"What!" Varenne's gaze snapped back to his intended victim. "Is that true?"
"Yes," Anderson admitted. "Does it make a difference?"
For a long, tense moment Varenne weighed the potential benefits against the risks. Then he uncocked the pistol and thrust it back under his coat. "Yes, it does. Though if you're lying, I can always eliminate you later."
"It's the truth," Rafe said tersely. "I went to school with his older brother."
Varenne nodded absently, his mind already on other matters, then left with his gunmen. Rafe felt a shudder of distaste as he wondered how many of the brute's other chores were going to be casual, efficient murder. Probably he had put the two men in the same cell so that Rafe would be properly intimidated by witnessing Anderson's execution. It would have been a very effective demonstration.
As the sound of steps disappeared from the anteroom, the blond man let out an explosive breath and slumped back against the stone wall, his eyes closed from reaction. After several moments, he opened his eyes and said with commendable calm, "I thought my sins had caught up with me that time. I owe you a considerable debt, Candover. How long have you known who I was? For that matter, how did you recognize me? My brother and I don't look much alike."
"I wasn't certain-it was an educated guess that struck me when Varenne cocked the hammer of his pistol." Feeling a little weak-kneed himself, Rafe folded down into the straw. "Your expression reminded me of how your brother Giles looked after his wife died. Even if I was wrong about your identity, it was obviously worth a try."
"I'm glad your mind worked faster than mine did," Anderson, or rather Andreville, said fervently. "It never occurred to me that my connections would make any difference."
"I had the advantage of knowing that Varenne was interested in holding me for ransom if his other plans fell through. He also agreed to let me ransom Margot." Rafe studied the other man's face. Now that the relationship had been confirmed, it was easier to see subtle traces of family resemblance. "I know Giles from Eton, where he was a couple of years ahead of me. Though he doesn't come to London often, when he does we always try to get together for an evening. Occasionally he has mentioned his scapegrace younger brother Robin."
"That must make for lively dinner conversation," Andreville said dryly.
Rafe grinned. "To say the least. Did you really manage to get expelled from Eton your very first day?"
Andreville gave a rueful smile. "It's true. I wanted to go to Winchester, but my father insisted that I follow in the footsteps of countless Andrevilles to Eton. It was a busy year. The old boy didn't want to be defeated by an eight-year-old child, so I had to get myself expelled from three public schools before he let me go where I wanted."
"What made you so set on Winchester?"
"I had a friend going there, and my father was against it. Either reason would have sufficed," he said wryly. "Though you were stretching a point by assuming my brother would be willing to ransom me. Given my checkered past, he might be relieved if I vanished without a trace before I can embarrass the family any further."
"Giles would never do that." Rafe thought for a moment. "Even if he had trouble meeting a ransom demand, I thought that you had inherited considerable property from someone else."
Andreville nodded. "My great-uncle. The Andrevilles produce a black sheep every generation or so. Uncle Rawson was the last one before me, so of course we got along splendidly. But if I were a common, garden variety spy, I would be in no position to ransom myself- this is not a lucrative profession."
Rafe shrugged. "The Candover estate could have stretched to another twenty or thirty thousand pounds if necessary."
Andreville looked at him with surprise. "You would have done that for someone you hardly know, and don't much like?"
Uncomfortable that his companion had picked up that concealed resentment, Rafe said shortly, "Margot wouldn't like it if you were killed. It would have been convenient if you'd gone to Eton or Oxford, though. If you had, I'd have known you already, and been spared considerable confusion."
Andreville looked scandalized. "Attend those hellholes when I could be experiencing the joys of Winchester and Cambridge?"
Rafe laughed. "I assume that you work for Lord Strathmore. How did you come to know him?"
"There is some vague family connection between the Andrevilles and the Fairchilds. Lucien and I always got on well, but since we went to different schools, we seldom saw each other," Andreville replied. "I heard.about the famous Fallen Angels, of course. In fact, I once met Lord Michael Kenyon when he was serving on the Peninsula, though he didn't know me by my real name. But that's another story."
He pushed himself to a sitting position. "I'd finished my first year at Cambridge when the Treaty of Amiens went into effect, so I decided to take a year off and do the Grand Tour. As I traveled through France, it became obvious that it was only a matter of time until war broke out again. When I came across some information that I thought might interest the British government, I sent it to Lucien, because I knew that he had taken a position in Whitehall.
"Lucien immediately came to Paris to tell me that he was working in intelligence and to ask me if I would be willing to stay on the continent as a British agent." Andreville shrugged. "Being young and stupid, I thought it sounded like quite an adventure, so here I am."
Thinking out loud, Rafe said, "Why the devil didn't Lucien tell me about you before I came to Paris?"
"In this business, it becomes second nature never to say more than is absolutely necessary. Lucien sent you over to work with Maggie-there was no need for you to know that I was also an agent."
Rafe digested that for a bit. "Yet Lucien didn't know Margot well enough to be sure that she was English."
"That's because he knew her through me, and I said only that she was English-there was no need for him to know her real name and background."
Rafe made a face. "I can't help thinking that matters would have been greatly simplified if there had been less secretiveness."
"In this case, that's true." Andreville's expression darkened. "But there are times when men have died because their names were tortured out of imprisoned colleagues."
Deciding that it was time to return to the subject closest to his heart, Rafe said, "You were going to tell me about Margot's life in the years since you met her."
"If you're really sure you want to know. It's a hard story to hear."
"If it's difficult to listen to, it must have been a damned sight worse for Margot to live through," Rafe said grimly. "I want to know it all."
"As you wish." Restively Andreville pushed himself to his feet and went to lean against the wall under the window. "I believe you know how Maggie and her father and his servant were assaulted by a gang of former soldiers who were heading to Paris?"
"Yes, it was quite a scandal in England. However, no details were known, which is why Margot was thought to have died."
His voice flat, Andreville said, "Maggie and her father and Willis were eating in a country auberge when a half dozen or so ex-soldiers arrived, already drunk and bullying everyone in sight. Colonel Ashton tried to get his party away quietly, but someone recognized his accent as English, they were accused of being spies, and the soldiers attacked them.
"Ashton and his man fought, of course, but they never had a chance against so many. At the end, the colonel threw himself across his daughter to protect her, hoping that her life might be spared." Andreville's fair skin drew tightly over the fine bones of his face. "Maggie's father died sprawled on top of her, Candover, bleeding from a dozen knife and bullet wounds."
"Dear God," Rafe whispered. Margot had adored her father. To see him die like that… The thought made him ill. Well, Andreville had warned him. Steeling himself for what he feared was coming, he asked, "What then?"