‘But, of course,’ she continued, ‘that couldn’t be anything to do with your daughter. So perhaps you’re right, and I got the wrong cell.’

The duc gave a sour smile.

‘A mistake, as you say. Obviously. They must have moved her.’

Camille bit the tip of her tongue to stop a smile rising to her own lips. Her situation was precarious, she knew, but watching the duc squirm was so satisfying.

She bounced on the balls of her feet, readying an appropriate expression of dismay and sympathy as she made her excuses to leave. But before she could, the duc spoke.

‘It seems our deal is not yet complete. I have already furnished you with a significant float to finance your exploits, at no small risk to myself, as you say. I expect to see a return on my investment.’

The satisfaction drained out of her immediately.

‘Then get better information. I can’t rescue a girl who’s not there.’

‘So find her. You seem to have your fingers in every grubby little prison in Paris. You have more than enough money to keep you in gin and bread, Camille du Bugue.’

Camille froze, eyes wide behind her mask. How did he know her old name?

‘Yes, I know who you are. In fact, I know quite a bit about you and your so-called battalion. A deserter. An aristocrat in hiding. A runaway daughter. All people who would rather their business be kept private, yes? Find the girl. Bring her to me.’ He bit off each word like a bullet. ‘Or I might find myself telling your Revolutionary friends just who’s been liberating their most valuable prisoners. Think of it as a penalty for failing to deliver to agreed terms.’

Camille’s mouth had gone dry, that familiar anger roiling in her chest.

‘We never agreed terms. Your side of the deal is as weak as mine. You’re not telling me everything, and that risk nearly cost my battalion’s lives. I’m not so interested in playing your game any more.’

‘Keep your nose where it belongs. I’m paying you. I expect even an arrogant girl like you to do as she’s told.’

She took a step forwards, hand drifting to her pistol. ‘She’s not your daughter, is she?’

An unpleasant smile flitted across his face.

‘Oh, no, I assure you. She’s very much mine.’

‘I’m not interested. Get someone else to do your dirty work.’

‘Watch your tongue around your betters, girl,’ growled Dorval. He had stayed silent until now, watching, calculating. His gaze made the hair at the back of her neck stand on end.

‘Or what? This is the Revolution, citoyen. There are no “betters” any more.’