"You can't deny it has a familiar ring."

Regret tore at her throat. "I never asked-"

"For anything. That doesn't mean you didn't deserve it. Or want it. I've learned to read you rather well."

She put her hand over his own. His skin was cool beneath her gloved fingers. "The similarities are superficial. Gabrielle was in love with Lord Caruthers when they married."

"And you weren't in love with me." It was a statement of fact.

She looked steadily at him. "Not then."

He swallowed. "Yes. Well, we've both changed."

"And though we danced round it, in light of what Gabrielle told me and certainly what Rupert Caruthers told you I doubt the Carutherses' marriage is particularly pa.s.sionate." She kept her gaze fastened on his face. "That's one place we've never had any problems."

An unexpected smile shot into his eyes. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. "I don't deserve you."

"That's silly, darling. I often think the same about you."

He laced his fingers through her own. "The irony being that of the two it's Rupert who's been faithful. Though I suspect that's because he doesn't think he'll ever fall in love again. Some people are like that."

She tightened her grip on his hand, holding on to the moment. Pushing aside the time, only a few hours away, when she was going to slip away from her British husband to a.s.sist in the escape of a Bonapartist agent. "Do you think Lord Caruthers had any idea about his wife's affair with Rivere?"

"I doubt it. He only expressed guilt where she was concerned. If he killed Rivere in a fit of jealousy he's an exceedingly good actor."

"He was an Intelligence Agent."

"True. I still doubt it. Rupert takes his code and his vows seriously and has difficulty imagining anyone else doing otherwise, whether it's his military colleagues or his wife. He's a bit like David that way." Malcolm was silent for a moment. "Rupert and Gabrielle's situation is exactly what I've always feared for David if he ever married."

Suzanne drew a breath. Her chest hurt, as though her corset laces were pulled too tight. "Simon isn't going anywhere. And David's strong enough to hold out against pressure."

"There's no pressure quite like that of aristocratic family tradition. And love's a complicated thing. It doesn't sweep aside all problems. Sometimes it creates them. That's what I told Rupert."

Suzanne watched her husband in the dancing shadows as the breeze stirred the leaves of the tree overhead. "That love's complicated?"

"That it doesn't sweep aside obstacles or miraculously turn one into a better person." He turned his head and met her gaze. "I know that full well because I love you."

She looked back into his gray eyes, open and vulnerable, in that way they so seldom were. "Complicated or not," she said, "I'd take it over the alternative."

"Yes, so would I. Terrifying as I often find it."

She rested her head against his shoulder, thinking how well she knew him and at the same time of the corners of his mind and soul that were still barred to her. "You make me very happy, Malcolm." Even though I know full well I don't deserve you.

"Rank flattery, my darling."

"As a good investigator, you should recognize the truth when you hear it."

He slid his arm round her shoulders, uncharacteristically heedless of anyone who might walk by. "To own the truth, I've been envious of David and Simon since we were all at Oxford. To be that sure of another person."

"I know." She thought back to her first visit to England just over a year ago. "I felt the same way when I first met them. Even before that, exchanging letters with Simon."

He looked down at her. "I never told you-"

"About their relationship? Not in so many words. But I can read between the lines rather well. Cordelia figured it out a half hour after they arrived in Brussels. If she hadn't guessed earlier. One just has to be open to the possibility."

He smiled, then his gaze went serious. "But even as I envied them, I worried about them. Love isn't easy in the best of circ.u.mstances, and they face greater obstacles than many of us."

"The weight of family and tradition."

"Particularly with Lord Carfax for a father." Malcolm grimaced at the thought of his spymaster. "He's a man willing to go to any lengths to achieve his objectives, as I know full well. I don't know that he'd object to the relationship continuing, but he wants David to marry and produce an heir."

"And that sort of marriage would tear David in two. Aside from the fact that I can't imagine Simon standing for such a pretense."

Malcolm nodded. "I think Carfax has been biding his time, hoping David will grow out of it. I wonder when Carfax's patience may run out, what he may try-"

Malcolm broke off, gaze fixed on the pond.

"Darling?" Suzanne asked.

"Dear G.o.d," he said in a rough voice. "It's so obvious. Why didn't I think of it sooner?"

CHAPTER 14.

Lord Dewhurst, the footman informed Malcolm in the entry hall of Dewhurst's hired house in the Rue de Richelieu, was engaged. With Lord Caruthers. Malcolm bit back a curse. It was just as he had feared. He brushed past the footman, ignoring his gasp of surprise, and took the stairs two at a time.

He pushed open the study door without knocking to find Rupert with his hand round Lord Dewhurst's throat, pressing Dewhurst against the cherrywood and gilt paneling. Dewhurst's face was red.

"Rupert, no." Malcolm ran across the room and caught his friend by the arm.

"d.a.m.n it, Malcolm, stay out of this. You don't know what he's done."

"Yes, I do. He's responsible for the death of the man you love."

"Then get out of my way. If it were Suzanne-"

"I hope to h.e.l.l you'd stop me."

Dewhurst wrenched himself away from his son and collapsed against a chair, breathing hard. "You don't understand, Rupert."

"On the contrary, I understand very well. You wanted me married. You wanted me to produce an heir. You thought you had to get rid of Bertrand to ensure that. The wonder is I didn't see it sooner."

"d.a.m.n it, boy, that fellow had you bewitched."

Rupert lunged at his father again. "Don't you dare-"

Malcolm ran between father and son. Rupert's fist caught him on the jaw. He grabbed hold of the desk to keep from falling, sending a bronze paperweight thudding to the floor. "Lord Dewhurst, do you admit you were behind the forged papers that made it look as though Bertrand Laclos was a double?"

Dewhurst put his hand to his throat and tugged at his cravat. "I admit nothing of the sort."

"Don't add lies to your other sins, Father." Weary disgust edged Rupert's voice. "We know Bertrand was set up. Who had a better motive than you? The h.e.l.l of it is, I fell right into your trap. If I'd known I'd have done anything rather than marry and fall in with your plans."

"Gabrielle's a good woman. You can't quarrel with how things turned out there."

"Gabrielle deserves better than me. Thanks to your machinations and my stupidity, she's trapped in a marriage to a man who can never give her what she deserves."

Dewhurst regarded his son as he might a diplomat from a minor country who was refusing to see the British perspective. "You're irrational, Rupert."

"On the contrary. For the first time in my life, I see things clearly."

Something wavered in Dewhurst's gaze. He took a half step towards his son. "You're a good father, Rupert. You've given me a grandson to be proud of."

"Don't you dare come near Stephen." Rupert's shoulders tensed as though he would deliver another blow. "So help me G.o.d, I may not be able to repudiate the t.i.tle, but I can d.a.m.n well keep my son away from you."

"For G.o.d's sake, Rupert. He's my grandson."

"No." Rupert's gaze was ash cold. "Stephen can't be your grandson because you aren't my father anymore." He strode to the door. "Malcolm. Thank you for discovering the truth. I'm sorry you were dragged into our sordid family drama."

He went out, pulling the heavy door to behind him with a sharp click. Dewhurst stared at the gleaming door panels, a wounded man who could not yet quite feel the extent of the injury he had been dealt.

"Lord Dewhurst-," Malcolm said.

Dewhurst spun towards Malcolm, his gaze hard. "I'd advise you not to spread these outrageous stories any further, Malcolm."

"Wellington and Castlereagh have charged me to discover the truth."

"Wellington and Castlereagh wish to avoid scandal. They won't thank you for causing one."

That, Malcolm feared, was all too true. "They're neither of them one to shirk the truth."

"But they both know enough to realize at times one has to be flexible with it. Something you need to learn yourself, Malcolm. And to acknowledge what's due to your position."

"I'm more concerned with what's due to Bertrand Laclos's memory."

Dewhurst twitched his shirt cuffs straight beneath his coat. "Bertrand Laclos was a traitor who preyed upon my son's friendship and did incalculable damage to the country. Thank G.o.d you uncovered his crimes before he wreaked more havoc."

"Believe me, sir, I will never forgive myself for the part I played in this affair."

"You're a clever man, Malcolm." Dewhurst made this sound like a backhanded compliment. "But you have difficulty understanding where your loyalties lie. That's a dangerous quality in Paris these days. Don't be foolish. You too have a young family to consider."

"What the devil are you suggesting, sir?" Malcolm asked, voice hard with the fear that shot through him.

Dewhurst returned his gaze, his own level and hard and stripped of vulnerability. "Merely that you should be prudent."

"It sounded more as though you were telling me to watch my back. Which you may be sure I will do."

Wellington swore with the same vehemence Malcolm had heard in the duke's voice at the d.u.c.h.ess of Richmond's ball when he announced that Napoleon had humbugged him. "d.a.m.n fool Dewhurst. Should have known better than to let family matters intrude on politics."

Castlereagh's fine-boned face was drawn into a frown, as though he were forcing himself to look at something distasteful. "Accusations of such a relationship could have destroyed young Caruthers's career."

"And in acting as he did, Dewhurst has just drawn attention to that relationship."

"You believe it then?" Castlereagh asked, still frowning.

"What? That Caruthers and Bertrand Laclos were lovers? That Dewhurst was behind the accusations against Laclos?"

"All of it."

Wellington took a turn about the room, hands clasped behind his back. "I don't give a d.a.m.n who Bertrand Laclos and Rupert Caruthers were sleeping with. As to Dewhurst orchestrating the Laclos affair-Malcolm presents a convincing case."

"But there's no definitive evidence," Castlereagh pointed out. "Dewhurst denies the whole. Perhaps the French used Laclos's unnatural relationship with Caruthers to blackmail him into working for them."

"Talleyrand says he wasn't working for them," Malcolm pointed out.

"Hardly the most reliable of sources," Castlereagh returned.

"But in this case I believe him. And if you'd seen Dewhurst's reaction to the accusations, it was as good as an admission."

"The question," said Charles Stuart, who had been listening to the whole with a somewhat bemused expression, "seems to be what we do next. The Ultra Royalists are difficult enough without something like this to hold over us. If this becomes public-"

"It can't," Castlereagh said. "Even if we were certain, to admit that one of our senior diplomats destroyed the son of a n.o.ble French family who are close to the Comte d'Artois-Not to mention what it would do to Caruthers."

"Caruthers can take care of himself," Wellington said, striding back to the center of the room. "But we can't risk the story getting out."

"We may not have a choice," Stuart said.

"We can d.a.m.n well do everything we can to ensure it doesn't get out."

"The Lacloses deserve to know Bertrand didn't betray his British allies," Malcolm said.

Wellington took a step towards him. "You'll say nothing to them. That's an order, Malcolm." His mouth twisted. "How the h.e.l.l did Rivere know about this? And whom might he have told?"

"I don't know how he knew." Malcolm met the duke's gaze, wondering again at what lay behind Wellington's own confrontation with Rivere. "I doubt he told many people-he understood the value of information." He glanced from Wellington to Castlereagh to Stuart. "Do any of you know what the surprising news might be that Bertrand wrote about to Louise Carnot just before he was killed?"

"If it was something in Paris, it's more likely to have had to do with French intelligence," Castlereagh said. "Perhaps he suspected they were on to him."

"Odd he'd have written to Madame Carnot about that, though," Stuart pointed out. "And odd he'd have wanted to go back to Paris to investigate."

"And then there's the fact that eventually he planned to return to England," Malcolm said.

Castlereagh's mouth tightened. "My brother was wrong to conceal that."

Wellington, continuing to frown, said nothing at all. Stuart examined his nails.