"Even though your conclusions were wrong, you do have talent for this work." Andreville observed. "In retrospect, it would have been better if you'd known about me from the beginning, but as I said, secrecy becomes a habit. You know why I was communicating with Roussaye. As for Lemercier, I was trying to find out what he was up to, since I was sure that he was involved with the conspiracy."
"What about the money? It was the strongest evidence against you."
"Maggie didn't know how much Whitehall paid for information, so she accepted whatever I gave her without questioning," Andreville explained. "I never told her that most of the money came from me because she might have gotten all prickly and independent if she knew that I was supporting the household, even though it was my home, too. Also, since she wouldn't marry me, I wanted to insure that she had enough to live on comfortably if my luck ran out."
"You could have made her your heir even though you weren't married."
"I did, actually, but there was a good chance that I might simply disappear, with no one knowing how or when I died. In that case, my estate could have been tied up indefinitely. And of course my English executor would never have been able to communicate with Maggie while the war was on." He gave Rafe a curious glance. "Did you ever mention your suspicions of me to Maggie?"
When Rafe nodded, Andreville asked, "How did she react when you tried to convince her that I was a traitor? She knows almost nothing about my background, and there was strong circumstantial evidence against me."
Rafe said ruefully, "She flatly refused to believe it, and threw me out of her house at gunpoint. And if you are thinking of pointing out that she could teach me a few lessons in loyalty, don't bother-I already know." He ran his fingers distractedly through his hair. "Thank you for telling me so much. I needed to know."
Rafe settled down on the straw and tried again to master the grief, guilt, and anger that threatened to overwhelm him. Now that he understood the strength of the bond between Andreville and Margot, he realized that he had never had a chance of winning her.
It was amazing-and humiliating-to remember how he had arrogantly assumed that he could use seduction to bend her to his will. The only reason she had turned to him for a night was because of the horrific memories aroused by the mob in the Place de Carrousel. Now that he thought about it, the unusually passionate embrace in the carriage after the theater riot must have had the same cause.
He had wreaked havoc in her life, and he could think of only one small thing that he could do to atone: make damned sure that Andreville never learned of the night Margot had spent in Rafe's bed. Even the most tolerant of men would not be happy to learn that his mistress had lain with another man, and Rafe did not want to be a source of discord between Margot and the man of her choice. He had already hurt her too much.
Though the restraint had half killed him at the time, he was profoundly glad that he had done what he could to prevent her from conceiving. Now that the wars were over she might want to start a family, but a black-haired baby would have been hard for her to explain to Andreville.
Rafe closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the wall. It was bitterly ironic that in helping Margot forget, he had found a magic and a memory that would always torment him. If she had ever wanted vengeance, she had achieved it. Wearily he said, "If we all get out of his alive, are you going to marry her, Lord Robert?"
After a long pause, Andreville said, "I certainly intend to ask her again. Incidentally, I'd rather you didn't call me Lord Robert. That name belongs to another life, just as the woman who is Margot to you will always be Maggie to me."
"What do you prefer to be called?"
"My friends call me Robin."
Were they friends, then? Rafe wasn't quite sure, but there was certainly a bond between them composed of respect, shared danger, and love for the same incomparable woman.
"I'm usually called Rafe." He smiled a little. "The actual name is Rafael, but as Margot said when I met her, naming me after an archangel was singularly inappropriate."
His cellmate laughed, and the silence that followed was a comfortable one.
Chapter 22
"The Count de Varenne will want to see me," Oliver North wood assured the decrepit Chanteuil butler.
The servant looked doubtful, but turned and hobbled into the depths of the castle. Not wanting to give the count time for too much thought, Northwood quietly followed. When the butler entered the library to inform his master of the visitor, the Englishman stepped inside also.
The count was seated at a desk covered with stacks of papers full of figures. He narrowed his eyes at Northwood's entrance. "Do we know each other, monsieur?"
"Of course we do, Comte le Serpent. Or shouldn't I call you that in front of your servants?" Northwood said boldly. He intended to be accepted as a valuable associate, not the lowly pair of hired hands that he had been in the past.
The coldness of Varenne's dark gaze confirmed his identity. Yet after a moment, he gave a slow smile and dismissed the butler. "No need to worry about the servants. Every man on the estate, from the cook to my little army, is personally loyal to me, and all look forward to a better day for France." He waved toward a chair. "Pray take a seat, monsieur. I see that I underestimated you. How did you discover my identity?"
"Your signet ring. I traced the crest." Deciding that he should put his insurance policy into effect,Northwood added, "Incidentally, a sealed envelope with what I know is with someone who will take it to the authorities if I should disappear."
"There is no such need for such precautions, just as there will be no need for secrecy soon." His gaze sharpened. "You have done as we had discussed at your embassy, I assume?"
"Everything went according to plan. In about four hours, half the diplomats in Paris will be only a memory."
"You've done well, mon petit Anglais, very well." He glanced at his watch. "I regret that I have no time to socialize, but this is a most busy day. My soldiers must be prepared for whatever comes, I am considering matters that must be attended to after the explosion… a thousand things." He tucked the watch away. "Have you come for your bonus?"
"Partly that, partly to make sure that I am not forgotten in your rise to power." Northwood relaxed. Though there had been a menacing flash in Varenne's eyes when Northwood had first arrived, this affable aristocrat was turning out to be much less threatening than the masked Le Serpent had been.
"I promise that you will not be forgotten." The count smiled smoothly. "But as I said, I am very busy just now. Perhaps you would like to spend the next few hours amusing yourself with Countess Janos?"
Northwood ran an eager tongue over his lower lip. "I was hoping you had her. I can see her now?"
"If you wish. As I said, you have done well, so it is right that you enjoy a reward for your labors. Follow me."
Varenne led his guest up the stairs and along a dusty corridor to a door with worn gilding. He pulled a key from an inside pocket and handed it to Northwood. "Be sure to keep the door locked. She's a tricksome wench, and I don't want her loose in the castle."
Northwood's fingers tightened greedily on the key. He had waited a long time for this. "I'll keep her too busy to cause trouble."
"Enjoy yourself, but don't damage her too badly, Monsieur Northwood. I want to try her myself when I'm not so busy."
Nodding in acknowledgment, Northwood put the key in the lock and turned it.
It had been maddening to wait two hours at Madame Daudet's for the old lady to wake up, but the maid had been adamant about not disturbing her mistress. Helene had scarcely been able to contain her impatience. Apart from finding the book that contained the three-headed serpent crest of the d'Aguste family, she had nothing to do but worry. A pity that they hadn't asked about the crest earlier, but at the time, it had merely been one of many possibilities.