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Duc d’Aiguillon at your service, Mademoiselle Beaumont.” He gestured a lace-covered hand at the empty chair opposite his. “Please be seated. We will not be interrupted.”
    Magda sat down carefully, studying her latest client. Le Duc d’Aiguillon appeared to be middle-aged, but it was hard to tell since he kept to the old style of powdering his hair. His velvet coat, knee breeches, and silk stockings were also in the style of the ancien régime , but they were of the finest of materials and workmanship. It was clear that Le Duc was no impoverished émigré .
    “How may I be of service to your grace?”
    “I heard of your performance the other night, and was curious to meet you,” he said. “There are so many who claim mystic talents, but one seldom finds a genuine seeress.”
    For the second time this evening a nobleman was accusing Magda of fraud. “It is given to only a few to know what the Fates hold,” she said.
    D’Aiguillon studied her features as if they held the riddle of her existence. There was something cold and reptilian in his gaze, and the way he stared at her without blinking. “That may be,” he agreed. “and yet, so often I am told the talent runs in families. I knew a woman who had the true gift once. Katerina Beaumont, she was called. Perhaps you knew her?”
    Magda froze inside. It had been years since she had heard anyone speak that name. Yet in hindsight she should have known that someone would make the connection.
    “She was my mother.”
    “Indeed?” He leaned forward, his eyes glittering with disturbing intensity. “I did not know she had a daughter.”
    Magda had to put an end to this interview swiftly. She could not afford to draw comparisons between herself and her mother. After all, her mother had had the true Sight. Magda was merely a fraud, and someone who had known Katerina Beaumont would be quick to spot the truth.
    “She taught me everything she knew,” Magda lied.
    “How fortunate for you,” he replied. He nodded his head once, with the air of a man who had solved a mystery. “I am pleased to see Madame Beaumont’s daughter doing so well for herself. But now I must take my leave—I have kept you from your other admirers long enough.” He rose from his seat, and with a quick bow to her, he was gone.
    Light spilled from the open doorway of Lady Burnett-Hodgkins’s townhouse. Alexander Maxwell, the Earl of Kerrigan, peered out the carriage window, leaning forward to get a better view. But it was only a mere footman who emerged, to summon a carriage for one of the guests.
    Alexander slumped back in his seat, still keeping one eye fixed on the townhouse.
    “This is getting us nowhere,” Luke complained. “We’ve been sitting here in the dark for hours. If something doesn’t happen soon, I may die of boredom.”
    “Patience, my friend,” Alexander advised. “She has to leave sometime.” By his calculations, that time would be soon. It was past midnight. Most of the guests had already left, gone on to other amusements.
    “That’s what you said two hours ago,” Luke reminded him. “I don’t see why you don’t just go in there and fetch her. Once we have her, I’m sure we can find a way to convince her to talk.”
    It was an appealing idea. Alexander shared Luke’s frustration, but now was the time for subtlety, not for brute force.
    “If I were to swoop in there and carry off the Gypsy wench, word of the escapade would be all over town. Her cohorts would learn of it and flee. This way is better. She put up a brave front, but now that she knows I’m on to her, she’ll go running to her partners. We’ll be able to follow her trail straight to them.”
    “She may be smarter than you give her credit for.”
    Luke had a point. There was more to this Mademoiselle Magda than met the eye. Alexander had been surprised when he came face-to-face with her. Despite the white wig and cosmetics, it was clear that she was much younger than he had remembered. Not