He shrugged out of his robe and rounded the bed to slip between the sheets behind her. He draped an arm over her waist and her fingers linked with his.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing for you to be concerned with."

"Yet you are concerned, I can feel it." Marguerite turned in his arms. "I have ways to make you tell me," she purred.

"Minx." Philippe kissed her nose and groaned at the feel of her warm, silken limbs tangling with his. He related the conversation with Thierry and stroked the length of her spine when she tensed. "Do not be alarmed. This is a minor irritant, nothing more."

"What do you intend to do?"

"Desjardins has high aspirations. He needs to feel as if every man working with him is as committed. I am not, which was proven when I began rejecting any mission that would send me to Poland."

"Because of me."

"You are far more charming than the Polish, mon amour." He kissed her forehead. "There are others who will give him the level of dedication he requires."

Marguerite pushed up on one elbow and gazed down at him. "And he will allow you to simply walk away?"

"What can he do? Besides, if he feels that my effectiveness is so diminished that he must concern himself with my private life, then my withdrawal should be a relief to him."

Her hand slid over his chest. "Be careful. Promise me that much.'"

Philippe caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. "I promise."

Then he tugged her down and took her mouth, soothing her fears with the heat of his passion.

The gathering of close friends and political acquaintances in Comte Desjardins's dining room was loud and boisterous. The comte himself was laughing and enjoying himself immensely when a movement in the doorway leading to the foyer caught his eye.