explored her mouth and marveled at how little she had changed in this particular way.
When she shoved violently against his chest, he reluctantly released her. She stepped back, her eyes blazing with such rage he thought she might strike him. To himself he acknowledged that she had the right to be angry, and he would have made no effort to avoid a blow.
Instead, in a mercurial change of mood, she laughed with genuine amusement. In her natural English accent she said, "I had you guessing, didn't I?"
"You certainly did." Glad to see a flash of the old Margot, Rafe studied her face, still not quite believing she was real. Why the devil hadn't Lucien told him who the spy was? Then he remembered that none of the other Fallen Angels had met Margot. Not knowing Maggie's real name or background, Lucien had no reason to make a connection between her and Rafe. Trying to sound collected, Rafe said, "Please forgive the impertinence, but it seemed the best way to establish your identity."
"Forgiveness is not my policy," she said flippantly, donning her worldly mask again. It was not an improvement.
She went to the sideboard where glasses arid an open bottle of Bordeaux stood. After pouring two glasses of vine, she handed one to Rafe. "Our kind hosts have provided everything a misbehaving couple might want. A pity to waste it all. Pray be seated." She sat in one f the solitary chairs, pointedly ignoring the velvet sofa.
As he settled in the other chair, she said, "Why should I have been hard to identify? I am said to be well preserved for woman of my advanced years."
" 'Age cannot wither her ...'?" He smiled faintly as he quoted the line. "That in itself is a cause of confusion—you scarcely look older now than at eighteen. But the real reason I had trouble deciding if you were Margot Ashton was that you were supposed to be dead."
"I am no longer Margot Ashton," she said, her tone edged, "but neither am I dead. What made you think I was?"
Even now that he knew she was alive, he needed to school his expression before he spoke. "You and your father were in France when the Peace of Amiens ended. It was reported that you were both killed by a French rabble on their way to offer their arms to Napoleon."
Her smoky eyes narrowed with an expression he couldn't interpret. "The news of that reached England ?"
"Yes, and it caused quite an uproar. The public was outraged that a distinguished army officer and his beautiful young daughter were murdered simply for being British. However, since we were already at war with the French, no special diplomatic sanctions were possible." He studied her face as he drank his wine. "How much of the story is true?"
"Enough," she said tersely. Setting down her glass, she got to her feet. "You are here to try to persuade me to continue my services to England . You will appeal to my patriotism, then you will offer me a substantial amount of money. I will reject both. Since the outcome is already determined, I see no reason to waste my time listening to you. Good night, and good-bye. I hope you enjoy your stay in Paris ."
She started toward the door, but stopped when Rafe raised his hand. "Please, wait a moment."
Now that he knew that "Maggie" was Margot, part of his job was done. She was certainly English, not French, Prussian, Italian, Hungarian, or any other role she chose to play.
Beyond that, he flatly refused to believe that she would ever betray her country. If British state secrets were being sold, it was not by her. But he was uncertain how to proceed. Given the resentment Margot obviously felt for him, Lucien could not have made a worse choice of envoy. "Will you give me ten minutes?" he asked. "I may surprise you with something you don't expect, Margot."
For a moment, the issue waved in the balance. Then she shrugged and took her seat again. "I doubt it, but go ahead. And kindly remember that I am not Margot. I am Maggie."
"What is the difference between the two?"
Her eyes narrowed again.
When she shoved violently against his chest, he reluctantly released her. She stepped back, her eyes blazing with such rage he thought she might strike him. To himself he acknowledged that she had the right to be angry, and he would have made no effort to avoid a blow.
Instead, in a mercurial change of mood, she laughed with genuine amusement. In her natural English accent she said, "I had you guessing, didn't I?"
"You certainly did." Glad to see a flash of the old Margot, Rafe studied her face, still not quite believing she was real. Why the devil hadn't Lucien told him who the spy was? Then he remembered that none of the other Fallen Angels had met Margot. Not knowing Maggie's real name or background, Lucien had no reason to make a connection between her and Rafe. Trying to sound collected, Rafe said, "Please forgive the impertinence, but it seemed the best way to establish your identity."
"Forgiveness is not my policy," she said flippantly, donning her worldly mask again. It was not an improvement.
She went to the sideboard where glasses arid an open bottle of Bordeaux stood. After pouring two glasses of vine, she handed one to Rafe. "Our kind hosts have provided everything a misbehaving couple might want. A pity to waste it all. Pray be seated." She sat in one f the solitary chairs, pointedly ignoring the velvet sofa.
As he settled in the other chair, she said, "Why should I have been hard to identify? I am said to be well preserved for woman of my advanced years."
" 'Age cannot wither her ...'?" He smiled faintly as he quoted the line. "That in itself is a cause of confusion—you scarcely look older now than at eighteen. But the real reason I had trouble deciding if you were Margot Ashton was that you were supposed to be dead."
"I am no longer Margot Ashton," she said, her tone edged, "but neither am I dead. What made you think I was?"
Even now that he knew she was alive, he needed to school his expression before he spoke. "You and your father were in France when the Peace of Amiens ended. It was reported that you were both killed by a French rabble on their way to offer their arms to Napoleon."
Her smoky eyes narrowed with an expression he couldn't interpret. "The news of that reached England ?"
"Yes, and it caused quite an uproar. The public was outraged that a distinguished army officer and his beautiful young daughter were murdered simply for being British. However, since we were already at war with the French, no special diplomatic sanctions were possible." He studied her face as he drank his wine. "How much of the story is true?"
"Enough," she said tersely. Setting down her glass, she got to her feet. "You are here to try to persuade me to continue my services to England . You will appeal to my patriotism, then you will offer me a substantial amount of money. I will reject both. Since the outcome is already determined, I see no reason to waste my time listening to you. Good night, and good-bye. I hope you enjoy your stay in Paris ."
She started toward the door, but stopped when Rafe raised his hand. "Please, wait a moment."
Now that he knew that "Maggie" was Margot, part of his job was done. She was certainly English, not French, Prussian, Italian, Hungarian, or any other role she chose to play.
Beyond that, he flatly refused to believe that she would ever betray her country. If British state secrets were being sold, it was not by her. But he was uncertain how to proceed. Given the resentment Margot obviously felt for him, Lucien could not have made a worse choice of envoy. "Will you give me ten minutes?" he asked. "I may surprise you with something you don't expect, Margot."
For a moment, the issue waved in the balance. Then she shrugged and took her seat again. "I doubt it, but go ahead. And kindly remember that I am not Margot. I am Maggie."
"What is the difference between the two?"
Her eyes narrowed again.
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