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useful to him. "Does the king not know about Monsieur D'Eon? I mean, King George?"

"He knows none of this."

"Can't you enlighten him?"

"Not yet. The king lost his father at a young age and is inclined to seek another. He will grow out of it, but at the moment he would like to think "dear cousin Louis' a worthy mentor."

"The king of an enemy nation?"

"We are at peace, and Louis has been king for many years. He has experience. With D'Eon as blushing handmaiden, Louis is making great efforts to be everything George could wish."

"I still think you should tell him. You must have evidence."

"Shadowy evidence. Ambiguous phrases and coded messages. If I made any impression at all, he would confront D'Eon with it. That would reveal that we know. One of the perils," he said with a meaningful look, "of dealing with youth."

"I would never do anything so foolish."

His eyes rested on her. "I don't suppose you would. Young women are often a great deal wiser than young men. Why do you think wise men marry younger women? It is in the faint hope of an equal match."

"Ah!" she said, but then suppressed the rest of her thought.

"As I said," he murmured, "very wise."

Wise? To push away this gift they were offered? She'd thought she knew the treasure within grasp, but these few minutes in the coach, talking as equals, as friends for the first time, had increased it tenfold. She wanted this as she wanted sunlight and breath.

She looked away for a moment to gather strength. Strength not to beg. Begging would only hurt him. He knew how precious it was as much as she did, and he had excellent reasons for sacrifice. Before her blurring eyes, railings passed. They must be at the Queen's House already!

Mere minutes left.

"Pay attention, Diana," he said as if he did not guess her emotions.

Blinking to clear her eyes, she turned back.

"Proof of Louis' secret government is sketchy," he said, looking away, as if judging the time left before they arrived at the brick house. She knew he was deliberately not looking at her moist eyes.

"Everything I have" - he carried on - "appears harmless unless one believes the code, and I cannot risk giving the code to the king. Having it will cease to be useful if the French find out."

"My," said Diana, putting all the calm and control into her voice that she could muster, "wheels, within wheels, within wheels. You act alone?"

"There are people in our government aware of my work."

"Rather shadowy after all."

"Only from certain angles." He turned to look at her, shadowy indeed, but from other causes, she knew.

"So," she asked. "What can I do?"

"Observe and listen, especially if D'Eon is with the queen, and gossip to me later. But be very, very careful."

"So I will see you?"

He became very still. "Did you think I would abandon you?"

"No, but... daily?"

"Most days. I have the entree here. A mild interest in your progress will not be unseemly."

The coach was turning in front of the house. Almost the end! "Will we be able to speak privately?"

"Probably not."

They halted. But, she saw, they were not yet at the doors, for the king's coach preceded theirs. "How will I give you reports then?"

After a thoughtful moment, he said, "A code. The queen can be Rosa, and the king Brand."

"Clever. What of D'Eon, then? I know," she said with a smile, "he can be Samuel, Rosa's prize ram."

And he laughed. Fully, looking years younger. "Scurrilous wench, and in D'Eon's case, probably inappropriate."

"Why?" she asked, smile wide enough to be painful.

"That's another long story," he said, laughter simmering to smile, but still smiling. "Who will be the French King?"

As the coach jerked forward again, she said, "Dirk, her Flemish stallion. Believe me, to describe Rosa in avid conversation about horse and sheep breeding is not at all contrived."

His lips twitched, but he was recovering control. "Very well. But be careful."

As the coach moved in front of the doors she clutched the plan to herself. It was a thread linking them, and perhaps that was why he had created it.

And he had laughed.

"Is that all I can do?" she asked. "No stealing letters? No breaking codes?"

He gripped her hand, down on the seat, where the approaching footman would not see. "This is not a game, Diana. Be wise."

She looked ahead, trying to appear uninvolved, but trembling at his touch. "It is not easy to be wise."

His hand surrendered to tenderness. "No. But it is possible."

Rebellion