His last words produced a wave of horror in Maggie, but her muscles were no longer responding to her will. Accompanied by terror, she fell into blackness.

Rafe was on edge when he arrived at the Boulevard des Capucines town house, uncertain whether he was more upset at the thought of confronting General Roussaye, or at having to spend time with Margot. He could no longer think of her as Maggie; that name belonged to the elusive, maddening countess. During their intimacy she had become fully Margot Ashton to him again, and he refused to let go of that.

Already the memory of the night they had spent together seemed incredibly distant, as if it had happened years earlier rather than a scant day ago. He wondered if there was any chance that Margot might come to want him if Anderson was permanently out of her life. It might take a long time, but he was prepared to wait. God knew, he'd waited thirteen years already.

Frowning at the butler's statement that the countess had not yet returned, Rafe waited for fifteen restless minutes before summoning Cynthia Northwood. Though Margot had told him why the girl was staying here, Rafe was still shocked by the extent of her injuries. "How do you feel, Cynthia?"

"Better than I have in a long, long time, Rafe," she said ruefully. "I only wish I had dared leave sooner."

"It must have taken a great deal of courage to leave at all," Rafe said, glad that her state of mind seemed healthy. Though their affair had been over for years, he was still fond of Cynthia and her sometimes reckless spirit. She would need all her courage in the scandal to come; he hoped that Major Brewer would prove equally strong. He continued, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I wondered if the countess said whether she was going anywhere besides the embassy. We have an urgent appointment, and it surprises me that she is not here."

"Maggie returned from the embassy about half an hour ago, but left again without coming into the house," Cynthia replied. "I happened to be looking out the window, and I saw a man pull up in a carriage. They talked a bit, then went off together."

Rafe felt sick to his stomach. "You know Robert Anderson from the delegation. Was he the man?"

"No, it was a dark fellow not much taller than Maggie," she said without hesitation. "A Frenchman, I think."

Rafe forced himself to quell his rising jealousy and think clearly. It was conceivable that Margot might have gone off with Anderson like that, but it seemed unlikely that anyone else could persuade her to break the engagement to visit Roussaye. Therefore, she might not have gone willingly. 'Tell me exactly what you saw, Cynthia-every detail you can remember."

She could add little beyond the color of the coach, for the sheer window curtains had obscured details. Her description of the man would have fit half the men in France.

First Anderson had disappeared, and now Margot.

Rafe felt the beginnings of fear, and the best antidote for that was action. It was more important than ever that he talk to Roussaye. If the general turned out to have kidnapped Margot…

He stood and said crisply, "I must keep our appointment by myself. Send a note to Madame Sorel and ask her to meet me here. I should be back in an hour or so, and it is urgent that we talk."

Then he left, leaving a worried Cynthia Northwood.

On the drive to Roussaye's house, Rafe decided that the best strategy was to shock the general with accusations and hope the man would give something away if he was guilty. In his present mood, it would be very easy for Rafe to sound accusing.

Roussaye received him affably from behind the desk in his study, standing and offering his hand. "Good day, your grace. Kind of you to call, though I am sorry Countess Janos isn't with you. My wife was hoping to visit with her."

"This isn't a social call, Roussaye," Rafe said harshly. "I have been conducting a secret investigation for the British government, and I am here to tell you that the game is up. Even Le Serpent cannot escape this time."

The general's face paled and he sank back into his chair. After a stunned moment, he reached toward a drawer.

Swiftly Rafe produced a loaded pistol from under his coat. His hand rock-steady, he snapped, "Don't do it, Roussaye. You're under arrest. I have British soldiers waiting outside. Even if you could shoot me, you'd never escape."

"Such fierceness," the general said with a hint of bitter amusement "I was reaching for a cigar. If I am under arrest, this may be my last opportunity to partake of civilized pleasures. Care to join me?"

Moving with exaggerated care, he produced an inlaid walnut humidor and placed it on the desk, then took out a cigar. He clipped the end and lit it with leisurely grace, as if he had all the time in the world. It was an impressive display of savoir faire for a man facing the wreckage of his plans and the likely loss of his life.

Refusing the offered cigar, Rafe took a seat in front of the desk, the pistol still trained on Roussaye. There would be time enough to call the soldiers later. Before that happened, the general had some questions to answer.

Roussaye drew in a mouthful of smoke, then released it with a sigh. "There is one thing I would ask of you, Candover, as one gentlemen to another. I swear my wife knows nothing of this. Please do what you can to see that she does not suffer for my sins." Scanning his visitor's hard face, the general added, "Filomena is your kinswoman. That should mean something, even if someone of your distinguished lineage cannot accept a man of my birth as a gentleman."

Rate's lips thinned at the gibe. "I will use what influence I have. Unlike you, I do not make war on women."

"That was uncalled for, Candover," Roussaye said, an edge to his voice. "While no officer can always restrain his troops, I did my best to minimize the atrocities that occur too often in war."

"I'm not talking about war, I'm talking about today, and Countess Janos." Rafe stood and leaned over the desk, his tall frame taut with menace. "She's disappeared, probably kidnapped. If anything happens to her and you are behind it, I swear you will not live long enough for the firing squad."

The general removed the cigar from his mouth and looked at his visitor with astonishment. "I haven't the remotest idea what you are talking about. Why should I have any desire to injure the countess? Quite apart from the fact that she is a delightful woman, my interest now is in preserving life, not destroying it."

"Fine words, General," Rafe said bitterly. "After you tell me what you have done to Margot, perhaps you can explain how you rationalize assassination as preserving life."

Roussaye studied his visitor intently. "I am beginning to think that we are speaking at cross purposes. What exactly are you accusing me of, and why should your lady be involved?"

Rafe was beginning to loathe the calm he had admired. Fleetingly he wondered if his own imperturbable control had maddened others as much over the years.

Throwing discretion to the winds, he said, "The countess is a British agent and has been instrumental in uncovering your conspiracy. I assume that you realized what she was doing and decided to remove her, but it's too late. We already know about the attempt on Castlereagh's life, and that Wellington was your next target. After you tell me what you have done to her, I want to know what your future plans were. I shot your confederate Lemercier, and by God, I'll put a bullet in you if I have to!"

Roussaye threw his head back and laughed. "This would be hilarious, except that I will probably end up just as dead as if I were really guilty of what you accuse me of." He took another pull on his cigar. "My villainy, of which it now appears you were ignorant, was an attempt to help some of my distinguished colleagues who are on King Louis' death list."

As Rafe stared at him, the general elaborated. "Come, Candover, surely you know about the death list-the names of many of the chief imperial military men are on it. It is only a matter of time until Marshal Ney and a score of others are executed. They are considered 'traitors.' It is the sheerest chance that I am not in prison with them."

He stared at the coal on the end of his cigar, his expression brooding. "Treason is so often a matter of dates. The condemned men were all honorable soldiers-their only crime lies in serving the losing side. I had hoped I might help a few of them escape. Even some of your countrymen agree that the king's reprisals are outrageous. Indeed, a Briton has been aiding me."

He exhaled a thin wreath of smoke. "I won't give you his name, so don't waste your time with threats. Though I suppose that your government would not execute a British national for participating in a foiled escape plot."

Mouth dry, Rafe asked, "Was it Robert Anderson?"

Roussaye paused, then said slowly, "You are well informed."

Stunned, Rafe rapidly rearranged everything he knew. If Roussaye was telling the truth, it removed a major piece of the evidence of Anderson's treachery. Many men, Rafe included, disagreed with the vindictiveness of the royalists. Anderson's money might be suspect, but as Margot had defensively suggested, her lover might have been selling the same information in several places without actually betraying his own country.

As for the general, his nickname of Le Serpent could be a coincidence; after all, the three-headed serpent crest found among Northwood's papers was still unexplained, and it might be the symbol of the true Serpent. The only other possible link was from Lemercier to Roussaye, and the fact that both were Bonapartist officers didn't mean that they were conspirators.

Rafe asked, "Was Henri Lemercier also working with you?"

The general wrinkled his nose as if a bad odor had forced its way through the cigar smoke. "You insult me. Lemercier is a jackal, the worst kind of officer. He would never lift a finger to help anyone unless he was well paid. If the price was right, he'd strangle his own grandmother and cook her in a fricassee."

Numbly Rafe uncocked the gun and thrust it beneath his coat. Perhaps Roussaye was simply a brilliant liar, but Margot had always doubted that he had the temperament of an assassin, even though she had suspected that he was involved in something secret. Her instincts were proving to be remarkably sound.

Rafe said woodenly, "I owe you an apology. I hope you will forgive my accusations."

"Wait." The general raised his hand. "Why did you think I would want to murder Castlereagh or Wellington? Without them, France would be forced to accept a much more punitive peace."

"Exactly. It seemed possible that a true revolutionary might want to see France humiliated, to the point where she would be willing to take up arms again. Now if you will excuse me, I must leave and start looking for Margot."

Roussaye shook his head. "Ingenious thinking, but I assure you, I would do nothing to prolong my country's suffering-France can afford no more Waterloos. If there is a conspiracy that threatens the peace, I am as interested in uncovering it as you are. If you will tell me what you know, perhaps I can help."

Rafe hesitated, then sat down, cursing himself for being so bewitched by Margot that he hadn't asked more questions when he had the chance. Now it was too late; with both Anderson and Margot out of the picture, he was crippled by his own ignorance. Without access to their information sources, he had no idea where to turn, so any assistance was welcome. Briefly he outlined what they knew or guessed, then listed all of the primary and secondary suspects they had been investigating.

The general listened attentively, his face darkening at the news of Robert Anderson's disappearance, but he interrupted only when Rafe mentioned that Count de Varenne had been a suspect. "Why Varenne? The Ultra-Royalists have the greatest stake in the status quo."

Rafe had to think back to remember. "At the beginning, there was some thought that the Ultra-Royalists might want to assassinate the king so that the Count d'Artois could succeed him. Once it became clear that the attack was aimed at the British leaders, we eliminated Varenne from our list"

Roussaye nodded. "I had never met him before our encounter at the Louvre, so I made a few inquiries. Varenne was heavily involved in royalist intelligence work during his exile, but his activities are now legitimate. Pray continue."

When Rafe was finished, the general pondered while the air became blue-gray with smoke. Eventually he said, "I am familiar with most of those men, and of them all, Lemercier was the most likely to be involved in a conspiracy. However, he wasn't intelligent or ambitious enough to be the mastermind. We need to know who he was working for."