She smiled up at him, perspiration on her temple. "Was I that quiet?"

He smiled back then. He had clasped his hand to her mouth when she had climaxed-it was the middle of the day. "You exercised admirable restraint," he whispered.

"It was wonderful, Simon," she whispered, and she laid her cheek on his chest again.

He stroked her hair, the euphoria beginning to recede. As it did, he recalled Warlock's orders that he send Amelia away and everything else that had just transpired in the library. His heart sank.

Did Amelia know everything?

What would she think of him when she finally realized the extent of what he was doing?

She glanced up at him. "We should not linger, Simon, although part of me does not care if we are caught like this."

"I care!" he said fervently. "No one can know that we are lovers, Amelia. No one." G.o.d, she was in so much danger. And it was entirely his fault.

"Were you ever going to tell me the truth?" she asked, her gaze searching.

"How much did you hear?" Suddenly he hoped that she had only heard that he was a spy for Warlock-he prayed she did not know any more, for entirely selfish reasons.

"I heard everything, Simon. You have been spying for us-but the French think you are spying for them!" In his arms, he felt her shudder.

He looked up at the ceiling. When would she realize what the double game he played really meant? Because when she realized what he was capable of, she would finally lose her faith. Amelia slipped out of his arms and sat up. Sickened, he sat up, too. He began to b.u.t.ton his breeches.

"You have been in France," she said.

It was a careful accusation. "Yes." He did not look at her.

"For how long? Is that why you were never at home with your children, with Elizabeth? Is that why no one ever really knew where you were and how to reach you?"

"For the most part, I have been living in Paris for the past two years, clerking in the city government. There I am known as Henri Jourdan-who was my cousin, by the way, before he was executed along with most of Lyons and the rest of my French relations." He finally glanced at her.

"I am sorry." She was ashen. She took his hand. "How did you ever get into such intrigues, Simon, when you have children who need you? Are you a patriot, then?"

He pulled it away. She was finally judging him. "I had many reasons for accepting Warlock's proposition, three years ago when he first approached me, and patriotism was only one of them." He stared. "Most of my reasons were selfish."

"I do not believe that."

"My reasons were selfish," he repeated.

"You love your children," she said firmly. "I cannot imagine you giving up fatherhood the way that you did!"

"I was never a good father." How calm he sounded. "I had been staying away to avoid Elizabeth because that pleased me-never mind that my sons needed me. I rationalized that she was an excellent mother, so my presence did not matter." He shrugged. But his heart pounded painfully. "Warlock presented me with an opportunity that offered me an excuse to remain in continued exile from my family. Why wouldn't I accept it?"

Tears filled her eyes and she took his hand again. "I wish you had had a good marriage, Simon. I am beginning to think that if you had, you would have never gone to France and we would not be here, worrying about French agents learning of your affairs-or worse."

"You really mean it!" he exclaimed. Her selfless virtue would never cease to amaze him.

"Of course I do. Simon, how much danger are you in? Is it the French that you fear?"

He knew he must not answer her truthfully. He did not want her even more frightened. "Right now, I am not in any danger, Amelia, as Jourdan is entirely trusted."

Her gaze was piercing. "They put you in prison."

His heart sank.

"I heard Warlock say that it would not serve him well if you were captured and sent back to prison."

He inhaled. She was too clever to be misled.

"Do not patronize me. We are in this together and I am not a fool. I refuse to be left in the dark."

"No, you are not a fool, Amelia. Yes, they imprisoned me."

She was so still, so calm. "What happened?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters-it matters to me. So please, tell me why you were imprisoned in France. Did they realize you were an Englishman?"

He wet his lips, his mind racing. He would omit parts of the truth, but he would never tell Amelia a lie, even if she had just given him the perfect lie to tell. He found his voice and cleared it. "No, they did not discover that I was an Englishman. They continue to believe that I am my cousin, Jourdan. I made a terrible mistake, Amelia. Last November, I returned to London to see my sons-because it was William's birthday. I only stayed in town for two days. But the moment I disembarked in Brest, I knew I was being followed. Within three weeks, I was apprehended and accused of treason, and thrown into a prison in Paris." Suddenly his voice broke. He recalled that cell in absolute detail, and he could not continue.

A crowd of thousands filled the square.

He grasped the iron bars of his cell, staring outside, filled with revulsion and fear.

Behind him, he heard footsteps. He tensed. Were they coming for him?

The crowds roared...again. Le Razor had just taken another victim....

And the stench of blood was everywhere.

Somehow he said, "It was play them or go to the guillotine. I had to convince them that I really was Jourdan-and that I would go to London and visit my cousin, St. Just, and attain the information necessary for them to win the war." He could not face her now.

Amelia pulled him into her arms, his face against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. As if he were a child, she kissed the top of his head. "It's all right now. You are here with me, with the children. You will never go back there again and you do not have to speak about it. You did what you had to do to live, Simon. I understand."

Did she? He wanted nothing more than for her to understand, but he didn't believe that she did, not for a moment. He knew he had to pull himself together. He was precariously undone.

He sat up and reversed their positions, sliding his arm around her. "I don't want you to worry. I don't want you involved. You are to forget everything you have learned today, Amelia."

"I am more worried now than I was before," she said harshly. "And I intend to help you, Simon, not hide like an ostrich with its head in the sand."

"Warlock is helping me. No one is as brilliant."

"You don't trust him entirely-and neither do I."

He refused to lie so he said, "Warlock is right about one thing. You and the children should return to Cornwall, before someone else discovers our relationship and thinks to use you against me."

Her eyes widened. "I am not going anywhere. I am not leaving you here. We will fight this battle together."

His heart swelled with love. "I am fighting this battle alone."

"No, I won't let you. When will you attempt to meet with the French agent again?"

"I will hardly share such details with you!" he cried, aghast.

"But there will be a meeting, won't there? I heard you and Warlock, Simon. You are supposed to tell them about our troops, aren't you? Isn't that what Warlock said?"

He felt the blood draining from his face. "Amelia, you are to forget everything you heard!"

"How can I? You are going to meet some French spy here in the city, and if he realizes you are not who you say you are, he might kill you!"

He pulled her close. "My contact has no reason to be suspicious. You are worrying needlessly now. I have been playing spy games like this for over two years, Amelia, and I am adept at this kind of deception."

"I am so afraid," she whispered. "And I want to help, in any way that I can."

"You have already helped. At least I know the children are in good hands." He managed a smile, not adding, no matter what happens to me. "Amelia? You do not know how much your loyalty means to me."

She suddenly smiled, and as she did, Lucille wailed from down the hall. "You will always have my loyalty-and my love." She slid from the bed, smoothed down her skirts, and then went to the mirror above her bureau.

He trembled, filled with an answering love and so much grat.i.tude, watching her as she fixed her hair. She was the most courageous and determined woman he had ever known, and he admitted to himself just how deeply he loved her. He did not know how he would survive if anything ever happened to her. Somehow, he must keep her and the children safe.

Lucille was still crying. Amelia smiled at him and hurried from the room.

Simon got up slowly, retrieving his rumpled jacket from the floor. Sooner or later he would probably have to meet with Marcel. For now, he would send the information Warlock had relayed via a courier. Dread filled him. He prayed that Coburg had only mustered forty thousand troops for the Allied invasion of Flanders. But that number seemed frighteningly weak.

Warlock was clever and he needed Simon; surely it was too soon for him to throw Simon to the wolves. He shook his jacket out and slipped it on, aware that the infant had stopped crying. He walked over to the mirror and retied his hair in a queue. He remained pale-except for two bright spots of color on his cheeks, and the shockingly bright light in his eyes. His heart was racing. He tucked his shirt into his breeches more securely. Reality had returned-with a vengeance.

Warlock was right when he had said that Amelia knew too much now. There was no way she could remain in his household, not with him there, not when they were lovers.

Especially when he could not keep his hands off of her, not even in the middle of the day.

He was going to have to send her away-he was going to have to give her up in order to ensure her welfare and safety.

His heart aching, Simon fixed the bed and went to the door, peering out. The corridor was empty, so he swiftly stepped out of her bedchamber and hurried down the hall. But as he approached the nursery, he slowed. He glanced inside-and saw Amelia standing in the center of the room, rocking Lucille in her arms.

His heart thudded wildly and he halted. He wasn't sure he had ever seen such a beautiful sight. He was acutely aware that Amelia needed her own child-and that he wished he could father that child for her.

And then Amelia saw him and smiled warmly.

He knew he should not go inside that chamber. Lucille was not his child and Amelia was not his wife. The sight of them there was a terrible illusion. But his feet would not obey his mind. He drifted closer, across the threshold toward them. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Amelia said.

And Simon walked over to her, their eyes meeting. Then he paused and looked down at Lucille. The baby beamed. He slid his arm around Amelia, and realized he was smiling back.

SIMON WENT OUT right after lunch the following day. And the moment he left, Amelia took off her ap.r.o.n, fled the kitchens, retrieved a light shawl, and rushed from the house. She hadn't told anyone where she was going or when she would be back. Warlock would be furious if he knew she meant to ask her brother for help. Going to visit Lucas at Warlock's Cavendish Square house, where her brother was staying, was terribly risky. But Sebastian was not in residence currently, and she needed to speak to Lucas immediately. She did not really think Warlock would have her watched. Still, she walked across Mayfair, all the way to his Cavendish Square house, instead of using Simon's gig.

Now she used the door knocker, out of breath from the long, rapid walk. Sweat trickled down her temples and between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. It was already a perfect spring day, at once warm and sunny. But her heart was filled with dread and dismay, when there should be joy and love. Simon was in so much trouble.

She did not even know if Lucas was in town, she thought desperately, using the knocker again.

A maid finally answered the door and told her that Mr. Greystone was in the parlor with a guest. "He says he is not to be disturbed, madam," she added worriedly.

Amelia stepped past her. "Mr. Greystone is my brother. I will let myself in."

The maid left, not particularly happy. Amelia hurried to a pair of closed doors and heard the rumble of voices from within. She had to make certain that Warlock was not with Lucas, never mind that the maid hadn't mentioned the master of the house. She pressed her ear to the wood and started. Nadine d'Archand was Lucas's guest!

Amelia opened the door abruptly. Lucas and Nadine were seated on the sofa, engrossed in what appeared to be a very serious conversation. Nadine was saying, "They should arrive on the fifteenth, weather permitting. The forecast is for fair seas. Can we-" She stopped, having glimpsed Amelia.

Lucas turned and got to his feet, smiling slightly.

And Amelia felt certain that her brother and her friend were conspiring, although she did not know exactly what they had been discussing. "Am I interrupting?" She recalled Jack's insistence that Nadine was still very involved in aiding those men and women fleeing France.

"You could never interrupt," Lucas said. But his gray gaze was sharp and piercing as he studied her-he knew she was upset.

Nadine picked up her reticule. "I am running late anyway. h.e.l.lo, Amelia." She kissed her on each cheek. "I see you are enjoying the wardrobe Julianne sent you?" Her tone was teasing.

Amelia was wearing a beautiful canary-yellow dress. "If I am interrupting," Amelia began, glancing back and forth between them.

"You are not interrupting. I was just getting ready to leave." Nadine smiled at Lucas. "I appreciate your advice." She turned to Amelia. "Your brother was giving me some suggestions regarding an investment we might make in a mine not far from our new home in St. Just."

Amelia simply smiled. She did not believe Nadine, not at all. When the other woman had left, she closed the door and looked at Lucas. "Is she a spy, too?"

"What?" Lucas chuckled.

"Then is she helping bring French families here?"

His smile faded. "She is a woman, Amelia, a n.o.blewoman trying to restore her life with limited means. I was advising her financially."

Amelia knew it was not true. If anyone needed financial advice, it would be Nadine's father. "Of course you were. Is Jack still here?"

His gaze sharpened. "He is in town, and we will leave it at that."

She folded her arms. "It's not safe for him here?"

"No, it's not." Lucas went to her and took her arm in his. "You're distraught-and not because of Nadine or Jack."

"I was right. Simon is a spy, Lucas, and he is in danger."

Lucas blanched. But his expression was a distinctly unhappy, not surprised.

"Lucas, I am begging you for your help."

"d.a.m.n it, Amelia, why can't you leave well enough alone?"

"Why aren't you surprised that Simon is a spy? My G.o.d, you already knew!"