Rafe had to think back to remember. "At the beginning, there was some thought that the Ultra-Royalists might want to assassinate the king so that the Count d'Artois could succeed him. Once it became clear that the attack was aimed at the British leaders, we eliminated Varenne from our list"
Roussaye nodded. "I had never met him before our encounter at the Louvre, so I made a few inquiries. Varenne was heavily involved in royalist intelligence work during his exile, but his activities are now legitimate. Pray continue."
When Rafe was finished, the general pondered while the air became blue-gray with smoke. Eventually he said, "I am familiar with most of those men, and of them all, Lemercier was the most likely to be involved in a conspiracy. However, he wasn't intelligent or ambitious enough to be the mastermind. We need to know who he was working for."
After more thought, he said, "I might be able to discover that. If we know the identity of Lemercier's employer, you may have your Serpent. I'll begin inquiries this afternoon and notify you if I learn anything significant. What will you do-ask Wellington for men to search for the countess?"
"No, without some idea of where to look, we could set all of the Allied troops in France searching and not find her. Still, you have given me an idea. If Varenne was involved in royalist information gathering, he might still have some sources. Perhaps I can convince him to help me, for the countess's sake. He seemed to admire her."
"What man wouldn't?" Roussaye said with his first smile since the duke had made his accusations. Then seriousness returned, and his fingers tightened on his cigar stub. "Will you tell the royalist government about my interest in freeing prisoners?"
"I will not turn in a man for being loyal to his friends," Rafe said as he got to his feet. "But have a care, General, your wife deserves your loyalty, too."
"I know." Roussaye was silent for a long moment. "When you told me I was under arrest, I had a vision of my wife a widow, my unborn child an orphan. I will not subject them to that. Besides," he added with self-mockery, "I would be a liar if I did not admit that life is sweet to me, now more than ever."
Rafe offered his hand. "There is nothing wrong with enjoying life. God knows there is enough misery in the world."
After shaking hands, he left, wondering what on God's earth he could do next.
Chapter 19
Consciousness returned slowly to Maggie, accompanied by a feeling of nausea that she guessed was caused by the drug they had given her. She was lying on a bed, but her vision was so blurred and the light level so low that she saw only vague shapes when she opened her eyes. From the silence, she guessed that she was alone, so she lifted her right hand in a gingerly exploration of her surroundings.
The side of her hand brushed a round, hairy object, and a bolt to sheer panic blazed through her. She jerked upright, even as her mind said that the shape and texture were wrong for a man's head.
She turned to the right, which triggered more vertigo, and blinked her eyes clear. Then she blinked again as two reflective gold circles materialized in the blackness. As she teetered on the verge of hysteria, the gold circles were joined by a yawning pink mouth with small, gleaming fangs.
The relief was so great that she almost laughed. She was not sharing a bed with a rapist, but a cat. Curled in a ball on her pillow, it was very large, very shaggy, and very black, with the pushed-in face of a true Persian. The silly creature must have slipped in when Maggie was deposited here.
Cautiously pushing herself upright, she croaked, "If you're Varenne's cat, you keep low company, Rex. Or are you imprisoned for spying, too?"
She scratched the silky black head, and was rewarded with a purr so vibrant that she felt it through the mattress. "By the way, your name is Rex, isn't it?"
Since the cat didn't disagree, she considered the matter settled. Swinging her legs over the edge, she cautiously stood and took inventory. Aside from light-headedness and a dry mouth, she felt reasonably well. Though her green muslin dress was rumpled, she hadn't been ravished while she was unconscious, and that had been her greatest fear.
Holding the corner post of the bed for support, she surveyed the sparsely furnished bedchamber. Once, a very long time ago, it must have been attractive, but now the wallcoverings were dingy and the gold bedhangings threadbare.
The darkness was caused by equally shabby draperies that had been drawn across the window, so she crossed the room and pulled them apart. Blessed, blessed sunshine poured in, completing the job of clearing her mind. From the position of the sun, she guessed it was early afternoon, so she had been unconscious for two or three hours.
The window overlooked a sheer, two-hundred-foot drop to a river, and looking down brought back her vertigo. There would be no escape that way. Apparently Varenne had brought her to Chanteuil, his estate on the Seine.
Maggie spent some time exploring her surroundings. As expected, the heavy door was locked, and there was nothing in the room that could be used as a weapon. With a sigh, she settled on the bed again.
Rex immediately flopped across her lap, his furry weight threatening to cut off her circulation as he purred thunderously. She scratched his head, thinking that it was foolish to take comfort from the cat's presence. Nonetheless, she did. She had always liked cats, and Rex was a splendid example of his kind.
Leaning back against the headboard, she. evaluated the situation. Though his motives were obscure, obviously Varenne was Le Serpent. She cursed herself for letting logic overrule instinct. Varenne's lack of apparent motive was less important than her distrust of the man, and she should have been more suspicious of him.
Still, there was one silver lining; if Varenne had kidnapped her, he might have done the same to Robin. In fact, Robin might be under this same roof, alive and not a traitor. The possibility made her feel better.
Since she and Rafe had been engaged to visit Roussaye, her absence would already have been discovered. However, that would do her no good since it was unlikely that Varenne would be suspected of kidnapping her. She had better prepare herself for a long stay.
The only excitement that occurred in the next hour was when Rex jerked his head up, then hurled himself across the room with a speed surprising in a creature so somnolent. A squeal, sharply cut off, made it clear that he had caught lunch. Maggie shuddered as he settled down with the limp little body and proceeded to eat. While she couldn't blame the cat for being a predator, she identified more with the mouse.
The rays of the sun had shifted to midafternoon when a grating in the lock announced the appearance of Count de Varenne. He was accompanied by a ruffian carrying a shotgun and an elderly manservant who placed a tray of covered dishes on the single table, then left the room.
At least they weren't planning to starve her, she thought wryly. In another few hours Rex's mouse might have started to look good. At the count's entrance, Rex himself immediately jumped to the floor and slithered under the bed, thereby proving that he had good sense.
While the guard trained his shotgun on Maggie, Varenne stopped a dozen feet away. His half-open eyes had a reptilian look; perhaps that was the origin of his nickname. "I hope you won't feel offended if I keep my distance, Miss Ashton," he said, as polite as if they were meeting for tea. "You see what respect I have for you."
Maggie arched her brows. "I can't imagine why-I certainly haven't shown any great brilliance on this case. I don't even understand why you are behind this particular plot."
"The usual reasons, Miss Ashton: power and wealth." His chilly gaze went over her. "I must confess that you had me convinced that you were only a Hungarian doxy looking for a rich protector. It was a surprise to discover who and what you are."