Tonight Angelique was the only lady present, the other two, like Hoag, were regretfully sick, and she was squired to the heating tempos of waltzes, polkas played by Andr`e Poncin on a grand piano, imported to huge applause in the spring. One dance per guest was the rule, she was allowed to rest after four dances and to stop whenever she wished. Her face was glowing and she wore a new crinoline of red and green silk, but without the full hoops of a crinoline, that dramatized her wasp waist and swelling bosom, her nipples minimally covered in the fashion decreed by Paris, deplored by absent clergy, and devoured by every man in the room.

"Enough, mes amis," she said after an hour to groans and pleading from those who had not had a dance, and she went back to Malcolm, fanning herself and exhilarated.

He was in a great, carved oak chair at the head of the table, gentled by wine and brandy. He enjoyed watching her as much as any although, as always, deeply frustrated that he had not claimed the first dance, or would not claim the last as was his right.

Normally he was an accomplished dancer.

She settled herself on the arm of his chair. His arm went lightly around her waist, hers rested on his shoulders.

"You dance marvelously, Angel."

"None of them are as good as you," she whispered.

"That's what first attracted me to you and, Prince Charm--"

Cheers of anticipation stopped her. To her embarrassment and chagrin, Andr`e's fingers began the first, slow seductive chords of the cancan.

Not a little annoyed, Angelique shook her head, and did not move.

To her surprise, and roars of delight, Pallidar and Marlowe took center stage, towels wrapped around their uniforms as skirts, the rollicking music picked up tempo and the two of them began hilariously to parody the dance that scandalized the civilized world, outside of Paris, faster and faster, lifting their pretend skirts higher and higher, high kicking to more cheers and jeers and roars, every table thumping to the beat, faster and faster until the two men, red-faced and sweating in their tight uniforms, tried valiant splits and collapsed in a heap to tumultuous cheers and shouts of "encore, encore," the applause deafening.

Laughing with all of them, Malcolm graciously released her and she went over and helped them up, congratulating and praising their efforts.

Pallidar was panting and pretended a groan.

"I think I've put my back out for good."

"Champagne for the Army, and rum for the Navy," she called out, linked arms with both of them and brought them back to Malcolm for more praise, smiling at him. "Not for me the cancan, eh, darling?"

"That would be too much."

"My word yes," Marlowe said.

"Yes," Malcolm said, sharing the secret smile with her, nicely titillated.

When Andr`e began playing again, he chose a waltz. It was just enough to show her ankles as she swayed but not enough to reveal the daring lack of pantaloons. He had shown her the article in Le Figaro, encouraged her and shared the secret. All evening he had watched her and those fawning on her--Babcott towering over all the others, then resplendent Pallidar and Marlowe trying to ease him out of the inner circle--relishing his secrets and, for the moment, the life within a life that he led. Angelique was dancing with Sir William. Laughing to himself he let his mind drift as his fingers played. What would they all do if they knew what I know. About the earrings, the abortion, and how I disposed of the evidence? They'd turn from her as if she were a leper, all of them, including lovesick Struan, he more than any.

If things were different and I was in Paris with her, backed by Noble House power and money and an adoring but invalid husband, what secrets I could obtain! She'd require expert training in the more feminine and not so gentle arts, her claws would need honing but then she would be a classic, any salon and any bed would welcome her, and once she had a taste of the Great Game this oh so cunning little chicken would feed on it with gusto.

And into my bed? Now or later, certainly, if I wanted to turn the screws, but I no longer want her and will not take her, except for revenge. She's much more amusing as a toy and there's little enough in this world to amuse...

"Wonderful idea, Andr`e!"

Phillip Tyrer was beaming down at him.

"Settry said you cooked the whole thing up with them."

"What?"

"The cancan!"

"Ah yes," Andr`e said. His fingers continued with the waltz, then ended it. "Time for a break, let's have a drink," he said, deciding that now, being almost public, would be a perfect time to bring Tyrer to heel. "I hear a certain lady's contract is worth a Minister's salary," he said in French and saw Tyrer's face redden with embarrassment and look around. "My God, as though I'd be so indiscreet. Phillip, don't worry, my friend, I have your interests in mind." He smiled, remembering their encounter at the Yedo Castle. "Affairs of the heart have nothing to do with affairs of State, though I believe France should share the spoils of the earth with Great Britain, no?"

"I... I agree, Andr`e. Yes, I ... the negotiations are not so good I'm afraid, yes, at a standstill."

"Better to speak French, eh?"

"Yes, yes you're right." Tyrer used his handkerchief as a dandy would to wipe away a sudden sweat. "Never thought it would be so difficult."

Andr`e beckoned him closer. "Listen, I can tell you how to fix that: don't see her tonight even though you've an assignation for the night." He almost laughed aloud as Tyrer's mouth dropped open.

"How many times have I told you there are few secrets here. Perhaps I can help... if you need help."

"Oh yes, yes I do I, yes please."

"Then..."

Both of them glanced at a roulette table that had been set up the other end of the room, where there was a burst of laughter and clapping as Angelique won on double zero--no gambling for money tonight, just worthless, bronze Chinese coins called small cash. Vargas acted as croupier.

Tyrer sighed. "Lucky at gambling and lucky in love."

"She works at it," Andr`e said thinly, irritated with her, "so should you. Listen, break tonight's rendezvous with Fujiko, oh I know Raiko's set it up especially at your pleading --Raiko didn't tell me by the way, it was one of her maids. Don't go, and don't send word that you're not going, just go to another Inn, say the Inn of the Lily, take any girl there, their prettiest is one called Yuko."

"But Andr`e I don't wan--"

"If you don't want to bed her, just make her please you in other ways, or get drunk, or pretend to get drunk, believe me you won't be wasting your money. Tomorrow, when Nakama mentions Fujiko, or anything about the contract or Raiko, act offhand, and tomorrow night, repeat the performance."

"But..."

"Anytime Nakama mentions anything, act casual, say nothing other than that the Inn of the Lily was many times more promising, telling him sharply not to mention it again, particularly to Raiko.

All right so far?"

"Yes but don't you think--"

"No, unless you want to be driven mad, and not have Fujiko at a relatively reasonable price--you're going to get stuck anyway, Phillip, but never mind, it's not fair you should be beggared, it's a matter of face. Do not discuss this plan with Nakama, and keep the pattern up for a week at least."

"My God, Andr`e, a week?"

"Three would be better, old friend." Andr`e was amused at Tyrer's miserable countenance. "I'm not only saving you enormous money but an ocean of aggravation. It's important you act as if you couldn't care less, that you were pissed at the delays and breaking appointments and Raiko's outrageous asking price--particularly to an important official like you! That's a good thing to throw at Nakama once or twice. But not more, he's a sharp fellow, no?"