"So that's what happened. At first I thought she had decided on impulse to visit my sister, Lady Ross. It wasn't until my sister appeared in Durham that I realized something was amiss. With every report Simmons sent, I became more alarmed. I'm grateful the girl didn't meet disaster." He grimaced. "Now that I don't have to worry about her life, I can begin to worry about her reputation."

"No one need know how she reached London, so her reputation is intact," the duchess pointed out. "The real problem is her reaction to the news of her father's death."

"I have some happier news for her." Collingwood studied Robin. "I gather you have constituted yourself her protector."

"You gather rightly."

"Then I suppose I can tell you Maxima is something of an heiress. It's a mere independence of five hundred pounds a year, but enough to keep her comfortably here or in America."

Robin's brows rose. In spite of Collingwood's disclaimer, it was a very considerable legacy. "From whom is she inheriting? She said her father left nothing."

"Our Aunt Maxima, Lady Clendennon, was Max's godmother. She was always fond of him. Though she complained about what a wastrel he was, she said it with a smile. She loved getting his letters." Collingwood sighed. "If Max's prudence had equaled his charm, he could have been prime minister.

"Aunt Maxima knew it would be absurd to leave Max any money, so she decided to make Max's daughter one of her heirs instead. After she died last winter, her solicitor wrote my brother in Boston, which is why he returned to England when he did. Since the lawyer was being uncooperative about executing the will, Max decided to go to London to talk to him personally."

"Why didn't your brother tell Maxie about this? I've gotten the impression that she handled their financial affairs."

"Max forbade me to tell her until the matter was resolved because he didn't want her to be disappointed if it didn't work out," Collingwood explained. "As it turned out, my aunt specified that Maxima could not inherit before her twentyfifth birthday at the earliest. After that, the money was to be held in trust as long as Max was alive. Apparently my aunt was determined not to allow my brother to waste his daughter's inheritance.

"After Max died, that was no longer an issue, but the present Lord Clendennon was urging the solicitor to find a way to disqualify Maxima. I'm afraid that my cousin is a greedy devil, and the legacy will revert to him if she doesn't inherit. When Clendennon recently learned that Maxima's mother was a Red Indian, he suggested that she might be illegitimate, the product of a casual liaison, or perhaps not even Max's daughter."

Robin whistled softly. "I don't blame you for not wanting to tell Maxie that. She would have been enraged."

"And justly so. When Clendennon raised the issue, I had my solicitor write to a colleague in Boston. Last week I received a copy of my brother's marriage lines. Max and his wife were married by an Anglican priest, so Maxima is entirely legitimate." Collingwood gave a faint, satisfied smile. "Even if there hadn't been a Christian ceremony, I was prepared to argue that her parents were legally married under the laws of her mother's people. For that matter, illegitimacy would not necessarily have invalidated the bequest, but Clendennon might have used it as an excuse to cause legal trouble that would take time and money to resolve. This is much simpler."

"You've gone to considerable effort on your niece's behalf."

"Of course-she's family. Besides, I'm fond of the girl. I wish my own daughters had some of her spirit." For the first time Collingwood smiled. "But only some of it. Maxima would have been a rare handful to raise. An eccentric like Max was a better father for her." He rose to his feet. "I'll be staying at the Clarendon for several days. I'd like to see Maxima before I return to Durham. Will you tell her I called?"

"Of course," Robin said. "Do you want to explain about her inheritance yourself?"

The viscount shrugged. "Use your judgment. If she will see you and not me, tell her if you think it might cheer her up. I've made a muddle of the whole business, I'm afraid."

"Maxie is fortunate to have such a conscientious uncle," Robin said. "Given the constraints you had, there may have been no solution that wasn't muddled."

"Thank you." Collingwood's expression lightened a little as he took his leave. "Lord Robert, your grace."

When they were alone, Robin said, "I'm sure you noticed what I did in Collingwood's story."

Margot nodded thoughtfully. Drawing conclusions from sketchy data was the essence of the spy's art, and they were both very, very good at it. "But is there any way to prove it?" '

"Not definitely, but with more information I can make a convincing case. Absolute proof isn't necessary." Profoundly glad that there was something he could do for Maxie, Robin headed for the door. "I'll start now. Heaven knows when I'll be back."

"I'll get you a key to the house. More dignified than having you pick the lock if you return late," Margot said. "I'll keep an eye on Maxie's room and try to ensure that she doesn't do anything foolish. Let me know if I can do anything else."

"Thank you." He smiled a little. "Actually, I know where I can get exactly the kind of assistance I need."


* * *

The door was open, so Robin rapped it with his knuckles as he walked through. Lord Strathmore looked up from his desk, his expression distracted until he saw who had arrived. With a smile, he got to his feet. "I'm glad you came back to Whitehall, Robin. Last night was enjoyable, but we really didn't have much chance to talk."

"Today won't be any better." After shaking hands, Robin took the chair his cousin indicated. "This is only a quick visit to ask for your help."

"Anything," Lucien said simply. "What's the problem?"

"I want to investigate a suicide that took place in an inn near Covent Garden two-no, closer to three months ago."

Lucien frowned. "Your friend Maxie's father?"

Robin nodded; his cousin was also a master at putting fragmentary facts together. "I'm afraid so. She's distraught-they were very close. I want to learn as much I can about any extenuating circumstances that might make his death easier for her to accept. I want to talk to the maid who found his body, the physician who certified his death, and everyone he visited in London. And I want to do it all today."

Lucien's brows rose. "Shall I come with you? Two of us may be able to cover more ground."

Robin glanced at the files on the desk. "Aren't you busy?"

"Not anything that can't wait."

"Good. Since London isn't my turf, I'll need all the help I can get." Robin frowned. "I should have thought of this earlier, but being personally involved plays havoc with the judgment. There's a Bow Street Runner, Ned Simmons, who was hired by the Collins family to hush the business up. If I can find him, he might already know much of what I want, to learn."

Lucien nodded. "I know Simmons, and he's very thorough. He frequents a tavern near Covent Garden. With luck, we'll find him there now."

Robin got to his feet, thinking that this was going to be easier than he expected.

Lucien also rose and collected a cane from the corner of the room, but he hesitated before coming around the desk. "Robin, there's something I want to say."

"Yes?"

His cousin fiddled with the polished brass head of the cane. "Strange," he said humorlessly. "My tattered conscience has been nagging me on and off about you for years. Yet I don't know quite how to put this into words." He glanced up, his green gold eyes somber. "I guess I want to know how much you resent me for talking you into a career in espionage."

Surprised, Robin said, "You didn't hold a knife to my throat, Luce. I made the decision myself."

"Yes, but I didn't realize what I was asking." Lucien sighed. "It seemed like almost a lark at the time. You were clever and had a genius for languages. Of course you could stay on the Continent and coordinate the British spying network for half of Europe. Between us, we would break Bonaparte. Who would have guessed the wars would continue for another dozen years?"

"Don't blame yourself for encouraging me in my folly," Robin said mildly. "You're only two years older than I-of course you couldn't know what was involved. My life was my own to risk as I chose."

"Giles didn't think so," Lucien said dryly. "I don't think he's ever forgiven me for my part in your career. But risking one's life is relatively straightforward. The worst part of being a spy is the high spiritual price of fighting a shadow war."

Lucien slid the polished shaft of the cane back and forth between his hands restlessly. "I've learned quite a bit about that myself, but at least I spent most of my time in the relatively civilized confines of England. My wicked deeds were usually done at long range and involved faceless people. What you did had to be far more difficult. As time passed, you began to look as drawn as blown glass, and as likely to shatter."

Touched by his cousin's concern, Robin asked, "Are you sorry that you asked me to work for the Foreign Office, or that I agreed?"

"That's the hell of it." Lucien smiled selfmockingly. "Ruthless spymaster that I am, I can't regret what you did-your contributions were truly vital. I guess my real wish is that I didn't feel so damned guilty about what the work did to you."

Robin laughed. Guilt he understood very well. "If it's absolution you want, Luce, you've got it. I'll admit that I came too close to the breaking point for comfort, but in the last few weeks, I've come to terms with my reprehensible past. I'll never be proud of some of the things I've done, but I'm not going to crucify myself any longer." As he spoke, he heard Maxie's words echoing in his own voice.