"We should separate." Dare's gaze surveyed the gallery above. "You'll be safer up there, and you can better watch for Perrine."

"Dare, my safety is not my first concern."

Raising his fingers to her face, he gave her cheek a light caress. "I know, but it is mine. I'll stay near Castlereagh in case Perrine acts."

"Please, be careful," Julienne begged.

"You, as well."

He grasped her face and planted a hard kiss on her mouth, then left her to enter the audience chamber. For a moment she saw him skirt the crowd before he disappeared in the sea of bodies.

Turning, Julienne retraced her steps till she located a wide stairway that led to the upper floors. She chose the west gallery over the others, since it lay in shadows, and moved behind a column so she could covertly view the throng below.

The perspective was far better up here. The king stood out like a peacock in his magnificent costume. Louis XVIII, whom Julienne had heard described as gouty and clumsy as well as courteous and genial, beamed as he mingled among his distinguished guests. She saw numerous dignitaries, as well: Alexander, Metternich, Frederick. And, to one side, Lord Castlereagh.

Her heart beginning to thud, Julienne searched for Martin Perrine. There was no sign of him, but she spied Dare, partly hidden behind a column, his fair hair gleaming as he conversed with several members of the French aristocracy. He had lost his tall beaver hat in the wild ride, she realized for the first time. And he had positioned himself with a clear view of Castlereagh, who stood near the buffet table.

The table groaned with delicacies. Even from a distance she could make out crab patties and sugared grapes and small, frosted cakes among the ice sculptures formed in the shape of busts, including a large centerpiece of King Louis.

A score of footmen moved about the room with difficulty, offering glasses of wine and champagne. And stationed at frequent intervals were both French and British soldiers, all armed.

She saw nothing, however, of the man they feared was a ruthless assassin. When Dare glanced up at her briefly and met her gaze, Julienne gave a slight shake of her head to communicate her lack of success.

Slipping her hand into her reticule, she closed her fingers around the handle of the pistol and settled down to wait.

Nearly an hour later, Julienne had begun to grow weary and her nerves felt raw with strain. She had just shrugged her stiff shoulders to ease the tension when she saw a man push through the crowd below. He had brown hair, but his build was too slight for him to be Perrine.

The unkempt, dark blue coat he wore looked wrinkled, as if it had been slept in, and he was stumbling slightly as though drunk.

Julienne frowned, unable to shake the feeling that his actions had a sinister quality to them. Moreover, he carried something in his hand. A pistol?

Her heart leapt when she realized he was heading directly toward Castlereagh.

She tried shouting in order to warn Dare, but she couldn't make herself heard over the babel of the crowd. She waved her hand frantically, trying to catch Dare's eye, but to no avail. So she did the only thing she could think of: she withdrew her pistol and fired in the air.

The shot echoed around the vast chamber, taking a chunk out of the plaster ceiling and raining down a spray of dust and chips. For an instant, silence prevailed. Then, with startled cries, some of the guests began a mad rush toward the doors, while others fell prostrate on the floor, covering their heads.

But at least she had managed to attract Dare's attention, Julienne realized. And he understood when she gestured wildly at the blue-coated man.

The man had his pistol raised and aimed as he charged toward Castlereagh with the grim determination of a general going into battle.

Dare leapt forward, shoving people out of his way, and rushed the assailant, knocking him to the floor just as the pistol discharged. An ice sculpture exploded two feet from Lord Castlereagh's head, while the blast of the gunshot brought more screams and cries of "Assassin!" and "Murder!" as the guests scattered like frightened sheep.

For a dozen heartbeats, Julienne's gaze was riveted on the chaos below. Yet once she realized the foreign secretary was safe, she forced her gaze to sweep the remaining assembly of stunned onlookers, looking for Martin Perrine.

It was only when she leaned over the railing that she saw him. He was almost directly below her, concealed in the shadows.

His fists clenched as he watched Dare haul the assassin to his feet. Then Perrine's gaze lifted, his narrowed eyes searching the galleries.

When his gaze locked with Julienne's, she saw his fury. His seething reaction left her with no real doubt that he'd employed the assassin and was enraged by his failure.

Dare was shaking the blue-coated man, obviously grilling him intensely. Perrine threw one last fulminating glare at Dare, then spun on his heel and disappeared into the crowd of fleeing guests.

He was leaving, Julienne thought, because he feared the blue-coated man would expose him. But if he escaped, the world would never be safe…

Forcing her sluggish brain to think past the frightening possibilities, she turned and raced for the stairs, knowing she would have to move quickly if she had any hope of keeping Perrine in sight. She had almost reached the bottom steps when a figure suddenly broke from the shadows and came to stand directly below her. Julienne stumbled to an abrupt halt.

She raised her pistol defensively, though she knew it was empty and useless. Her futile gesture earned her a scornful look.

Martin Perrine offered her a deadly smile as he aimed his own pistol at her. "Are you perhaps looking for me, Miss Laurent?"

The assassin, Dare quickly discovered, was a minor French noble, a baron. Dare could scarcely make out his confession, though, for he was sobbing in French and broken English.

"Ma fille, ma pauvre fille, forgive me…"

His story spilled out: his daughter had been abducted two days ago, and he had been blackmailed to gain her return. If he hoped to see the girl alive, he was to kill that man-he pointed at Lord Castlereagh. He'd drunk three full carafes of wine before he could summon the nerve to try, but now he had failed and his daughter would likely die.

"Je suis coupable," he moaned, dropping weakly to his knees.

"There may be a chance to save your daughter," Dare said bracingly.

The baron drew a strangled breath and grasped Dare's hands, his pleading look holding desperation. "Monsieur, can you help me? I beg you-"

"Who is the man you say forced you?"

"Ils'appelle Caliban."

"Could you identify him? It is of vital importance."

"Oui."

"Brown hair, brown eyes, average height?"

"Oui. Il est un monstre."

"So I understand," Dare muttered, agreeing that Caliban was a monster.

"I did not want to kill anyone," the baron whimpered. He gazed up at Lord Castlereagh through streaming eyes. "Forgive me, please, forgive me. Je suis desole.…" His face suddenly crumpled in agony. "Je sais... you cannot save my daughter."

He bowed his head and began to weep brokenly, hopelessly, his face in his hands.

Castlereagh drew Dare aside to ask what had happened.

"I suspect," Dare answered, "that Caliban sent this wretch in his place because he knew we were watching him."

"Is it Perrine, do you think?"

"Undoubtedly. But we still must prove it."

Castlereagh frowned down at the sobbing man. "The poor sod. He didn't stand a chance against Caliban. I would imagine his daughter is dead."

Dare nodded grimly, but his mind had already shifted to Julienne. Glancing up, he searched the gallery above, expecting to see her. Perhaps she was making her way down to the lower floor. Then again…

A stark foreboding gripped him. Was it possible Perrine had feared discovery and somehow taken her as leverage? Dear God.

He had to find Julienne at once. His interrogation had taken no more than two minutes…

Snapping out a harsh order, he told Castlereagh to deal with the baron's arrest. "And keep him safe. He can identify Caliban."

Not waiting for a reply, Dare snatched a musket from the hands of the nearest British soldier. "I need to borrow this, if you please."

Spinning on his heel, he practically ran from the room.

To his left was a stairway leading to the gallery. The stairs were empty but for an object lying near the bottom.

Needles of panic drove deep into his chest when he recognized the pistol he had given Julienne. The thought of her in Caliban's clutches made him wild with fear.

Frantically his gaze moved about the hall. He doubted Perrine would still be in the palace, and they might have taken any one of a dozen exits. Making an instant decision, Dare broke into a run, heading for the nearest door, which faced south.

Another object lay on the marble floor nearby. Julienne's reticule. They had passed this way, Dare was now certain. In fact she might have dropped it deliberately to give him a clue to follow.

He burst through the door, wincing at the bright sunlight, and nearly stumbled over two bodies.

The king's troops.

Lying in a pool of blood.

Both their throats slit.

The fear that tore through Dare was tangled up with fury and fierce self-recrimination. Cursing himself for having allowed Caliban to dupe him, for allowing Julienne to become exposed to such lethal danger, he sprinted across the lawns, through the gardens.