He left the room with a hard, determined stride and Marguerite sank weakly into the seat. A moment later a glass filled with red liquid was held out to her and she accepted it from her maid with a grateful smile.

All the servants in her household had been carefully selected for their discretion. How Philippe knew whom he could trust or not was beyond her comprehension. But then everything he did with regards to the secret du roi was a mystery to her.

"Mon coeur."

Dazed, she glanced up and saw Philippe enter the room in a rush. He still wore hat and gloves, and the air around him was redolent of horses and tobacco.

"What transpired?" he asked, sinking to his haunches before her.

Her gaze drifted over his shoulder to the window and she saw how the shadows cast by the sun had moved across the floor.

Time had lapsed and she'd been unaware, lost as she was in her confusion and disquiet.

"Marguerite? Why was de Grenier here? What did he say to you?"

She looked at her lover, the fingers of her right hand releasing their hold on her glass so that she could touch his cheek. He nuzzled into the contact, his blue eyes darkened by concern.

"He says Desjardins is determined to separate us," she related grimly, "and that I am not safe from harm. He did not say whether it was physical harm or emotional, and I did not think to ask until a moment ago."

Philippe's jaw tautened. "This is madness."

"What?" Marguerite reached around him and set her glass on the gilded side table. "What is happening? He intimated that you were hiding something from me. If you are, I want you to tell me what it is."

"I do not know." Growling, he stood and began tearing off his outer garments. Hat, gloves, coat. All tossed on to the settee with obvious frustration. "I cannot make sense of it. You have nothing to do with anything."