Devilish Page 0,101

matter how he dies so long as he dies?"

"But I did not order his death."

"The king did."

D'Eon stilled. Was it possible that the king had sent an order not through him? Did the king no longer trust and support him? There had been indications, warnings even from friends in Paris, and from de Broglie.

But then there were the private letters he received...

No choice but to appear the master. "How dare you outrun your orders like that? How dare you recruit other French agents to your ridiculous plan?"

De Couriac reddened with anger. "I have the authority. Direct from Paris. Direct from Versailles."

"You think you outrank me?" D'Eon said softly. "Perhaps you even think you can defeat me with the sword?" He let his hand rest on the beribboned hilt.

The other man stiffened, his own hand grasping his sword. D'Eon knew de Couriac must think himself almost unbeatable. But the almost was important, and his own reputation was equally formidable.

After a long moment, de Couriac took his hand away. "Of course not, monsieur. I apologize if I have offended you."

D'Eon let some extra seconds run before nodding and taking his hand from his own sword. "So," he said, "what orders do you have from Paris?"

"To remove the marquess."

"From play, not from life."

"That was not specified."

"It is, now, by me. And it must be subtle. You understand?"

After a moment, de Couriac nodded.

"Very well. I am for court and cannot dally. Let me make it clear that we cannot afford any more incidents connected to this embassy! I have another plan stirring, and two possible English tools. You encountered Lady Arradale, you said?"

"Oh yes." The man's lip curled. "I have a score to settle with her." He put his hand to his bloody head. "She spoiled the plan, then gave me this."

"She hit you?" The pale and simpering Countess of Arradale? "With what? Her fan?"

"With a pistol ball, down in the dirt, steady as you please. She probably fired the last shot that killed Roger and Guy."

Though he was having to reevaluate many things, D'Eon waved that aside. "Do not let personal concerns get in the way. The countess is now at the queen's court, and cannot easily be touched. However, there is also a stupid Englishman who has hopes of Lady Arradale's body and her wealth. He can be used. I will work on a plan. We are in accord?"

"As long as I can have my revenge on Milord Rothgar and the countess. They caused the death of Susette."

"The actress?" D'Eon queried. "How did she become involved in violence?"

"She was a violent woman," de Couriac said rather blankly. "She stabbed me."

A laugh escaped D'Eon.

"And of course I had to kill her," de Couriac continued. "She knew too much by then. But we were old friends, and they must pay for it."

D'Eon lost all impulse to laugh. The man was deranged. He thought for a moment of killing him here and now, but it would not be easy and he was already late for the soiree. It was also possible that King Louis might disapprove.

What would the madman do next, however? He must be given something to do.

"You may stay here," he said. "If you can disguise yourself, try to strike up an acquaintance with a young man called Lord Randolph Somerton. He likes to gamble, and is often found in a hell called Lucifer's. But do nothing without my approval. Nothing."

"I am a master of disguise. I have even worked in the theater now and then."

"Excellent. We are in accord, then."

"Completely, monsieur," said de Couriac, with all the sincerity of a snake.

D'Eon hurried away, already planning another letter to Paris demanding that de Couriac be recalled, and devising a few possible ways to dispose of the man without suspicion.

He was beginning to feel entangled in mysterious coils, however. His debts were alarming, and for some reason he sensed that his favorite moneylenders were drawing back from him. He had access to the ambassador's funds here, but that was risky.

He entered his coach and ordered all speed. He could not possibly be losing King Louis's favor, but the prospect sent a chill through him. Then he remembered that he had just received another reassuring letter, and leaned back against the satin squabs.

All would be well. De Couriac was mad, or bluffing, or both. Or he could be a tool of his enemies in France. That mattered nothing as long as his king smiled on him.

But he still had to sway the English king, which