Sensing that her mood had changed, he risked asking another personal question. "What kind of business?"

She stared down at her glass, swirling the wine. "I will go first to Gascony."

Rafe felt a prickle at the base of his neck as he guessed what she had in mind. "Why?"

She looked up at him, her face expressionless. "To find my father's body and take it back to England. It has been twelve years. It will take time to find where they buried him."

Though he had guessed correctly, he took no pleasure in it. The wine tasted bitter on his tongue, for he must speak of something he would have preferred to keep private. "There is no need to go to Gascony. You won't find your father there."

Her brows drew together. "What do you mean?"

"I happened to be in Paris when news of your deaths arrived, so I went to the village in Gascony where the murders had taken place. I was told that two fresh graves belonged to 'les deux Anglais,' and assumed that you and your father were buried there. I arranged to have the bodies returned to England. They are in the family plot on your uncle's estate."

The worldly veneer dissolved and she bent over, burying her face in her hands. Rafe wished he could comfort her, but knew that there was nothing she would accept from him.

He had envied the friendly, loving relationship between Margot and her father, so different from the distant politeness between Rafe and his own sire. Colonel Ashton had been an affable, direct soldier, less interested in seeing his daughter a duchess than in seeing her happy. His death at the hands of a mob would have devastated her.

After a long silence, Maggie raised her head. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, but her face was composed. "The second coffin must have been Willis, my father's orderly. He was a small man, about my height. The two of them… gave a good account of themselves when we were attacked."

She stood and crossed to the window, pushing the heavy brocade drapery aside to gaze down into the boulevard. Her haunted image was reflected in the dark glass. "Uncle Willy was almost a member of the family. He taught me how to shoot dice and cheat at cards. My father would have been appalled if he had known."

A faint smile crossed her face, then vanished. "I'm glad that Willis is in England-he would have loathed the thought of his bones spending eternity in France. I was going to take his body back as well, but you have made that unnecessary."

She turned to face Rafe, no longer hostile. "Why did you do it? It couldn't have been easy."

Indeed it hadn't been, even for a young man of wealth and determination. Rafe had come to France with the secret hope of finding Margot. Even when war threatened to break out again, he had postponed his departure.

Then, just as the Peace of Amiens ended, news of their deaths at the hands of a mob had reached Paris. A sensible man would have instantly returned to London to avoid being interned for the duration of the war. Rafe, who had not been sensible where Margot was concerned, had instead sent his servants home and made his way across France alone, using his excellent French to pass as a native.

It had taken weeks to locate the graves. Because of the danger, he had taken the lead-encased coffins over the Pyrenees into Spain rather than risk crossing France again.

The two coffins had been reinterred at the Ashton family estate in Leicestershire. With his own hands Rafe had planted daffodils on the smaller grave, because he had met Margot in the spring and daffodils always reminded him of her. He would not speak of that. The action was not only maudlin and sentimental, but vaguely laughable since hindsight now showed that he had acted under a misapprehension.

He wondered where Margot had been when he was in Gascony. Injured perhaps, or a prisoner in the local jail? If he had searched, could he have found her and brought her home? But that also was no longer relevant, so he said merely, "There was nothing else I could do for you. It was too late for apologies."

After a long pause, she asked, "Why did you feel it was necessary to apologize?"

"Because I behaved very badly, of course." He shrugged. "The more time passed, the worse my behavior looked."

Maggie took a deep, slow breath. She should have known this interview would not go according to plan. Rafe Whitbourne had always been able to find the vulnerable spots in her. That sensitivity had been welcome when they were young and in love, but it was intolerable now that love was gone. She hated losing her control in front of him.

When she was sure her voice would be even, she looked directly at him and said, "I am obligated to you." Cynically she wondered if he would try to use her sense of duty to persuade her to stay in Paris.

Instead, he said, "There is no obligation. I suppose I did it for myself as much as for you."

His quiet disclaimer bound her as nothing else could have. Resigned, she said, "You can tell Lord Strathmore that I will stay and continue working until the conference is over and the treaty is resolved. Is that satisfactory?"

He wisely refrained from any show of triumph when he answered. "Very good, especially since there is more at stake here than routine information gathering. Lord Strathmore has a special task for you."

"Oh?" Maggie returned to her chair. "What does Strathmore want me to do?"

"He has heard hints of a plot to assassinate one of the major figures here at the peace conference. He would like you to investigate as quickly and thoroughly as you can."

Maggie frowned, personal considerations forgotten. "Just three weeks ago a plot to assassinate the king, the tsar, and Wellington was exposed. Could that be the source of the rumors?"

"No, Lucien was aware of that affair, and this seems to be separate. What makes this new conspiracy so dangerous are indications that it originates in the highest diplomatic circles of the conference. Not only will it be harder to detect, but it means the conspirators have better access to their targets." Rafe reached inside his coat and pulled out a folded and sealed sheet of paper. "Lucien sent this to explain what he knows."

Maggie accepted the note and made it disappear. "Did you read what he wrote?"

His brows arched. "Of course not. It was sent to you."

"You'd never make a spy."

Rafe's voice was silky, but for the first time emotion showed through. "Quite true. I could never match your talent for deceit and betrayal."

Maggie whipped herself upright in the chair, her kid-skin slippers slapping to the floor as the room pulsed with the unspoken past. For a moment her fury threatened to spill out, but years of hard training stood her in good stead and she managed to master herself. "No, I'm sure you couldn't," she said acidly. "When your fairy godmother waved her wand over the ducal crib, the special gifts she bestowed were stubbornness and self-righteousness."

Their gazes locked-two angry, passionate people determined to give nothing away. Rafe was the first to regain his control, probably because he needed her more than she needed him.

Shrugging off the insult, he said, "No doubt you are right-I never claimed to have an admirable character. To return to business, do you think Lucien is right to be concerned? He is going mostly on guesswork." His long fingers toyed with the stem of his goblet. "Of course, Luce is a brilliant guesser. You're closer to the situation. What's your opinion?"

Glad to leave the charged emotions that kept surfacing, Maggie said, "I've heard nothing in particular, but there has been a surprising silence from the radicals. It isn't like them to give up as long as there are still young men left to die for their revolutionary ideals."

Curious about another point, she continued, "You use Lord Strathmore's first name. You know him well?"

"Very. You used to tease me about being part of a group nicknamed the Fallen Angels. Luce was another member. Since I was a little older than my friends, I finished at Oxford and went to London a year earlier. Luce and the others were still at university when you had your London Season."

Maggie had only met Lord Strathmore twice during the years she had worked with him, but he had left a strong impression. It was strange to learn that he was a close friend of Rafe's. The world was indeed a small place. "As I recall, the four of you acquired the nickname because of some unholy combination of angelic looks and diabolical deeds."

She had hoped to disconcert Rafe, but he only smiled slightly. "Both the looks and the deeds were exaggerated."

Her hand tightened around the handle of her fan. The deeds might have been an exaggeration, but not the looks. Rafe had been glorious at twenty-one; now maturity had added power to his tall frame, character to his face, and authority to his presence,. Though she recalled that his dark coloring had come from an Italian grandmother, she had forgotten how dramatic a contrast his clear gray eyes made.

She wished she were immune to his attractions, but she wasn't. What made it worse was that she was no longer an innocent girl; she was a woman, and she knew something of passion. And of longing…

Thank God she wouldn't need to see Rafe again; he was having a terrible effect on her concentration. Getting to her feet, she said, "I'll start investigating immediately. If I hear anything important, I'll notify my contact in the British delegation. Now if you'll excuse me, there are some people I must talk to."

He stood also, his expression wary. "There is one more thing: Lucien wants you to work with me on this, not with the delegation."