'You ask me to believe that you ...' Indignation choked her. 'My senses tell me what you are; an agent sent to work my ruin.'
'Your senses tell you either more or less, or else you would not now be here.'
And then it was as if the bonds of her self-control were suddenly snapped by the strain they sought to bear. 'Oh, God!' she cried out. 'I am near distraction. My brother ...' She broke off on something akin to a sob.
Outwardly Bellarion remained calm. 'Shall we take one thing at a time? Else we shall never be done. And I should not remain here too long with you.'
'Why not? You have the sanction of my dear uncle, who sends you.'
'Even so.' He lowered his voice to a whisper. 'It is your uncle is my dupe, not you.'
'That is what I expected you to say.'
'You had best leave inference until you have heard me out. Inference, highness, as I have shown you once already, is not your strength.'
If she resented his words and the tone he took, she gave no expression to it. Standing rigidly against the marble balustrade, she looked away from him and down that moonlit garden with its inky shadows and tall yew hedges that were sharp black silhouettes against the faintly irradiated sky.
Briefly, swiftly, lucidly, Bellarion told her how her message had been received by the conspirators.