The general's dark eyes held hers. "You were right to say that he is the greatest man of our age. In his younger years, to be around him was to feel… to feel as if a strong wind was blowing. The emperor had more force and vitality than any man I have ever seen, more strength and more vision. We will never see his equal again."
"Thank God," she said, unable to repress her bitterness.
Leaning forward, he said intensely, "After the Revolution, the hands of every nation in Europe were raised against us. France should have been destroyed, but we weren't. Bonaparte gave us back our power and pride. We were everywhere victorious."
"And in his later years, your emperor lost whole armies. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers, countless civilians, died for France's glory. He once said that the lives of a million men were nothing to him," Maggie retorted. "When Bonaparte came back from Elba, were you one of those who forgot his vows to Louis and followed your emperor?"
After a long silence, the general said quietly, "I was."
She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she must be controlled. "Do you think it was right to rally to him?"
He surprised her by saying, "No, I can't say that it was right, but that didn't matter. Napoleon was my emperor, and I would have followed him to hell itself."
"Then you got your wish. They say that Waterloo was a close approximation of hell."
"The emperor was not the man he once was, and fifty thousand soldiers paid the price. Perhaps I should have been one of them, but God had other plans for me." Roussaye's expression eased. "Though it is a salvation I do not deserve, I have learned that there is life beyond war."
An odd, mystical statement for a warrior. Maggie was saved from further comment when two people entered the room. Glancing up, she saw Rafe accompanied by a tiny, exquisite woman with raven black hair and the swelling figure of midpregnancy. Roussaye rose, a smile transforming his serious expression.
Rafe said, "Magda, my love, permit me to introduce you to Madame Roussaye. She has been showing me our host's paintings. We are cousins of some sort, for she is from Florence and her family is connected to that of my Italian grandmother."
The raven-haired woman greeted Maggie warmly. Judging by the way the Roussayes looked at each other, it was easy to guess that his wife was the salvation he had referred to; the bond between them was almost tangible. Was the general an ardent enough Bonapartist to risk his personal happiness in a treacherous plot?
Unfortunately, Maggie feared that he was.
The intensity of the earlier discussion disappeared in a general conversation. All four of them shared a serious interest in art, and before the couples parted they made an engagement to visit the Louvre together three days hence.
Back in the main ballroom, a waltz was playing. Rafe swept Maggie into it without asking her permission. As they whirled across the floor, she decided ruefully that conservative opinion was right. Even though he held her at a perfectly proper distance, the waltz was still altogether too erotic to be decent. With her awareness of him heightened by their encounter earlier in the evening, it was all too easy to notice how much the closeness and rhythms of the dance were like making love.
It was not entirely a relief to discover that his purpose was strictly business. He asked, "What is your judgment of General Roussaye?"
She hesitated for three complete circles before saying, "He is devoted to France and the emperor, and I think he is quite capable of participating in a plot to restore Bonaparte to the throne. He has the best motive of all our suspects, coupled with the intelligence and conviction to achieve his ends."
"But you have reservations," Rafe said, reading the undercurrents of her speech.
Maggie sighed. "Only that I liked the man. Starting with very little, he has achieved his rank on pure merit. Beyond his military skills, he has taste and sensitivity. I wish that Varenne was our villain, but Roussaye is. more likely."
"If so, my newfound cousin may be a widow in short order," Rafe said, his eyes grave. "Since Roussaye has already broken his oath to Louis once, the slightest hint of evidence that he is involved in a plot will put him in a cell next to Marshal Ney, waiting for execution."
"Men are such fools!" Maggie said with exasperation. "He has a beautiful wife who adores him, he has earned enough legitimate wealth to live a comfortable life, yet he would throw that all away."
"I liked him, too. Are you sure that he is our man?"
She shook her head regretfully, her eyes unfocused. "I can't be sure, but I sense that all is not aboveboard with the general. Perhaps he isn't involved in our particular plot-but I fear that he is."
At times like this, she hated being a spy. If she was wrong, she might contribute to the ruin of an innocent man. All the important Bonapartists were on dangerously thin ice, and a hint of suspicion could ruin a man, perhaps even send him to the firing squad.
Grimly she reminded herself that the stakes were higher than one person's life; the successful assassination of an Allied leader could hurl Europe into another war. "We should pass our speculations on as soon as possible. Lord Strathmore may know something that will corroborate them."
"I'll send a courier to Lucien tonight, but I think the time has come to talk to Lord Castlereagh."
Used to working indirectly, Maggie was momentarily startled. However, the foreign minister knew of her work and had reason to trust her speculations. If she and Rafe talked to him in person, they might be able to impress on him the seriousness of the situation. "We would have to meet with him in a way that would not arouse comment."
"Easily done," Rafe replied. "Lord and Lady Castlereagh often entertain distinguished British visitors, which, in all modesty, I can claim to be. As my companion, a woman already known to them, you would be equally welcome. I will contact him and ask that a private breakfast or lunch be arranged."
"You'd better make it as soon as possible," she said darkly. "I feel in my bones that something will happen soon."
The music stopped and they moved toward the edge of the ballroom. She was about to suggest they leave when the orchestra struck up another waltz and Robin approached them. He greeted Rafe amiably, then bowed before Maggie.
"Countess Janos, would you honor me with this dance?"
In spite of the steely glint in Rafe's eyes, it never occurred to Maggie to refuse. Publicly she and Robin were only the most casual of acquaintances, and he would not ask her to dance if there wasn't something he needed to discuss with her. She smiled and extended one hand. "It would be my pleasure, Mr. Anderson."
She blew a kiss to Rafe as Robin took her in his arms and carried her away in the rapid turns of the waltz.
For all the years they had known each other, and as intimate as they had been, they had never waltzed together. She was not surprised to discover that he was an excellent dancer, nor that they knew each other so well that there was no need to concentrate on footwork. A carefree smile on her face, she asked, "Is something wrong, Robin?"
"I heard something that I wanted to pass on in the hope that you might be able to make something of it." His grave blue eyes contrasted with his frivolous mien. "One of my underworld informants has given me a name to put behind the conspiracy. Not a real name, unfortunately, but it's a start. The man is called Le Serpent."
"Le Serpent?" Her brow wrinkled in concentration. "It's unfamiliar to me."
"And to me. There is no one in the Parisian underworld by that name. My informant couldn't even say if the man is French or a foreigner. Apparently Le Serpent has been recruiting criminals to carry out a plot against some of the Allied leaders."