. Why do you ask about her?"
"No reason, really, except that yesterday she was telling me a great many things one doesn't usually say to a complete stranger." Maggie frowned. "She's unpredictable, and because she is connected to the British delegation she might become involved in something she doesn't understand."
"You're right-Mrs. Northwood is just the sort to blurt out secrets unthinkingly. But if she and her husband are on bad terms, she would probably not have access to important information."
"True, but we can't afford to ignore any possibility. Can you find out something about her associates, besides her major?" After Helene's nod, Maggie continued, "Also, do you know anything about Count de Varenne?"