Free Petals in the Storm by Mary Jo Putney

recklessness.
    After a moment she gave him a resigned smile. "Very well, Robin. Assuming Candover can be convinced to cooperate, he and I shall become an object of gossip. We will be seen everywhere, and will appear so enraptured that no one will suspect us of having a useful thought in our heads."
    "Good." He stood. "Time to go. I have to meet someone who never lets himself be seen by the light of day."
    Maggie rose also. "Since time is in short supply, I'll pay a visit to Candover and explain his dire fate to him. But if he objects, I will give you the job of convincing him."
    Robin shook his head. "I think it better that he not know of our connection. You know the first rule of spying."
    " 'Never tell anyone anything he doesn't need to know,' " she quoted. "I suppose you're right. Candover is an amateur at these games, and the less he knows, the better."
    "Let's hope he proves to be a talented amateur." After a light farewell kiss, Robin was gone. Maggie closed the door on him with a sense of vexation. Here he was, worried about her safety, when she expected that what he was doing was twice as dangerous.
    She shrugged and climbed the stairs to her room. If she had been of a nervous disposition, she would never have lasted long as a spy. Far better to spend her time wondering how she was going to tolerate so much time around Rafael Whitbourne.
    In stage-mad Paris, the playhouses were an accurate barometer of public opinion, so Rafe decided to spend the evening at the theater. It was a disquieting experience.
    All playhouse managers had been ordered to admit free of charge a certain number of soldiers from the armies of occupation. Unfortunately, what had been intended as a goodwill gesture had resulted tonight in brawling in the pit between Frenchmen and Allied soldiers. Though no one had been badly injured, the performance had been disrupted for almost half an hour. Another English playgoer had casually mentioned that such disturbances were not uncommon.
    Rafe was in a somber mood when he returned to his rooms. In spite of Lucien and Maggie's fears, he had not truly believed that the battered nations of Europe might go to war again, but the incident at the playhouse had convinced him. He had the sense that stormclouds were gathering, and there was a very real risk of another cataclysm.
    Lost in thought, Rafe entered his bedchamber. He was about to ring for his valet when a cool voice emerged from a shadowed corner.
    "I'd like a word with you before you retire, your grace."
    The voice was unmistakable—honey with a touch of gravel—and he identified his visitor even before his eyes had adjusted to the dim candlelight. Maggie was casually sprawled across a chair, dressed entirely in dark men's clothes, her bright hair covered by a knit cap and a black cloak tossed across the bed.
    Rafe wondered how the devil she had gotten in, but refused to give her the satisfaction of asking. "Are you practicing to be a Shakespearean heroine—Viola, perhaps?"
    She gave a peal of laughter. "Actually, I rather fancy myself as Rosalind."
    He removed his coat and dropped it over the sofa. "I assume you have a reason for being here that is different from what a man usually expects on finding a woman in his bedchamber."
    The remark was a mistake. Giving him a dagger look, she said, "You assume correctly. There are several matters we must discuss, and this seemed the quickest and most private way."
    "Very well. Care to join me in some cognac?" When she nodded, he poured them each a glass, then took a chair at right angles to his visitor. "What have you discovered?"
    She absently swirled the brandy around in her glass. "My sources indicate three principal suspects, and several minor ones. They are all prominent men, the sort usually considered above suspicion. Each of them has the ability and the motivation to plan this kind of conspiracy."
    "I'm impressed by your efficiency." He took a sip of brandy. "Who are your suspects?"
    "In no particular