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"None of your bloody business, your grace. Please say your piece so that I may leave."
    Though it was hard to continue in the face of such hostility, he had to try. "Why must you leave Paris at this particular moment? The new treaty will be negotiated and signed before the end of the year. It may be only a few more weeks."
    She made a dismissive gesture. "That argument was used on me at Boney's first abdication. The Congress of Vienna was supposed to be over in six or eight weeks, and lasted nine months instead. Before it was finished, Napoleon had returned and once more my services were indispensable."
    She lifted her wineglass and sipped. "I am tired of postponing my life," she said with a trace of weariness. "Bonaparte is on his way to St. Helena to preach his destiny to the sea gulls, and it is time for me to take care of some long overdue business."
    Sensing that her mood had changed, he risked asking another personal question. "What kind of business?"
    She stared down at her glass, swirling the wine. "I will go first to
Gascony
."
    Rafe felt a prickle at the base of his neck as he guessed what she had in mind. "Why?"
    She looked up at him, her face expressionless. "To find my father's body and take it back to England . It has been twelve years. It will take time to find where they buried him."
    Though he had guessed correctly, he took no pleasure in it. The wine tasted bitter on his tongue, for he must speak of something he would have preferred to keep private. "There is no need to go to
Gascony
. You won't find your father there."
    Her brows drew together. "What do you mean?"
    "I happened to be in Paris when news of your deaths arrived, so I went to the village in
Gascony
where the murders had taken place. I was told that two fresh graves belonged to '
les deux Anglais
,' and assumed that you and your father were buried there. I arranged to have the bodies returned to England . They are in the family plot on your uncle's estate."
    The worldly veneer dissolved and she bent over, burying her face in her hands. Rafe wished he could comfort her, but knew that there was nothing she would accept from him.
    He had envied the friendly, loving relationship between Margot and her father, so different from the distant politeness between Rafe and his own sire. Colonel Ashton had been an affable, direct soldier, less interested in seeing his daughter a duchess than in seeing her happy. His death at the hands of a mob would have devastated her.
    After a long silence, Maggie raised her head. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, but her face was composed. "The second coffin must have been Willis, my father's orderly. He was a small man, about my height. The two of them ... gave a good account of themselves when we were attacked."
    She stood and crossed to the window, pushing the heavy brocade drapery aside to gaze down into the boulevard. Her haunted image was reflected in the dark glass. "Uncle Willy was almost a member of the family. He taught me how to shoot dice and cheat at cards. My father would have been appalled if he had known."
    A faint smile crossed her face, then vanished. "I'm glad that Willis is in England —he would have loathed the thought of his bones spending eternity in France . I was going to take his body back as well, but you have made that unnecessary."
    She turned to face Rafe, no longer hostile. "Why did you do it? It couldn't have been easy."
    Indeed it hadn't been, even for a young man of wealth and determination. Rafe had come to France with the secret hope of finding Margot. Even when war threatened to break out again, he had postponed his departure.
    Then, just as the Peace of Amiens ended, news of their deaths at the hands of a mob had reached Paris . A sensible man would have instantly returned to London to avoid being interned for the duration of the war. Rafe, who had not been sensible where Margot was concerned, had instead sent his servants home and made his way across France alone, using his