Rupert met Gui's gaze directly. "Your cousin-your supposed cousin-Bertrand wasn't a traitor. My father set him up. Because he wanted him out of the way."

"Why-"

"Because he thought that was the only way to convince me to marry and produce an heir."

Gabrielle saw the realization register in her brother's-her supposed brother's-eyes. For a long moment he simply stared at Rupert. Then his gaze shot to her, filled with questions and a concern that unexpectedly tore at her chest. "I know," Gabrielle said. She reached for Rupert's hand. "Lord Dewhurst manipulated both Rupert and me."

Gui's gaze returned to Rupert. "I don't know what I've done to deserve the trust you just placed in me, Rupert."

Rupert held Gui's gaze with his own. "You knew Bertrand. I couldn't bear to have you think the worst of him. And you need to know what my father is."

Gui inclined his head. "I may not be part of this family anymore, but I don't think I'll ever stop thinking of it as mine."

"Gui." Gabrielle moved to his side and touched his arm. His muscles were taut beneath her fingers.

"Don't you think you'd better start calling me Victor?"

"I'll always think of you as Gui. You've been my brother for far too long for that to change. I don't know-" She looked at Rupert, then back at Gui. "Oncle Jacques and Tante Amelie have suffered so much. I don't know that it would serve any purpose for them to learn the truth."

"For G.o.d's sake, Gaby." This time it was Gui who jerked away from her touch. "It was bad enough that I lived a lie as a teenager. That I went on living it-" He shook his head, self-disgust washing over his face. "You can't expect me to continue to do so. I've never claimed to have much in the way of honor, but I'm not quite so far gone."

"I've always thought you had a deal more honor than you let on," Rupert said, crossing to stand beside her and Gui. "But whatever is said-if anything-we need to discover what my father's game is first. I'm done being a chess piece he can move as he wills."

Gui started to protest, then slowly inclined his head. To Gabrielle's surprise, he reached out and touched her hand, though he continued to look at Rupert. "Whatever comes of this, I'll always think of Gaby as my sister."

"I know," Rupert said. "That's a large part of why I trusted you."

Malcolm poured whisky in the salon in the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore. Candlelight flickered over the sea green wall hangings, the white plasterwork, the striped satin upholstery. A decorous setting for a convivial end to an evening with friends. They'd shared many such with the Davenports in the past months. Save that on this occasion, they were gathered together because Cordelia had gripped Suzanne's arm with iron fingers and said she had something she had to relate to the three of them, as soon as possible.

Suzanne glanced at Cordelia, seated beside her on the sofa, her face pale, her hands locked together. Soft ringlets fell about her face, but tension radiated from the straight line of her spine and the taut angle of her head. Suzanne's own confrontation with Fouche still reverberated through her. Her chest was knotted and her mouth dry. But she was used to boxing up fear and pushing it to a place where it could be, if not forgot, at least ignored as one ignores the ache of a troublesome wound or the nag of a headache.

Malcolm put a gla.s.s of whisky into Cordelia's hand. "Whatever it is, sharing it probably won't worsen the situation. And it may help."

Cordelia gave him a smile and took a quick sip of whisky. Harry sat watching her with an intent gaze. Cordelia cradled the gla.s.s in her hands and looked from her husband to Malcolm to Suzanne. "Gui Laclos is an impostor."

Once the first words were out she recounted the rest of what Gui Laclos had revealed in brisk, concise tones. She had the makings of an admirable agent. Though her hands remained locked round the gla.s.s, white-knuckled.

Harry got to his feet and put a hand on his wife's shoulder. "That was brilliantly done, Cordy. And it can't have been easy."

She looked up at him. "I was so proud of myself for drawing him out. Only to discover I'd stumbled into the midst of someone else's nightmare."

"Which unfortunately has relevance for us." Malcolm leaned forwards in his chair. "Gui had no idea how Rivere learned of this?"

Cordelia shook her head. "I believe Gui when he says he didn't kill Rivere. But I don't expect you to."

Malcolm looked at Harry, then at Suzanne. "As it happens your trust in him means a great deal, Cordy."

"But you can't be sure," Cordelia said.

"No. And we have to explore every avenue. I've learned to be wary of even those closest to me."

"Rivere knew a shocking number of the Laclos family's secrets," Suzanne said. "And this one he couldn't have learned from either Gabrielle or etienne."

Harry dropped down on the arm of the sofa, his hand still on Cordelia's shoulder. "Did Gui have any idea what made Dewhurst think he was Guilaume de Laclos?"

"Gui seemed to think it was misinformation from a relative of his mother's who was trying to do him a good turn."

"This could be what Bertrand discovered just before he was killed," Suzanne said. "What he told Louise Carnot changed everything. And why he was considering going home. Christian Laclos told Doro and me that Bertrand had written asking him about Gui just before he-Bertrand-was killed."

Malcolm nodded. "Living in France, Bertrand could have stumbled across information that cast doubt on Gui's story."

"He wasn't in France when he died," Cordelia pointed out.

"No, but he could have set inquiries in motion before he left for the Peninsula. Perhaps he'd just heard from someone with decisive information. Or perhaps he met someone in the French army who had information."

"I wonder if he could have written to Rivere for information as well as to Christian," Suzanne said. "He may have known Rivere had been his brother's confederate. Perhaps that's how Rivere learned the truth about Gui. Or perhaps Bertrand revealed enough for Rivere to ferret out the rest."

Harry flicked a glance at Malcolm. "Dewhurst doesn't strike me as the sort of man to be taken in easily."

"No." Malcolm turned his gla.s.s in his hand. "He survived working in the field with the Royalists in France for years. Though when one has lost people, one can be quick to grasp on to a shred of hope. Difficult to see what reason Dewhurst would have had to foist an impostor off on his old friends."

"Unless his old friends were in on it," Suzanne said, twisting her gla.s.s in her hand as she turned over thoughts in her head. She looked at Cordelia. "Gui told you he was born shortly after his parents' marriage, didn't he?"

"You're suggesting he was a Laclos by-blow?" Harry asked. "That he shared a father with the real Gui?"

"It would explain the generosity of the Laclos family to Gui's parents," Suzanne said. "And why Gui was allowed to mingle so freely with the Laclos children."

"In which case perhaps the Comte de Laclos has always known the Gui he took into his house isn't the real Gui," Malcolm said. "He could have set his old friend Dewhurst to look for his brother's by-blow with the idea of taking the boy into the family. Of course at the time he'd not have thought it likely Gui would become his heir."

"You think he had second thoughts about taking Gui into his family after his sons died?" Harry asked.

"Or perhaps the opposite. Perhaps he wanted to protect Gui's position as his heir."

"Which Rivere's knowledge could threaten," Cordelia said.

"Quite. If Gui were exposed as an impostor, the next heir would be Christian Laclos."

"Who is a bit of a b.u.mbler," Suzanne said.

"Precisely. And who grew up away from the comte. The comte might well prefer Gui, whom he's come to think of as a son. Of course it's all supposition. We don't know that the comte knew Gui was an impostor or that he knew about Rivere threatening Gui. Or that Gui is a Laclos by-blow. That's the problem with pretty theories. One errant fact can knock them down like a house of cards."

"We need more information," Harry said. "I suggest a return to Christine Leroux."

Cordelia managed a smile. "You look entirely too cheerful about it."

Harry reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips. "Christine Leroux is a clever woman. But you're brilliant."

"Harry seemed to take Cordy's concern for Gui quite well," Suzanne said to Malcolm, closing the door of their bedchamber.

"Harry's testing himself. But so far I'd say he's pa.s.sing the test." Malcolm tossed his coat over a chairback and struck a flint to steel to light the tapers on her dressing table and the escritoire. "I always knew Cordy had nerves of steel, but I must say even then she impressed me tonight. She's taken to intelligence work almost as quickly as you did."

Suzanne's fingers froze behind her neck on the silver filigree clasp of her pearl necklace. Because of course when Malcolm met her she'd been far from a novice at espionage. Just as she'd been far from a novice in the bedchamber. One of her greatest challenges in the early days of her marriage had been not to reveal that extent of her expertise in either area. "Cordy's a clever woman who hasn't had an outlet for her cleverness. Though I hate for her to see the ugliness of what we do. She got a taste of that uncovering Gui's secrets."

"Married to Harry, she can't hide from it. And G.o.d knows she saw enough of that ugliness in Brussels." Malcolm dropped down on the edge of the bed and began to unwind the folds of his cravat. "Talleyrand put Tatiana up to the affair with etienne Laclos. To keep an eye on the plot."

Suzanne stared at her husband. She'd been so caught up in her own confrontation with Fouche and then Cordelia's revelations about Gui that she'd missed the shadows that drew at Malcolm's face. "He admitted it?"

"With surprising celerity for Talleyrand. But he claims he and Tania weren't the ones who betrayed the plot." Malcolm frowned at the crumpled linen in his hands. His voice was stripped of expression. "He says Tania insisted that they stop the plot without betraying etienne."

"Darling." Suzanne set the necklace she had just unclasped down on the dressing table and moved to sit on the bed beside him. "That could very well be the truth. I don't see why Talleyrand would make it up."

"Talleyrand could have any number of reasons for making it up, each more complicated than the last. But it is possible Tania genuinely cared for etienne." Malcolm frowned at the cravat, then tossed it across the room to the chair where he'd left his coat.

"Gabrielle Caruthers told me she had the impression her cousin was in love with someone much more-well, I suppose, innocent for want of a better word-than Tatiana," Suzanne said. It was hours since she and Malcolm had been able to talk in private, and those hours were thick with revelations. "That he seemed desperately in love and that he tended to fall for young, helpless females."

Malcolm continued to frown, as though trying to piece together his sister's past from a miasma of half-truths. "Love can take one by surprise."

"That's what I said to Gabrielle." Suzanne hesitated. For all her deceptions, she knew one couldn't comfort a man like Malcolm with half-truths. But there was honest comfort she could offer. She curved her fingers round his arm. "As I said, the fact that she became pregnant indicates she lost control enough that she forgot to take the usual precautions."

"Love isn't the only reason one loses control."

"But it is one possibility."

Malcolm frowned at the b.u.t.tons on his waistcoat as he unfastened them. "Tania always claimed not to believe in love."

"So did you."

He shrugged out of the waistcoat and threw it after the cravat. "I stopped after I met you."

"Darling." She made her voice playful to hide a host of emotions that shot through her at his words. "Don't tell me you made a heartfelt confession of your feelings to anyone. I don't think you were remotely aware of them at the time."

"Quite. But I was aware enough of the conflict to stop making any claims about love at all." He fumbled with his shirt cuffs, avoiding her gaze. "Later-certainly by this winter in Vienna and then in Brussels-if Tania had still been alive . . ."

"You'd have talked to her?"

"Perhaps." He gave a reluctant grin. "Tania would have seen it and forced me to talk."

"And you think you'd have seen it if she'd fallen in love with etienne Laclos?"

"I'd like to think I would have. But-" He shook his head. "She was my sister. I admitted things to her I didn't admit to anyone else. And she-I think she trusted me more than she did most people. But in many ways I didn't know her. I've realized that more and more since she died."

"Malcolm." Suzanne ran her fingers down his arm. "The fact that she didn't confide in you doesn't reflect any lack in you."

The muscles in his arm tensed beneath her touch. "You can't know that, Suzette."

"I know what you were to her. If she'd wanted to confide-if she'd felt able to-she'd have turned to you."

"Which doesn't change the fact that she didn't." He kicked off his shoes. "I don't know why the possibility that she betrayed a man she loved bothers me."

Suzanne swallowed a welling of bitterness. She could feel Fouche's gaze slicing into her. "But it does."

"I'm not exactly clear-sighted when it comes to Tania. I know her capacity for betrayal. But everyone has their limits. Or perhaps it's just that I like to believe so."

"That's because your own limits are so very clear." Suzanne curled her fingers round his wrist.

Malcolm gave a twisted smile. "Does any Intelligence Agent have clear limits?"

"You do." It was a large part of why she loved him. It was also why she could never fully feel she deserved him. And why she was sure he'd never be able to forgive her if he knew the truth about her past and her reasons for marrying him. "Malcolm." She rested her head against his shoulder. "We don't know that Tatiana did betray etienne. But if she did, it doesn't necessarily mean she didn't love him. It's amazing how contradictory feelings and loyalties can coexist."

He turned his head and brushed his lips across her brow. "You're kind, Suzette."

"Kind?" It was the last thing she thought of in relation to herself. But then the woman Malcolm saw and loved wasn't really the real her.

His mouth slid to her temple. "I know how you felt about Tania during her life. And yet here you are trying to see things from her perspective."

"During her life my own perspective was distinctly colored by the fact that I thought she was my husband's mistress."

Malcolm grimaced. "And you didn't believe me when I denied it."

She swallowed. "I wasn't sure what to think. You don't lie easily, but-"

"No agent can avoid lying."

"Dearest-" She drew back and looked up at his granite-set profile beneath the shadows of the canopy. "I was jealous, but I knew I hadn't any right to be. I think the truth is I'd been half-expecting to learn you had a mistress ever since our wedding."

He swung his head round to stare down at her. "In G.o.d's name why-"

"You offered me so much when you offered me your name, but fidelity wasn't part of it."

"Did you expect me to spell it out? It's part of the marriage vow."

The sound of Malcolm's voice repeating those vows in the cramped sitting room that stood in for a chapel at the British emba.s.sy in Lisbon echoed in her head. It had been a shock of cold fire, realizing how seriously this man she had tied herself to-never expecting it to last-took those vows. "So were words like 'obey,' " she said. "Which I don't think either of us took seriously."

He grinned unexpectedly. "There are vows and then there are vows. But I never thought I needed to say-Sweetheart-" He looked away, and she could tell he was fumbling for the right words. He always did so on the rare occasions he tried to express his feelings, but as she watched the tension in his face, for the first time she realized he was terrified of putting a foot wrong. Of making a demand on her that would violate what he saw as the terms of their marriage. "I never thought much of marriage as an inst.i.tution," he said, his gaze fixed across the room on a patch of candlelit blue and gold carpet between her dressing table and the chest of drawers. "But having decided to enter into it, I couldn't but feel an obligation to fulfill my side of the bargain."

"Because you take your obligations far more seriously than most people do."

"Perhaps. But-" He swallowed. To her surprise, he turned his head and looked her full in the face. His eyes were open and so vulnerable she felt she could smash them with an ill-chosen word. "The truth is that obligation scarcely enters into it. One could hardly claim I had a varied career in the bedchamber at any point, but since I met you, other women hold singularly little interest for me."

Her throat went tight, driving the air from her lungs. Something p.r.i.c.kled in her eyes that might have been tears. "That's one of the loveliest things you've ever said to me, darling. But you can't fail to notice that other women are-"

"Beautiful? Desirable? Brilliant? No, of course not. But they aren't you."

One of the things that had shocked her, that morning in Lisbon when she'd bound her life to Malcolm's, was the realization that for the foreseeable future she wouldn't share another man's bed. A novel concept to one who was used to variety. And if that variety came in the service of her work, she could not deny that she enjoyed it. More than that. It had always been a form of escape. Even as her feelings for her husband had grown, her fidelity had been a practical part of her masquerade and later a mark of respect for the husband she had betrayed in so many ways. It hadn't really been a word in her vocabulary. Which of course had given her no right to feel jealousy but hadn't made the jealousy go away.

"Darling-" She leaned forwards and covered his mouth with her own. The surest escape when her feelings threatened to overwhelm her, the surest way to reach him.

His arms came round her with the force of still-unvoiced emotions. But when his lips slid to the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her temple, he said, "Suzette? What is it? You're crying."