After pausing a moment to organize her thoughts, she poured out the story of the conspiracy: the disappearance of the three British agents, her realization that Varenne must be the master plotter, and her belief that Chanteuil contained the answers.

The colonel listened without interrupting, his light blue eyes intent. When Helene came to the end of her story, he swung onto his horse, then extended his hand to her. "There is a Prussian barracks near the St. Cloud road. I will be able to get some men there to search Varenne's estate."

As Helene hesitated, he said impatiently. "To save time, you must come with me and show us the way to Chanteuil. If you are right, there is no time to be wasted."

Helene took his hand, and he lifted her easily onto the horse. As she settled sideways in front of him, she said anxiously, "But if I am wrong?"

"If you are wrong, there are compensations." The grave Prussian colonel did not quite smile, but he had a mischievous glint in his eyes. For the first time since they had met, it was possible to believe that he was really only thirty-four years old, the same age as she.

Helene became abruptly conscious of how close she was to his lean, athletic body, and how warm was the arm that held her steady. For a moment, the serene and worldly widow disappeared, and she blushed like a girl.

This time von Fehrenbach actually did smile. Then he put his heels to the horse, and they were away.

Chapter 23

Though they knew the odds were poor, Rafe and Robin decided that they would attempt to break out the next time anyone entered their cell. Not long after the midday meal, the key rattled in the lock. Immediately they took the positions previously agreed on. Since Robin was in poor shape to fight, he lounged innocently in the straw while Rafe concealed himself in the corner behind the door so that he could attack whoever entered.

The door swung open with a squeal, and Rafe prepared to jump. Then Margot hurtled into the cell, saying urgently, "Robin, are you here?"

Barely in time Rafe checked his leap. Not seeing him, Margot darted across the cell and dropped beside Robin, enfolding him in a heartfelt hug. "Thank God you're all right! I was so frightened…"

Though he winced as she jarred his injured arm, Robin hugged her back. "I'm well enough, Maggie. We have reinforcements, too." He glanced at his fellow prisoner.

Margot turned to follow his gaze. "Rafe!"

They stared at each other for an eternity that lasted for perhaps two heartbeats. With her golden hair loose around her shoulders, she looked like a Valkyrie. Rafe took an involuntary step toward her, then forced himself to stop when he saw alarm flash across her face.

He wondered if she feared that he would do something that would embarrass her in front of Robin. Kiss her, perhaps, or start babbling about how much he loved her. Swiftly he said, "I'm glad to see that you're uninjured, Countess. I'm even gladder that the dungeon key was hanging outside." It was an inane comment, but he hoped that it would convey the message that he didn't intend to cause her any problems.

She must have understood, for her expression smoothed out. "I'm not sure whether I should be glad to see you, or sorry that you're a prisoner, too."

Looking back at Robin, she frowned at the sling. "You aren't looking your best, love. What happened to your arm?"

Though they were all impatient to be away, the next few minutes were spent exchanging vital information. When Margot described how the gunpowder was set to explode that afternoon, Rafe exclaimed, "Damnation! Robin, is there any chance that someone will smell the candle smoke and find the gunpowder before it's too late?"

Face grim, Robin replied, "Virtually none. That closet is on a corridor that's almost never used. Even if someone became suspicious, time would probably be wasted searching for a key, and Margot may have the only one."

Rafe took a quick look at his watch. As he shoved it back in his pocket, he said, "We have about two hours to get out of here and reach the embassy." He thought for a moment. "I have a general idea of the layout of the grounds. Have either of you seen enough of the castle to know the best way to escape?"

Robin shook his head. "Sorry. Since I was brought here unconscious and dumped in this cell immediately, my ignorance is total."

"I learned a few things about the interior when I was finding my way down here," Margot said. "Even though Varenne said that Robin was being held directly under the room I was in, it took forever to find this cell-the lower levels of the castle are a labyrinth of service stairs and passages. Luckily, there are very few people about-I didn't see a single servant, though I heard voices once."

"I guess the only possible plan is to try to steal horses, then ride like hell and hope we get to the embassy in time," Robin said. "If we're discovered, we'll have to scatter and hope that one of us can get through alone."

As Rafe opened the cell door, he felt a pressure on his ankle. He looked down to see a fluffy black cat brush against him coquettishly. "Where the devil did this beast come from?"

"This is Rex." Margot leaned over and scooped the cat up. As it settled, purring, into her arms, she said, "He kept me company upstairs. Since I fed him, we're friends for life. I think I'll take him with me for luck." She eyed Rafe warily, as if expecting him to disagree.

The idea was absurd, of course, but the way she held the cat made Rafe think that she derived some kind of comfort from it. "I'm not sure whether this is melodrama or farce," he said with wry amusement. "Bring him if you must, but be prepared to release him if he slows you down. He's in a lot less danger than we are."

Holding the door for his companions, he said, "Time to be off. And if anyone knows any good prayers, please say them."

Oliver Northwood regained consciousness to find himself wet, bound, and gagged. Rage cleared his mind. As he tugged at his bonds, he swore mentally at the little slut who had done this to him. He should have raped her immediately rather than falling victim to her lying tongue.

The water-softened drapery cords stretched as he strained at them. He swore again, this time in gratitude that his luck had turned. After ten minutes of struggle, he was free of his bonds.

He lurched to his feet and searched his pockets. As expected, the room key was gone, so he pounded on the door and shouted for help. Again he was in luck. A servant was in the vicinity, and soon Northwood was out of his prison.

He hastened to Varenne's library and burst into the room without knocking. The count was still seated behind his desk working at his infernal plans.

When Varenne glanced up, Northwood gasped, "She's gotten away! The little bitch is loose somewhere in the castle!"

The count examined his bloody, disheveled visitor. "You let a female half your size do that to you? I have overestimated your abilities."

Northwood flushed angrily. "There's no need to be insulting. That brazen-faced hussy could bamboozle a saint. She's dangerous."

"Quite deliciously so," Varenne murmured, more amused than alarmed. As he rang for a servant, he said, "She won't get far. Besides, how much trouble can one woman cause?"

Uneasily Northwood said, "She knows what's going to happen at the embassy this afternoon."

"What! You fool, why did you tell her that?" The count's lip curled in disgust. "You needn't answer. Obviously you were boasting. My respect for Miss Ashton grows hourly greater."

When a footman entered, Varenne said, "The woman has escaped. Set all the servants searching for her." He gave Northwood's bloody head an ironic glance. "Tell them to carry shotguns and travel in pairs. She's quite a ferocious wench."

As soon as the count stopped speaking the footman said urgently, "Milord, I was just coming to inform you that the lady has freed the two Englishmen. They are loose somewhere on the lower levels."

The count's air of calm disintegrated and he bounded to his feet. "Jesu! Alone she was a minor threat, but the three together are dangerous. Tell the searchers that while I would prefer to have the spies captured alive, they should shoot if necessary. The English cannot be allowed to leave Chanteuil."

The footman nodded and left. When Northwood started to follow, Varenne stopped him. "Where are you going?"

"To help search. I want to be the one to find her."

"I need you elsewhere," the count said, voice controlled again. "The lower castle is a maze of passages, and the prisoners might conceal themselves indefinitely. That would be a nuisance, but not a disaster. The real danger is that they might reach the stables and steal horses. If they managed that, they could reach Paris in time to undo my plan. Therefore you and I shall wait for them in the stables until it is too late for the explosion to be stopped."

"Very well-as long as that treacherous slut is punished," Northwood growled.

"Never fear, she will be." Varenne reached into his desk and brought out a mahogany box containing two dueling pistols. He loaded both and offered one to Northwood. "I trust that you know how to use this?"

The Englishman glowered. "Don't worry, I'm a crack shot."

As they went downstairs, the distant boom of a shotgun blast was heard from somewhere below. The count gave a nod of satisfaction. "Perhaps our vigil in the stables will be unnecessary. Nonetheless, we cannot afford to take a chance."

Before they went outside, he gave orders for his small troop of soldiers to surround the stables and conceal themselves. Even if the three Britons got that far, they would go no farther.