Jake stirred and moaned as they reached the cabin, and Nathaniel drew a sharp, anxious breath, crossing swiftly to the cot. The child's eyes fluttered open in the deathly white face.

"Want to go home," he whispered, his voice a fretful thread. "I want to get off this boat. My tummy hurts." Tears slid out of his eyes.

"Hush, now," Nathaniel said gently, kneeling down beside him, smoothing his hair off his damp brow. "Go back to sleep."

"I want Neddy… where's Neddy?" Jake's voice began to rise and he tried to sit up. "Iwant Neddy." He pushed at his father's restraining hands, his voice becoming a sob.

"What's Neddy?" Nathaniel asked softly over his shoulder as Gabrielle came up behind him.

"A knitted donkey," she told him. "He always sleeps with it."

He should have known that, Nathaniel thought with a stab of guilt. He couldn't remember when he'd last visited the nursery.

Jake's feeble protest died and his eyes closed again as exhaustion reclaimed him.

Gabrielle stripped off her wet clothes.

Nathaniel watched her rummaging through one of the portmanteaux in search of dry clothes. She was wearing only her drawers and chemise and, despite his preoccupation, his body stirred. How could she have this effect on him, even in these grim circumstances? Even in this cramped, fetid cabin? How could this heedless and all-consuming passion exist side by side with his savage anger, with his need for vengeance?

If it weren't for that passion, Gabrielle would now be screaming beneath the persuasive hands of the specialists and Jake would be waking up in the nursery at Burley Manor. Instead, driven by lust and pride, he needed to exact his own revenge. And he knew that need was as irrational as the passion, but he couldn't control either.

"I'm going on deck to see what progress we're making," he said abruptly, and left the cabin.

Gabrielle fastened her skirt, frowning in thought. She'd be staying in Talleyrand's house on rue d'Anjou. She didn't know whether her godfather was back from Prussia as yet, but his house was her home in France whether he was there or not. She hoped he would be, since she needed his counsel. Somehow she'd have to ensure that Fouche didn't get wind of the English spymaster's presence in Paris.

Talleyrand wouldn't betray Nathaniel, since he was vital to his own plans, but the brutal police chief would see only the opportunity to break a master spy. He wouldn't hesitate to use an innocent, either, to trap or blackmail. Jake would be in grave danger if Fouche learned the child was with his father. Fouche would certainly interrogate Gabrielle-civilly, of course, or as civilly as that profoundly uncivilized man could manage. He was clever and she'd need all her wits about her if she was to keep to herself those things that she must.

"Well, there are some compensations for your miserable night." Nathaniel jumped down from the hatchway, breaking into her grim reverie. "The wind was strong enough to save us a good hour or so on the crossing. We should pass the Scilly Isles by nine o'clock. We'll land by noon with any luck."

"In broad daylight?"

"There's a secluded cove, protected by a reef that only those who know it can negotiate safely. It's unpatrolled for that reason. The Curlew flies the French colors from now on, keeping well out to sea until we make the run for shore."

"You've done this before," she stated.

"Of course. Many times. And Dan's an expert at negotiating the reef." He went to the bunk, looking down at the still-sleeping Jake. "I suppose I can take comfort in knowing he's unlikely ever to run away to sea again."

"Yes," Gabrielle agreed with a half-smile.

"I'll have to buy him some clothes. These are still wet." Nathaniel shook out Jake's discarded britches and jersey.

"How fluent is your French?" Most educated Englishmen spoke it with a degree of ease, but Gabrielle wondered whether the spymaster could pass for native.

"Good enough. Not as good as your English, but it passes. I ensure I'm not garrulous."

"Even at the best of times," Gabrielle agreed with a touch of asperity.

"You're a trifle acerbic this morning, madame."

"Iwould kill for a cup of coffee," she said in excuse, licking her dry, salty lips.

"Try an apple instead."

"And some cheese. Ithink it's time for another picnic. I'm famished."

Nathaniel shook his head with the semblance of a grin, reflecting yet again that Gabrielle's powers of recuperation were astonishing. But then, she'd been trained in the same school of endurance he had, so it was hardly surprising. His grin disappeared.

He spread the contents of the bag on the table. They would both have preferred to go on deck, but it didn't occur to either of them to leave Jake alone.

The child slept until they were approaching the telltale greenish ripple of water crossing the opening to the narrow cove. The high cliffs of the Normandy coastline rose on either side, gray and forbidding despite the weak sunlight of a midday in early spring.

Gabrielle was on deck breathing fresh air and regarding the rippling line with some apprehension, when Nathaniel emerged from the cabin, carrying Jake, still wrapped in the blanket.

"He woke up and I thought the air might do him some good."

"Good morning, Jake." Gabrielle greeted the child cheerfully, bending to kiss a cheek that had lost the shiny roundness of health.

Jake turned his head into his father's chest. "I'm cold," he whimpered. "An' Iwant a drink."

"Have a look at the land." Nathaniel hitched him up in his arms, turning so he could look over his shoulder at the approaching coastline. "Soon we'll be in France."

"Don't want to," Jake said. "I want Nurse an' Primmy. I'm cold."

"I can do something about the cold, but not the rest," his father declared with a valiant effort at patience that was obvious to Gabrielle if not to the pathetic, miserable child.

"I want Neddy and the pot."

"You can do something about the latter but not the former," Gabrielle murmured with a smile. "Shall I take him?"

"If you don't mind." Nathaniel handed his burden over with ill-disguised relief. Jake put his arms around Gabrielle's neck as she carried him back below deck.

Nathaniel leaned against the railing, gazing at the water and the curve of beach ahead. His son's intervention dramatically affected his plans. Until he'd returned Jake to the safety of Burley Manor, he'd have to lie low in Paris. He'd intended to pretend to establish Gabrielle within the network, having alerted his own agents to the impostor, and then feed her false information that would lead to the entrapment of Fouche's agents undercover in London. On this visit he would meet with his own agents in the city and explain the setup to them.

In Paris Gabrielle must be kept well away from himself and Jake. He was certain that she would do nothing deliberately to put Jake in jeopardy, wherever her patriotic loyalties lay, but she was dangerous. Fouche's men could well be watching her. She could let something slip-even the most skillful spies made errors sometimes.

The boat tacked across the mouth of the cove, and he glanced toward the fisherman at the helm. Dan's face was set, beetling brows drawn together as he stared fixedly at the line of green ripples, looking for the break that would grant them safe entrance through the reef.

He swung the helm, glancing up at the sail, gently pulling on the mainsheet to catch the wind at just the right moment. The craft bucked as the wind filled the sail and danced over the line.

Nathaniel held his breath, waiting as always for the sickening crunch as the keel scraped over the wicked, jagged teeth of rock. But there was nothing. The boat flew gracefully across the one flat patch of water and into the calm safety of the cove.