Petals in the Storm fa-2

by Mary Jo Putney

  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 woul
d 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.