Not responding to her light tone, Rafe said somberly, "I feel the way one does before a storm, when the clouds are gathering. I wish to God that I knew from which direction the winds will come."

Speaking from her own hard-won wisdom, she said, "Knowledge is not what saves one in a storm, but flexibility. It is those who won't bend who are broken."

His dark brows lifted. "Is that an oblique comment on rigid souls like me? Remember that flowers bend before a storm, yet still they are torn apart, their petals scattered to the four winds."

"Don't push the analogy too far, your grace," she said dryly. "I may look like an overblown rose, but I have survived fiercer storms than you will ever know of."

The cab pulled up in front of Maggie's house and they alighted. Since the premature end to the expedition had gotten them back hours early, he followed her inside.

Rafe's mood seemed odd, so she suggested, "We haven't played chess lately. Shall we finish our current game?"

He agreed, but both of them were so abstracted that it was an open question who played more carelessly. Maggie scarcely noticed what moves she made until he said, "Check."

Seeing that a black bishop was threatening her king, she moved a white knight into the bishop's path. Rafe could capture her knight, but then Maggie would be able to take his bishop, restoring the balance of power as well as saving her king.

"I like knights," she said idly. "They move in such a deceptive manner."

"Like you do, Countess?"

Surprised by the sharp edge to Rafe's voice, she said, "I suppose so. Spying is the art of deception, after all."

"Will the white queen sacrifice herself for the white king?"

Rafe's gray eyes bored into her, and she realized that he was no longer talking about chess. The lean planes of his face were hard, and his whole body radiated tension.

Her mouth tightened. She had suspected that at some point he would become difficult, and apparently the time had arrived. "Rafe, what are you trying to say?"

Instead of answering, he swept his black king across the board to capture the white queen.

"You know perfectly well that that isn't a legitimate move," she said with exasperation. "What obscure point are you trying to make?"

Rafe scooped up the white queen and the black king and lifted them from the board. "Only this, Maggie-I won't let you sacrifice yourself for the white king. With or without your consent, I am going to take you out of the game."

Chapter 13

Maggie stared at Rafe, wondering what idiocy was possessing him. '"Take me out of the game?'" she said coldly. "You'll have to speak a good deal more clearly."

With a furious sweep of his arm, Rafe knocked the antique chess pieces from the board. The enameled figures fell to the Oriental carpet and bounced in all directions, thudding and clicking against each other.

"We're talking about Robert Anderson," he snapped. "Your lover, who is a spy and a traitor."

Maggie stood so abruptly that her chair skidded backward. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

Rafe stood also, towering over her. The urbane, un-involved man of the world was gone, and he blazed with angry emotion. "Oh, yes, I do, my lady trollop. I know that he comes here late at night, even though Lucien told you not to communicate with anyone in the British delegation."

Refusing to turn away from his scorching gaze, Maggie said softly, "I have been playing dangerous games far longer than you have, your grace. I work with those I trust."

"Even if they are traitors? Your lover has been seen surreptitiously meeting General Roussaye. I myself saw him meeting Henri Lemercier at the Cafe Mazarin, perhaps planning the attempt on Castlereagh's life."

For the first time she felt apprehension, but she said stubbornly, "That proves nothing. Spies must talk to everyone, not only respectable citizens."

Rafe stepped around the table until he was only inches away from Maggie. "You admit that he's a spy?"

"Of course he is! We've worked together for years."

"So you've been his mistress for years," Rafe repeated, his eyes like ice. "Do you know who he works for?"

"The British, of course. Robin is as English as I am."

"Even if that's true, nationality means nothing to a mercenary. He probably sells to the highest bidder, and has been using you as a dupe." Rafe's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure that he is English?"

Maggie exploded. "You ignorant fool! Your accusations are absurd, and I won't listen to them."

She spun away, but Rafe grabbed her by the arm. "Absurd? Where does your money come from? Who pays for the silk gowns and the carriage and the town house?"

She jerked her arm free. "I do, with what I earn from the British government."

"Are you paid directly?"

After a pause, Maggie said, "The money comes through Robin."

It was exactly as Rafe expected. "I wrote Lucien and asked how much the government has paid you over the last dozen years. It came to about five thousand pounds, not enough to keep you for a year in the style you live in."

Her eyes widened, but she refused to back down. "Perhaps that is all Lord Strathmore has paid, but there must be other British agencies that need information. Robin probably deals with several of them."

Though her words were defiant, he saw that she was shaken by what he had revealed. Pressing his advantage, he said, "I admire your loyalty. Nonetheless, the odds are that Anderson is the spy within the British delegation, and that he is almost certainly involved in the conspiracy against Castlereagh. The only question is, are you his knowing accomplice, or his pawn?"

"I won't believe it!" she said furiously. "Robin is the best friend I've ever had, and if I must choose between believing him and believing you, I choose him. Get out of here!"

Until now Rafe had restricted himself to telling his suspicions of Anderson's loyalty, but Maggie's refusal to believe ill of her lover shattered his control. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he demanded, "Why him, Margot-why him and not me? Is he a matchless bed-mate? Do you think you love him, or is it because he has supported you in such elegance?" His fingers tightened on her arms. "If it's money you want, I'll pay your price, no matter how high it is. If it's sex, give me one night, then decide who is better."

He drew in a raw, unsteady breath. "And if you're defending him from blind loyalty, think hard about whether a traitor is worthy of such allegiance."

She laughed in his face. "You dare ask why I prefer Robin? It was he who saved my life and gave me a reason to go on living. As God is my witness, I'd rather be the pawn of a traitor than the mistress of a man who accused and judged me without proof, a man whose insane jealousy drove my father to take me away from England."

Her voice dropped, and he saw bone-chilling rage in her face. "My father would not have been murdered by the French if it hadn't been for what you did, Rafe. For that alone, I can never forgive you.

"As for your vain, masculine egotism-I don't care if you've learned your skills in the bed of every slut in Europe. I'd never give myself to a man without love,and you're incapable of loving anyone. You're a selfish, arrogant, conceited rakehell, and I don't ever want to see you again. Now let go of me!"

She raised her arms and tried to break his grip, but Rafe was too strong for her. He slid one hand behind her head and turned her face up to his. Hoarsely he said, "Oh, God, Margot, don't fight me. I just want to keep you safe."

He kissed her fiercely, hoping that passion would dissolve her opposition. As always when they embraced, heat flared between them, swift and impossible to deny.

She struggled violently at first, but as he held her steadfast, she softened and began to respond with an intensity that matched his own. Her tongue entered his mouth and her hand slid down his body between them, seeking.

When she touched him, he groaned and hardened under her caress. This was how they were meant to be-loving each other, not fighting. He eased his grip and began running his hands down the swell of her hips.

She took advantage of his relaxation to jerk her knee up in a savage street fighter's trick. Sickeningly aware that her passion had been a ruse, he twisted away barely in time. Her blow landed on his thigh instead of smashing his genitals, but he saved himself at the cost of losing his hold on her.

As soon as Maggie freed herself from his embrace, she dashed across the room to the pier table and yanked a pistol from the drawer. Then she whirled to face Rafe. "Get out of here, and don't ever come near me again! If you make any move to hurt Robin, I will have you killed." Though her voice trembled, the gun she held with both hands was lethally steady.

Rafe stared unbelievingly at the pistol. "Maggie…"

"Stay where you are!" She cocked the hammer. "I warn you, if you injure Robin, you will die even if I am dead myself. I know how to arrange an assassination, and there will be nowhere on earth distant enough for you to hide. Now take your clumsy amateur spying and your jealousy and your absurd accusations and go back to England!"

She was bluffing, he was sure of it. The gun probably wasn't even loaded.

He took a step toward her, and she pulled the trigger.

The roar of the gun was numbing in the enclosed space. He felt the vibration of the ball as it struck near him, and debris struck his calf.

At first he thought Maggie's shot had gone wild. Then he blinked the stinging smoke from his eyes and saw that she had fired into the black king, which had been lying on the carpet near his foot. The ball had splintered the antique chess piece into a thousand fragments. An admirable bit of marksmanship; it was obvious that she could just as easily have put the bullet into his eye.