“My father had one,” I said, staring at the steam rising from the cup of coffee. “Here on the Riviera. And we never knew. I had a half sister I never knew about until today. We looked so alike, Darcy. We might have become friends, but she was shot.”

I felt the tears welling up again. Darcy nodded and put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Maybe it was better that she died,” he said. “Better than spending years in prison.”

“Will the marquis spend years in prison?” I asked.

“If we can make any of his crimes stick,” Darcy said. “That’s why I was sent over here—that, and to recover a few valuable pieces of artwork that had vanished from British stately homes.”

“Then we were sent on similar missions.” I actually laughed. “I was sent by the queen to recover a snuffbox that Sir Toby took from her.”

“Sir Toby? Then they were all as bad as each other, weren’t they?”

I nodded.

“And we’re well rid of them.” A long pause followed in which he looked at me with those dangerous bright blue eyes. “And you and I—well, should we start over from square one, do you think? If you can trust me not to have more mistresses hidden away.”

“All right,” I said slowly. “Let’s start over at square one.”

He held out his hand. “How do you do? I’m Darcy O’Mara, or rather the Honorable Darcy O’Mara, since your type cares about such things.” He took my scratched and battered hand in his and then slowly brought it to his lips. “I’d kiss you properly, but I don’t want to do more damage to such a bruised and battered face.”

There was a squawking outside as chickens scattered at the arrival of a big black car. The police had come.

The next hours were an unpleasant mixture of interrogation by the police and examination in the hospital. Luckily I came out of both unscathed. No serious injuries, miraculously, and the police interview was made easier by the arrival of Jacques Germain and my grandfather.

“Too bad that car went over the cliff,” he said, looking at me with concern. “I’d have liked to wring his ruddy neck for him. Doing that to my little girl.”

Later that evening I was safely back at my mother’s villa, my wounds cleaned and still feeling sore but relieved. Queenie made an awful fuss of me. She insisted on standing at the foot of my bed and looking at me with those big cow eyes as if I were about to expire.

“Please don’t go and die on me, my lady,” she said. I was rather touched until she added, “If you go and die, nobody else will employ me, as you bloody well know.”