Gabrielle fell asleep first, her head pillowed in the crook of his neck, one arm flung across his body. Nathaniel, despite his own fatigue, lay awake listening to the sounds of a house that worked at night.

He realized that for the first time since Helen's death, he was thinking beyond the present, envisaging a future where the landscape was vibrant and full of promise. But how could the English spymaster be envisaging such a future with a French spy? It didn't make any sense.

He finally fell asleep, no nearer to an answer.

When he awoke, he was alone in the bed, daylight pouring through the unshuttered windows. Jake’s chattering voice came from the next room, intersperced with Gabrielle's more measured tones. Throwing asidethe covers, he stood up and stretched and yawned. The room was warm, the fire freshly made up. It was anamazing luxury after the cheerless attic on rue Bude. not to mention that dreadful day in the crypt. His body felt good, suffused with the energy that a night of energetic and blissful lovemaking always engendered.

"Did we wake you?" Gabrielle's voice came from the connecting door and he turned with a half-smile. She was wearing her harlot's dress again and still managing to look achingly desirable, although he could detect tiny lines of strain around her eyes and Something new? he wondered, or just the residue of lastnight's torrent of weeping?

Jake popped up behind her, neat and tidy for the first time since they'd left England. "Bonjour, Papa. Gabby taught me to say that. It means good morning." He beamed at his father, examining his naked body curiously. "Don't you sleep in a nightshirt?"

"Sometimes," Nathaniel said, raising an eyebrow at Gabrielle, who turned aside, hiding her smile. "I'd better get dressed. Any chance of breakfast in this place? Or are they all enjoying a well-earned rest after their labors?"

"I'll ring. I had some hot water brought up, so you can shave if you wish." She gestured to the steaming ewer on the marble-topped dresser, and went to pull the bellrope beside the door.

Nathaniel enjoyed the luxury of a sponge bath with ample hot water in the fire-warmed room. Gabrielle sat on the window seat, her appearance of relaxation just that. The world had reasserted itself this morning as she had known it had to. Last night's interlude had been glorious, but the time for glorious interludes was over.

Jake kept up a stream of chatter and questions, his ordeals apparently forgotten in the warm and fear-free present.

Two maids brought breakfast, laying it on a round table beside the window. If they were aware of Nathaniel shaving, still naked, at the dresser, they gave no sign. Presumably they didn't find it an unusual sight.

"Come and sit down, Jake." Gabrielle lifted him onto a chair. "There's hot chocolate for you and a brioche." She broke a fragrant round brioche and spread it liberally with strawberry jam. "Brioches don't have crusts," she informed him. "But if you have bread, then you should dip the crust in your chocolate. Like so." She suited action to words.

"That's bad manners," Jake said, wide-eyed.

"Not in France," Gabrielle said firmly. "It's very polite. Ask Papa."

Jake giggled. "Is it, Papa?"

"In the nursery it may be," Nathaniel said, pulling on his britches. "But not in serious company."

"Stuffy!" Gabrielle accused, pouring hot milk into two deep bowls before adding the steaming, fragrant coffee. "I dip my bread in my coffee wherever I am."

"Well, we both know how shamelessly you set bad examples." He shrugged into his shirt, tucking it into the waist of his britches before coming to the table.

"What's that mean?" Jake demanded, his eyes bright with curiosity.

"Never you mind." Nathaniel ruffled his hair and sat down opposite him. "We have to decide how best to travel, Gabrielle. If it weren't for Jake, who'll be noticeable, I'd say we'd draw less attention traveling by stage, at least until we get into the countryside."

"It would fit better with your identity as a servant," Gabrielle agreed. "You could pass Jake off as a nephew, or something. I'm sure he'd be able to pretend he was invisible again, wouldn't you, Jake?"

She dipped a crust of bread into her coffee bowl and expertly carried the dripping bread to her mouth, spilling not a drop. Jake watched her, fascinated, his mouth full of brioche.

" 'Course I could," he mumbled.

"And what of your identity?" Nathaniel broke into the brioche. "Perhaps you should travel independently."

"I think I must stay here," Gabrielle said. She tore a hunk off the baguette for Jake, cautioning, "You have to be careful of the drips if you're going to dip it."

"Oh? Why is that?" Nathaniel's voice was calm as he waited to hear how she would explain herself. He now understood the reason for this new strain. She'd betrayed her French masters by saving him. There was no evidence against her at this point, but if she left France at the same time their quarry disappeared, then she'd incriminate herself. Fouche would hunt her down wherever she was. Not even her godfather, even if he was so inclined, could protect her from the knife in the night. He leaned back in his chair, cradling his coffee bowl between his hands, regarding her steadily.

"It would look strange if I were just to disappear," Gabrielle said. "Talleyrand would wonder about it. Catherine is having a ball next week to welcome me back. It would be discourteous, unless there was an absolutely vital reason for leaving, like a death or a wedding with the DeVanes, or something."

Not bad, Nathaniel thought with detachment. Not bad at all.

"So you'll follow when you can?"

"Of course."

Jake shifted in his chair. Something had changed. Gabby was looking sad and Papa's mouth had gone thin again. His tummy tightened and he pushed away his hot chocolate. Gabby wasn't going to come with them. "Gabby's coming with us," he said. If he said it, then perhaps they'd say yes, she was.

"No, love, I can't. Not at the moment." Gabby patted his hand.

"Gabrielle has things to do here," Nathaniel said, his voice flat.

Jake felt his lip tremble. They were going to go on that horrible boat again and Gabby wasn't going to be there. A tear splashed on the table, and he pushed back his chair and ran into the next room before they could tell he was crying.

"I'm sorry," Gabrielle said helplessly. "But I don't see what else I can do."

"No," Nathaniel agreed steadily. "Neither do I." Suddenly he was unutterably weary of this hideous charade. The desire for the clean knife of truth, even though it would sever everything, took possession of his soul. His gaze held hers.

The silence elongated. The fire hissed and the clock ticked. Nathaniel's eyes were for once readable, burning their message deep into hers, and comprehension crept over Gabrielle, lifting the fine hairs on her neck, setting her scalp crawling.

Nathaniel watched shock and understanding flood the dark gray depths of her eyes.

"You know," she said finally.

"Yes."

Gabrielle cupped her chin in her palms. "Since when? I thought I'd been so careful."

"Since Burley Manor. Ifound your code in the Voltaire."

She raised her eyes and looked at him, her expression swept clear of all emotion. "Iwasn't clever enough for you."

"No," he agreed. "Was Iclever enough for you?"

"No."

The space between them was a cool, clear wash of cleanliness. He wanted no explanations or excuses, and Gabrielle would not offer them.

"So what now?" Gabrielle asked.

"We go our separate ways. What we know of each other dies here." He stretched his hand across the table.

She put her own in his. "Iwish it could be different."

"But it can't."

"I'll say good-bye to Jake and then I'll leave."