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excellent French to pass as a native.
    It had taken weeks to locate the graves. Because of the danger, he had taken the lead-encased coffins over the Pyrenees into Spain rather than risk crossing France again.
    The two coffins had been reinterred at the Ashton family estate in Leicestershire. With his own hands Rafe had planted daffodils on the smaller grave, because he had met Margot in the spring and daffodils always reminded him of her. He would not speak of that. The action was not only maudlin and sentimental, but vaguely laughable since hindsight now showed that he had acted under a misapprehension.
    He wondered where Margot had been when he was in
Gascony
. Injured perhaps, or a prisoner in the local jail? If he had searched, could he have found her and brought her home? But that also was no longer relevant, so he said merely, "There was nothing else I could do for you. It was too late for apologies."
    After a long pause, she asked, "Why did you feel it was necessary to apologize?"
    "Because I behaved very badly, of course." He shrugged. "The more time passed, the worse my behavior looked."
    Maggie took a deep, slow breath. She should have known this interview would not go according to plan. Rafe Whitbourne had always been able to find the vulnerable spots in her. That sensitivity had been welcome when they were young and in love, but it was intolerable now that love was gone. She hated losing her control in front of him.
    When she was sure her voice would be even, she looked directly at him and said, "I am obligated to you." Cynically she wondered if he would try to use her sense of duty to persuade her to stay in Paris .
    Instead, he said, "There is no obligation. I suppose I did it for myself as much as for you."
    His quiet disclaimer bound her as nothing else could have. Resigned, she said, "You can tell Lord Strathmore that I will stay and continue working until the conference is over and the treaty is resolved. Is that satisfactory?"
    He wisely refrained from any show of triumph when he answered. "Very good, especially since there is more at stake here than routine information gathering. Lord Strathmore has a special task for you."
    "Oh?" Maggie returned to her chair. "What does Strathmore want me to do?"
    "He has heard hints of a plot to assassinate one of the major figures here at the peace conference. He would like you to investigate as quickly and thoroughly as you can."
    Maggie frowned, personal considerations forgotten. "Just three weeks ago a plot to assassinate the king, the tsar, and Wellington was exposed. Could that be the source of the rumors?"
    "No, Lucien was aware of that affair, and this seems to be separate. What makes this new conspiracy so dangerous are indications that it originates in the highest diplomatic circles of the conference. Not only will it be harder to detect, but it means the conspirators have better access to their targets." Rafe reached inside his coat and pulled out a folded and sealed sheet of paper. "Lucien sent this to explain what he knows."
    Maggie accepted the note and made it disappear. "Did you read what he wrote?"
    His brows arched. "Of course not. It was sent to you."
    "You'd never make a spy."
    Rafe's voice was silky, but for the first time emotion showed through. "Quite true. I could never match your talent for deceit and betrayal."
    Maggie whipped herself upright in the chair, her kid-skin slippers slapping to the floor as the room pulsed with the unspoken past. For a moment her fury threatened to spill out, but years of hard training stood her in good stead and she managed to master herself. "No, I'm sure you couldn't," she said acidly. "When your fairy godmother waved her wand over the ducal crib, the special gifts she bestowed were stubbornness and self-righteousness."
    Their gazes locked—two angry, passionate people determined to give nothing away. Rafe was the first to regain his control, probably because he needed her more than she needed him.
    Shrugging