Petals in the Storm

Chapter 4

Even before her eyes opened the next morning, Maggie remembered her encounter with Rafe Whitbourne, and shuddered. Impossible man! Usually she admired calm English control, but the same trait infuriated her in Rafe. Whatever warmth and spontaneity he had had as a young man had obviously dissipated over time.

She lay still in bed, listening to the sounds of early morning-the creak of a cart, occasional footsteps, the cry of a distant rooster. Ordinarily she rose at this hour, had a cup of coffee and a hot croissant, and went for a ride out at Longchamps. This morning she simply groaned and pulled the covers over her head, burrowing farther into the feather mattress as she planned a busy day of spying.

Half an hour later, Maggie rang her maid Inge for breakfast. As she sipped strong French coffee, she jotted down the names of the informants she wished to contact first.

While it was popularly supposed that a female spy gathered information on her back, Maggie scorned that method as too limited, tiring, and indiscriminant. Her technique was different, and as far as she knew, unique: she had formed the world's first female spy network.

Men with secrets might be cautious with other men, but were often amazingly casual in front of women. Maids, washerwomen, prostitutes, and other humble females were often in a position to learn what was going on, and Maggie had a talent for persuading them to confide in her.

Europe was full of women who had lost fathers, husbands, sons, and lovers in Bonaparte's wars. Many were glad to pass on information that might contribute to peace. Some wanted revenge as much as Maggie did; others were impoverished and desperately needed money. Together, they made up what Robin called Maggie's Militia.

Vital documents could be put together from scraps in trash baskets, important papers were sometimes left in the pockets of clothes sent for washing, men bragged of their deeds to their conquests. Maggie cultivated the women who had access to such data, listening to their joys and sorrows, sometimes giving them money to feed their children even when they had no information to sell.

In return, they gave her loyalty beyond anything that could be purchased. None had ever betrayed her, and many had become friends.

Since losing her father, Maggie had spent the largest part of her time in Paris, disguised as a humble widow with drab clothing and a mob cap over her bright hair. When the Congress of Vienna was called, she had resumed her natural appearance and gone to Vienna as the Countess Janos, where she had moved among the diplomats at their own social level.

When Napoleon had escaped from Elba and reclaimed his crown, she had immediately returned to her post in Paris so she could send information to London. After Waterloo, most of the diplomats and hangers-on from the Congress had convened again in Paris, so she had resurrected the countess and rented a house worthy of her rank. But she was getting very tired of being someone other than herself.

Over the years Robert Anderson had played many parts. He had helped her become established in her covert career, and had channeled the money that enabled her to live comfortably and pay her informants. He had also created her lines of communication, not easy when Napoleon's Continental System had closed almost all European ports to the British. At various times information had been sent through Spain, Sweden, Denmark, even Constantinople.

Of necessity, Robin had traveled extensively. Maggie guessed that sometimes he carried vital messages to England himself, crossing the Channel secretly with smugglers. He spent about a third of his time with Maggie, with months passing between visits. His work was far more dangerous than hers, and she was always relieved when he reappeared, jaunty and intact.

For most of those years they had been lovers. Even in the beginning, when she had been in desperate need of his kindness, she had known that what she felt for him was friendship and gratitude, not romantic love. Yet she had drifted along, enjoying the warmth and physical satisfaction they found together. He was her best friend, the man she trusted most in the world, the brother she had never had.

Then one day, three years before, she had woken up with a powerful conviction that friendship was not enough, and that the time had come to end their intimacy. She owed Robin so much, and cared for him so deeply, that it had been wretchedly difficult to say that she no longer wanted to share his bed.

But he had always been the most considerate of lovers, and he had made it easy for her. After she had made her halting statement, he had gone very still for a moment. Then he said calmly that of course he didn't want her to do anything that made her uncomfortable.

They were still friends, they had continued to work together, and he had still lived with her when he was in Paris. The only difference was that he had a separate room.

The fact that Robin had accepted the change in their relationship with such good grace confirmed that he also viewed her more as a friend than as a life's partner. Though he had offered to marry her shortly after he had saved her life, she knew that he had been relieved when she had turned him down.

Still, though she never doubted that she had done the right thing, her bed had been cold and lonely. No doubt that was why Rafe looked so blasted attractive… Hastily she changed the direction of her thoughts.

Robin had recently emerged from the murkier pools of spying to join the British embassy as a clerk. Maggie assumed that his identity was known to Lord Castlereagh, but the rest of the mission probably thought he was merely an agreeable rattle of no particular ability.

She was glad that he was nearby, and not only because she enjoyed his company. Given the possible threat to the peace negotiations, his remarkable talents were needed.

After deciding on her plan of action, Maggie donned her inconspicuous widow costume and set off to visit her most useful informants. If her women knew what to look for, they should be able to add to Maggie's sketchy knowledge. And if she was lucky, her friend Helene Sorel would soon be back in Paris and able to assist in the task.

Over pot-au-feu, a long baguette of bread, and a jug of wine, Maggie and Robin discussed what they had learned in the last twenty-four hours. Splitting the last of the wine between them, she said, "We're agreed then?"

"Yes, the three men we have decided on are the most likely masterminds, though we'll have to watch half a dozen more." Robin ran a tired hand through his fair hair. "Even then, we may not have the right man."

"Well, it's the best we can do. I suppose we could warn the guards around the most important persons, but there have been so many other plots that everyone is already cautious."

"True." Robin studied Maggie's face. There were shadows under the changeable gray-green eyes, as if she had slept badly. "I have an idea you're not going to like."

Maggie's mouth quirked up. "I have disliked the majority of your ingenious ideas over the years, so don't let that stop you."

Refusing to respond to her teasing, he said, "I think that you and Candover should pretend you are lovers."

"What!" Maggie banged her glass down so hard the wine sloshed out. "Why the devil should I do a mad thing like that?"

"Hear me out, Maggie. Our suspects are all senior officials who divide their time between fighting over the treaty and attending salons and balls with the rest of the diplomatic corps. The best way to approach them is by going to the same places."

"Can't you do that?"

"I'm not important enough. A junior clerk would be out of place at the more exclusive functions."

"Why can't I go by myself?"

Robin said patiently, "Maggie, you're being unreasonable. It was bad enough going to that Austrian ball alone-if you do it again, it will be assumed that you are looking for a lover. You'll spend all your time fighting off men who are interested in you for nonpolitical reasons."

"I have had ample experience dealing with that!"

Ignoring her interjection, he continued, "Candover is a perfect escort. He's important enough to be invited everywhere, yet he has no official government position. And, of course, he's a friend of Strathmore's and here to help us investigate this conspiracy. If you and he go about together, you can go anywhere and talk to anyone without rousing suspicion."

Fighting a valiant rearguard action, Maggie said, "Do you think it's really necessary for me to do this, Robin?"

"Your intuition is the best weapon we've got." He caught her eye, trying to impress his opinion on her. "Time and again you have felt there was something wrong about a person we had no reason to suspect, and have been proved right. In the absence of hard evidence we are going to need every advantage we have, which means you must get well enough acquainted with our suspects to develop an opinion, and perhaps pick up some clues. But you can't do that unless you get close to them."

"You're right," she said reluctantly. "If I knew them well, they wouldn't be on our list because I would already have an excellent notion of their innocence or guilt. But I don't know if I can make convincing cow-eyes at Candover. I'm more likely to throw a glass of wine in his arrogant face."

Robin relaxed, knowing he had won his point. "I'm sure that someone with your magnificent acting skills can do a good job of draping yourself over the duke. In fact, I should think most women would envy you the job."

Ignoring her snort, he added, "Besides, this investigation might be very dangerous, much more so than your usual sort of work. We're talking about desperate men, and time is running out for them. The Allied rulers are all anxious to finalize the treaty and return to their kingdoms. They should be gone by the end of September at the latest, so if anything is going to happen, it will be in the next two or three weeks."

"So?" she prompted.

"If someone suspects you, your life could be forfeit," he said bluntly. "Candover might not be a professional agent, but he looks like he'd be useful in a fight. Since I can't be near you most of the time, I'll feel better if he is."

"Since when have you decided that I am incapable of taking care of myself?" she snapped.

"Maggie," he said gently, "no one is invulnerable, no matter how clever he-or she-is."

Her face paled at the reference. Robin didn't like reminding her of the circumstances of their first meeting, but wanted to ensure that she would be cautious. He knew from experience that Maggie was brave to the point of recklessness.

After a moment she gave him a resigned smile. "Very well, Robin. Assuming Candover can be convinced to cooperate, he and I shall become an object of gossip. We will be seen everywhere, and will appear so enraptured that no one will suspect us of having a useful thought in our heads."

"Good." He stood. "Time to go. I have to meet someone who never lets himself be seen by the light of day."

Maggie rose also. "Since time is in short supply, I'll pay a visit to Candover and explain his dire fate to him. But if he objects, I will give you the job of convincing him."

Robin shook his head. "I think it better that he not know of our connection. You know the first rule of spying."

" 'Never tell anyone anything he doesn't need to know,' " she quoted. "I suppose you're right. Candover is an amateur at these games, and the less he knows, the better."

"Let's hope he proves to be a talented amateur." After a light farewell kiss, Robin was gone. Maggie closed the door on him with a sense of vexation. Here he was, worried about her safety, when she expected that what he was doing was twice as dangerous.

She shrugged and climbed the stairs to her room. If she had been of a nervous disposition, she would never have lasted long as a spy. Far better to spend her time wondering how she was going to tolerate so much time around Rafael Whitbourne.

In stage-mad Paris, the playhouses were an accurate barometer of public opinion, so Rafe decided to spend the evening at the theater. It was a disquieting experience.

All playhouse managers had been ordered to admit free of charge a certain number of soldiers from the armies of occupation. Unfortunately, what had been intended as a goodwill gesture had resulted tonight in brawling in the pit between Frenchmen and Allied soldiers. Though no one had been badly injured, the performance had been disrupted for almost half an hour. Another English playgoer had casually mentioned that such disturbances were not uncommon.

Rafe was in a somber mood when he returned to his rooms. In spite of Lucien and Maggie's fears, he had not truly believed that the battered nations of Europe might go to war again, but the incident at the playhouse had convinced him. He had the sense that stormclouds were gathering, and there was a very real risk of another cataclysm.

Lost in thought, Rafe entered his bedchamber. He was about to ring for his valet when a cool voice emerged from a shadowed corner.

"I'd like a word with you before you retire, your grace."

The voice was unmistakable-honey with a touch of gravel-and he identified his visitor even before his eyes had adjusted to the dim candlelight. Maggie was casually sprawled across a chair, dressed entirely in dark men's clothes, her bright hair covered by a knit cap and a black cloak tossed across the bed.

Rafe wondered how the devil she had gotten in, but refused to give her the satisfaction of asking. "Are you practicing to be a Shakespearean heroine-Viola, perhaps?"

She gave a peal of laughter. "Actually, I rather fancy myself as Rosalind."

He removed his coat and dropped it over the sofa. "I assume you have a reason for being here that is different from what a man usually expects on finding a woman in his bedchamber."

The remark was a mistake. Giving him a dagger look, she said, "You assume correctly. There are several matters we must discuss, and this seemed the quickest and most private way."

"Very well. Care to join me in some cognac?" When she nodded, he poured them each a glass, then took a chair at right angles to his visitor. "What have you discovered?"

She absently swirled the brandy around in her glass. "My sources indicate three principal suspects, and several minor ones. They are all prominent men, the sort usually considered above suspicion. Each of them has the ability and the motivation to plan this kind of conspiracy."

"I'm impressed by your efficiency." He took a sip of brandy. "Who are your suspects?"

"In no particular order, they are a Prussian, Colonel Karl von Fehrenbach, and two Frenchmen, the Count de Varenne and General Michel Roussaye."

"What would their motives be?"

"The Count de Varenne is an Ultra-Royalist, a close associate of King Louis's brother, the Count d'Artois. As I'm sure you know, d'Artois is a fanatic reactionary. He and his emigre friends want to wipe out every trace of revolutionary spirit in France and take it back to the ancien regime."

She made a Gallic gesture of exasperation. "Of course that is impossible-one might as well try to hold back the tide-but they won't accept that. Varenne has spent the last twenty years skulking around Europe on dubious royalist business. Some of his past projects qualify him for our list."

"I see." Her high cheekbones were impossibly dramatic in the candlelight, and strands of golden hair escaped from the hat to glow around her face, softening the starkness of her garb. With an effort, Rafe forced himself to concentrate on her words. "If this plot comes from the Ultra-Royalists, who do you think the target would be?"

"This may sound farfetched," she said hesitantly, "but perhaps Varenne might try to kill King Louis himself so that the Count d'Artois would take the throne."

Rafe whistled softly at the idea. It was an ugly thought, but given France's current instability, he supposed that anything was possible. "What about the other Frenchman?"

"Roussaye is a Bonapartist. He was born the son of a baker, and he fought his way up to being one of France's top generals. He's tough and brave, and dedicated to Napoleon and the revolution. Currently he is on Talleyrand's staff, dealing with questions relating to the French army."

"Who would be his most likely target?"

She shrugged. "From his point of view, almost any important Allied official would do, because that would result in a much harsher treaty. If anything happens to the leading voices of moderation, the radicals will get all the humiliation they want."

"And Europe might be at war again within a year or two." Rafe frowned. "Wellington would be the best target. Not only is he universally revered, but it's common knowledge that he won't take precautions because he thinks it would be cowardly to seem to value his life too much."

"Even a charmed life may eventually run out," Maggie said dryly. "If anything happens to him, Britain will be baying after France's blood as loudly as the Prussians are."

"Speaking of Prussians, what about Colonel von Fehrenbach?"

Maggie finished her cognac, then got up to refill their glasses. Rafe admired the way her skin-tight pantaloons clung to her shapely hips and legs. In the old days, when she had always dressed like a lady, he hadn't known how much he was missing.

Unaware of his scrutiny, Maggie sat down and said, "Von Fehrenbach is a typical Prussian, which means that he hates the French in a pure, uncomplicated way. Von Fehrenbach was an aide to Marshal Blucher, and is presently a military attache with the Prussian delegation."

"Do all Prussians feel such hatred for the French?"

"It's easier for the British to behave with restraint than the other Allies," she said obliquely. "Considering how horribly the nations of Europe have suffered, it's no wonder the Prussians and Russians and Austrians are determined to make France pay. France has sowed the wind, and now she is reaping the whirlwind."

Knowing her personal reasons for hatred, Rafe asked, "How do you think France should be treated?"

Maggie looked up, her gray eyes cool and steady. "If Napoleon stood before a firing squad, I would pull a trigger myself. But someone must stop the hating, or there will be no end to it. Castlereagh and Wellington are right: destroying France's pride and power will create another monster to rise up and fight again. If anything happens to either of them…" She shrugged eloquently.

Rafe took her meaning. "They and Tsar Alexander are all that stand between France and a vengeful Europe. Do you think von Fehrenbach might want to assassinate one of those three?"

"I think he would be more interested in striking at Talleyrand and Fouche," she answered. "They are Frenchman who served both the Revolution and the royalists, and now they are leading the French negotiations against the four Allies. An honest Prussian must despise them for being turncoats."

"Now that you've given me a lesson on the politics of the conference, what do we do about it?"

Maggie felt her stomach clench; what had seemed reasonable when she talked with Robin now looked like appalling idiocy. "Investigations are being made behind the scenes, but it's also necessary to observe our suspects more closely. I have a talent for spotting villains, so I might be able to guess which is our man if I can talk to each of them."

Surreptitiously she wiped a damp palm on her thigh. "Distasteful as the idea is, it's expedient for you and me to pretend to be having an affair. That way we can mingle with the diplomatic corps at the social events where so much of the unofficial negotiating takes place. You will be invited everywhere, and you can take me as your mistress."

His dark brows rose with unholy amusement. "That makes sense, but do you think you can bear so much of my company?"

"I can bear whatever is necessary," she said tersely, "no matter how distasteful I find it."

Her mood did not improve when he laughed aloud. "A palpable hit! But it illustrates my point. Do you think you can restrain yourself from sinking your claws into my unworthy flesh?"

She got to her feet, saying blandly, "In public, my behavior will be all one could expect of a brainless, infatuated female."

"That being the only kind that would be interested in me?" He stood also, a smile lurking in his gray eyes. "What will you be like in private?"

Maggie swore at herself for leaving such a wide opening. She had been trying to treat this interview as if they were both professional spies, with no past history, but that was no longer possible. She and Rafe had once known each other painfully well, and that awareness throbbed between them.

She wanted to bolt, for she knew that he was dangerous to her. Not physically, even though he stood only a yard away and towered over her; the damned man would never have had to use force in his life. All he had to do was smile that lazy, entrancing smile, exactly as he was doing now…

Refusing to back away, she said crisply, "There won't be any 'private.' This is strictly a business arrangement."

"If you think this is only business, you're a fool, and that I can't believe," he replied. "Like it or not, you're going to have to deal with the fact that there is this between us." He stepped forward and smoothly drew her into his arms.

Even when she realized that he was going to kiss her, she couldn't seem to move. Turbulent feelings surged through her when their lips met-an instinctive desire to run for her life, a deeper instinct to melt into his arms.

And in the back of her mind, a cool, rational voice said that Rafe was right; if they were going to be convincing lovers, they must seem comfortable with each other. That wouldn't be possible if she jumped like a frightened rabbit every time he touched her.

It was all the excuse she needed to kiss him back. She slid her arms around his neck and pressed close. Inspite of the years that had passed, the warmth and strength of his hard body were hauntingly familiar, as was the texture of his tongue and his faint, individual male scent. But then she had been an innocent and he had been a tender, protective young suitor. Now they were both adults, experienced in the ways of passion, and desire crackled like heat lightning.

He made a soft sound like a groan and cupped her buttocks, pulling her tightly against him. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, perhaps even more. The knowledge gave her a feeling of power. He had started this, so it was her choice when to end it. But not just yet, not when his touch was searing away the cold and loneliness.

She gasped involuntarily when he caressed her breast. Her nipple tightened and a heated tide began flowing through her limbs. He began to unfasten the buttons of her shirt. The way her breasts ached for his touch told her that she dared not let this continue, or she would be urging him to the bed. After an instant to collect her strength, she spun away, putting half a dozen feet between them before he had time to react.

He moved to come after her, his face raw with longing. She stopped him with a sharp chop of her hand that was unmistakable dismissal. In her coolest voice, she said, "It's a nuisance to be attracted to a person one doesn't particularly like, but that can be used to help our masquerade. If you look at me like that in public, no one will realize that our affair is pretense."

Rafe stopped in his tracks. In the instant before his controlled mask clamped into place, she saw anger, and perhaps reluctant admiration, in his eyes.

Neither of those emotions showed in his voice when he said with matching coolness, "If you react like that the next time I kiss you, the affair will become quite genuine."

"I won't deny that I find you attractive, but passion is not my master, so you had better accustom yourself to frustration." She smiled maliciously. "If you think that being with me will put too great a strain on your self-control, I suggest that you make arrangements with one of the hotel chambermaids. No doubt one of them will be happy to relieve your frustration."

"I can do better than a chambermaid," he said dryly. "And don't worry about my self-control. I have yet to meet a woman who could turn me into a lust-crazed savage."

Deciding that it was time to conclude her business, she pulled a paper from an inside pocket and handed it to him. "Here are the names and descriptions of seven other men who are possible suspects. Read it and destroy it before you go out tomorrow morning. I didn't mention them because I don't want to confuse you with too much information, but all should be observed carefully if you chance to meet one."

Rafe glanced at the paper. Sorbon, Dietrich, Lemercier, Dreyfus, Taine, Sibour, and Montcan. He set the list aside to study later.

Maggie said, "There's a reception tomorrow night at the British Embassy to honor the Prussian delegation. Von Fehrenbach will be there, so we should go. I live at 17 Boulevard des Capucines. Can you call for me about eight o'clock?"

"I'll be there. Try to be punctual." Unable to resist asking a question that had been nagging him, Rafe added, "Incidentally, what does your husband think of your activities?"

"My what?"

"Count Janos, of course."

The tension in the room eased as Maggie's eyes began to brim with laughter. "Oh, my darling Andrei!" She clasped her hands before her heart and gave a nostalgic flutter of her lashes. "He was matchless. Utterly beautiful in his Hussar uniform, and such a pair of shoulders!"

"Is the matchless count still among the living?"

"Alas, his noble life was lost at the Battle of Leipzig. Or perhaps it was at Austerlitz."

"Those battles were nine years apart," he pointed out. "Did you misplace him for all that time, or merely decide that you didn't suit?"

Maggie waved her hand airily and lifted her cloak, swirling the dark folds around her shoulders. "Ah, well, they say that spending too much time together is bad for a marriage."

"Do they, indeed?" he said with dry humor. "Why do I have the feeling that you are no more a countess than I am?"

Maggie was heading toward the window, but she flashed an impish smile over her shoulder. "I, at least, have the possibility of becoming a countess, which is more than you can say," she said flippantly.

As she pushed the drapery aside, Rafe said, "Wouldn't it be easier to leave by the doorway?"

"Easier," she admitted, "but I have a reputation to maintain. Good night, your grace." As her dark figure slipped behind the draperies, a faint breeze eddied into the room.

Rafe strolled to the window and looked out. She had vanished, but there were stout vines growing up the wall. It would present no great challenge to an active person.

He shook his head in amusement and dropped the drapery. She was a beguiling witch who wanted to drive him mad, but two could play at that game. His lips curved into a smile. She might think that she was too strong to be swept away by passion, but he was not so sure.

It promised to be a most interesting few weeks.

The Englishman had been blindfolded for his trip through the Paris streets, and he suspected that the carriage had driven in circles to confuse him. His jaw clenched whenever he thought about the upcoming meeting. The man who had summoned him was known only as Le Serpent. Like the snake he was named for, he was regarded with fear and loathing by those few people who knew of his existence. The Englishman knew it was dangerous to make Le Serpent's acquaintance, but without risk there would be no reward.

The shabby hackney rumbled to a halt. How long had they been circling-fifteen minutes? Thirty? Time was hard to judge when one was helpless.

A whiff of fresher air entered the malodorous hackney when the door opened. The silent escort grasped the Englishman's upper arm and jerked him out of the carriage and across a narrow strip of pavement, indifferent to the fact that his blindfolded charge stumbled and nearly fell.

They entered a building, descended a closed stairway, then walked along a narrow, echoing passage. After a very long walk and a climb up more stairs, the escort stopped. There was the sound of a turning knob, then the Englishman was thrust into a room. He raised one hand to remove the blindfold, but stopped at the sound of a sibilant voice that was clearly disguised.

"I would not advise you to do that, mon Anglais. If you saw my face, I should have to kill you. That would be a great waste, for I have better uses for you."

The Englishman dropped his hand, demoralized by being blind and alone. It was impossible even to guess the nationality of his dangerous employer; considering what a political stew Paris was, the bloody man could be anything.

Trying to sound confident, the Englishman said, "Don't waste my time with threats, Le Serpent. You must like the information I give you, or you would not be paying me for it. And you must want more, or you wouldn't have asked to meet me in person for the first time."

There was a throaty chuckle. "The tidbits you gave me in the past were useful, but they were trivial compared to what I need from you now. Over the next few weeks, I want complete information on the movements of Lord Castlereagh and the Duke Of Wellington, plus daily reports on what the delegation is doing."

"I'm not in a position to know all of that."

"Then find someone who is, mon Anglais."

The menace in the silky tone was unmistakable. Not for the first time, the Englishman wished he had never gotten involved in this. But it was too late for regret: Le Serpent knew far too much about him. Wanting to put the best face on this, he said, "It will cost extra to learn more. Most of the staff won't talk at all, and those who do are expensive."

"You will be reimbursed for expenses, as long as they are legitimate. I will not pay for your whores and gambling."

Sweat formed under the blindfold as the Englishman wondered if Le Serpent knew about the money skimmed from the sum provided to pay lesser informants. It had been unwise to appropriate some for his own use, but if he hadn't paid that particular gambling debt, he might have lost his position with the delegation. Tersely he said, "You need have no fears on that score."

"How comforting," Le Serpent said with unmistakable irony. "Send your reports the usual way. Remember, I want daily information, for matters are becoming critical. You will be informed when I need to see you igain. Now go."

As the escort came and led him from the room, the Englishman speculated about what was brewing. If he knew what Le Serpent had in mind, the information could be very valuable.

The danger lay in the fact that he wouldn't know where to sell it unless he discovered who the snake was. But when was profit without danger?