Cordelia swallowed uncomfortably as the silence lengthened, then she drew a deep breath and said, "Do you not wish to take me away, Leo? Have you thought better of it? I understand, of course I do. The children are your blood. They must have first consideration."

"No, I haven't changed my mind," he said, raising his head. "I was merely trying to point out to you the difficulties. I'm no fairy godmother, sweetheart. I don't have a magic wand."

"I understand that," she said in a small voice.

"You cannot go back to Vienna-"

"No, of course I can't!" she exclaimed. "My uncle would simply send me straight back to Michael."

"As I was saying," he said repressively, "you cannot go back to Vienna. If I can procure a passport for you, you could perhaps travel incognito to England. My sister and her husband would take you in." His frown deepened. Lizzie was an impulsive creature with a head full of romance. She'd throw herself heart and soul into such a scheme, but her husband, Francis, was less impetuous. He might well fight shy of sheltering an adulterous relationship under his roof, particularly when the woman was sought across the Continent by an outraged husband and her own family. Cordelia, the goddaughter of an empress and the wife of a prince, was much less of a private citizen than he himself.

"You wouldn't come too?" she ventured.

"Not immediately. It would be suspicious if we disappeared together."

"And what of the girls?"

"Until I can find a way to get them away from Michael, I must be able to see them. Therefore I must stay close by."

"Yes, I see." She swallowed. Leo loved her. He loved her enough to save her from her husband. But his love and responsibility for his sister's children must take precedence. She understood that. She wouldn't argue with it. Loyalty to one's friends and loved ones was an imperative she could never deny. Leo had to find a way to handle the conflicting demands of two such loyalties. She could think of only one way to help him.

She sat up very straight, facing him across the separating length of the sofa. "I told you that as long as I have your love, I can endure anything, Leo. I can stay in this marriage, if I have you near me. If I know that I have my friends. Mathilde and Christian and Toinette, and you." Her eyes were bright with tears and the light of conviction. "I will stay with Michael until we can develop a plan that enables us to take the children with us. If you don't desert me, Leo, I can endure anything."

And again he thought bitterly that while love might make endurance easier for Cordelia, it made it impossible for him. He would send her to Lizzie as soon as he could arrange it. And then he would worry about the children. But since Cordelia would resist being sent away, he must make his plans in secret.

"I'll work something out," he said confidently. "But I do want you to think about the realities of life as it will be. Think very carefully, love, because once done, it cannot be undone."

"I know that. Do you think I don't?" she said, gripping his hands tightly. "I won't want it undone, Leo. Never."

"Never is a very long time," he said, his smile disguising his racing thoughts. There was a whore in the Pare aux Cerfs whose brother-in-law was the chief of police on Ile de la Cite in Paris. For the right consideration, passports could be acquired. He could have Cordelia out of Paris within the fortnight.

And in the meantime, they had a whole night ahead of them. Deliberately, he allowed his mind to dwell on the images already building. As yet half formed, most of them, but the picture of the coming night was painting itself in sinuous silhouette.

"If you wish, this afternoon I'll conduct you to Mathilde." His voice was as calm as the Dead Sea, and he knew Cordelia couldn't begin to guess his erotic thoughts.

"Oh, that would be wonderful," she said. "I so miss her." She leaned into him, placing her flat palm against his cheek. "We'll make it work, Leo, I know we will."

The conviction of idealistic youth? The conviction of an incurable optimist? He turned his head to plant a kiss in her palm. "Come to me after the stroke of midnight." He tipped her chin and kissed her mouth, the delicate fluttering eye- lids, the tip of her nose. "Now you must go."

He stood up, drawing her with him, unlocked the door, and stepped behind it, out of sight of the corridor. "Go, and don't look back."

He waited five minutes before stepping out himself, strolling casually down the corridor, blending with the crowd of courtiers hurrying to the king's levee. A tall slender man in a charcoal gray suit lined with crimson silk mingling easily with the scurrying throng. And behind the amiable smile exquisitely erotic dreams warred with the facts of a grim reality.

Prince Michael, arms folded across his chest, sat back in the cumbersome coach as it lumbered over the narrow road from Versailles to Paris. At his feet rested the leather chest He was glowering in the dim interior of the vehicle. The leather curtains covered the windows, protecting the occupant from the curious stares and insolent observations of passersby on the carriage's frequent enforced stops at crowded intersections.

Two outriders attempted to clear the roadway ahead of the carriage, but often enough their whip-cracking orders were ignored by sullen-eyed peasants driving their cattle or produce to market They stared at the gilded coach with the von Sachsen arms emblazoned on the panels, and one or two surreptitiously spat into the ground beneath the large painted wheels of the aristocratic conveyance.

Michael swore under his breath as the carriage slowed yet again. He still found it difficult to believe that he was driving to Paris to act as nursemaid for his children in the middle of the wedding celebrations. He could not believe that he had been manipulated by a schoolgirl-by two schoolgirls. That arrogant chit of a dauphine had definitely played her part. He could still see the complicitous glance she'd exchanged with Cordelia. They had been laughing at him. But he who laughs last laughs loudest, he told himself grimly.

He had no choice but to obey the king's orders, but if he could remove Cordelia from Versailles, then, of course, his children would have no reason to remain. He would have all three of them back in the palace on the rue du Bac, and he would make damn sure that they stayed there. His wife must become indisposed. An accident that would force her removal from Paris. A concussion, such as might result from a fall from a horse. Easily arranged if one knew the right people.

The coach lurched forward again. It was only a temporary solution to the problem of Cordelia. She was in her way every bit as unsatisfactory a wife as Elvira had been. For the moment, he still enjoyed bedding her, but that would pall eventually. He needed a son, and once she had supplied him with the child, he would be free to dispose of her. If he could arrange to leave Versailles, return to Prussia, he could concoct an accusation of adultery and banish her to a convent. It would be a neat solution and a very appropriate punishment for such a willful and flighty creature. It would take time to arrange his transfer out of France. He would have to petition his own sovereign, and Frederick the Great was not known to heed the personal wishes of his servants if they went against his own. But he could set the process in motion.

He closed his eyes, his foot unconsciously resting on the chest as the carriage jolted in a pothole.

It was midafternoon when he reached the palace on the rue du Bac. The household had been alerted by a runner of the master's impending arrival, and when he entered the cavernous hall, even his most critical eye could see nothing amiss. Monsieur Brion remained in Versailles, but his second-in-command was bowing respectfully even before the prince set foot in the house.

"When would you wish to dine, my lord?"

"Later," the prince said with an irritable gesture. "Bring claret to the library and send for Madame de Nevry immediately."

The majordomo went off to inform the harassed cook that he'd better delay the spit-roasting ducks, and sent a footman posthaste to the schoolroom.

Louise was nursing a cold, her head wrapped in a turban, a blanket around her shoulders, a tisane, heavily doctored from her silver flask, in her hands. The little girls sat at the table, laboriously copying their letters. There was a lowering silence in the room to match the overcast sky beyond the shuttered window.

"My lord commands the governess to attend him in the library," the footman intoned from the door in a tone of studied insolence. The governess was ill liked in the household and treated with scant respect.

The children looked up, curiosity mingling with anxiety in their bright eyes. Louis sniffed and stared at the footman. "Prince Michael is at Versailles," she said thickly.

"No he's not. He's in the library and he demands your presence immediately." The footman sneered. The smell of brandy in the room mingled unpleasantly with the powerful distillation of herbs that the sufferer was periodically inhaling to relieve her congestion. He offered a mocking bow and departed, carelessly leaving the door ajar.

Louise rose to her feet in a flurry. The blanket dropped to the floor, her fingers scrabbled at the tightly wound turban. "Oh my goodness. What could have brought the prince here so unexpectedly? How can I go to him like this? Where's my wig? Oh my goodness, in my old gown, too!"

The girls watched, sucking the tips of their quills, their eyes shining with enjoyment at their governess's frantic antics. Their father's unexpected arrival meant little to them except that they would probably have to endure one of the dreaded presentations in the library that evening.