He nodded. “Lure them in. Gather them together in one place, a public location. Their very attendance should seem traitorous. And then we will take care of the rest. They must be a public example. In one week’s time, I will send my soldiers, but I will wait for news from you of the hour and location.” His eyes had gone cold, all kindness departed.

Scarlet longed for her shawl, but her mind had begun to spin, and as quickly as Robespierre planned, she counterplotted. Now, her most important rescue must be scheduled in days instead of weeks.

Chapter Nineteen

Too early to bother Edwards, Matteo donned breeches and a coat. A good long ride would do much to clear his mind before Scarlet awoke.

He allowed thoughts of his disastrous wedding night to plague him slowly, an easy trickle instead of the deadening crash that threatened to flow. His wedding day felt as terrible to think upon as it was wonderful. Not ready to face the DuPonts’ deaths again, he went over all his interactions with Scarlet, the strength of his mount beneath him a comfort.

Making his way to a wide-open field, he urged his stallion into a hard run, giving the eager animal full rein. Most of his conversations with her had been delightfully full of joy. She seemed excited and looking forward to their long life together. Only at the end, when he himself felt as devastated as he had ever been, had she changed so drastically.

Was his impression of her a mirror of his own sordid feelings, his disgust with himself, his horror at the evil in Éléonore? Could he have imagined or made her reactions seem worse than they actually were? These new thoughts gave him a place to start and the beginnings of hope.

Foaming about the bit, the horse had worked up a good lather, and Matteo gradually slowed him down to a walk. They followed the edge of a stream, Matteo hardly noticing his surroundings as his mind spun.

Suspicions crept in, thoughts of how little he knew Scarlet. She played so many parts, acted differently depending on who they were standing near. How could he be sure which part she was playing when? And where, in all these layers, did the real Scarlet hide? Why did she hide? Perhaps the books or the servants or some family history would help him better understand the woman he married just twenty-four hours ago.

His thoughts flowed naturally to the DuPonts. If they had died three weeks ago, then Éléonore had already denounced them before she had even arrived in England. Perhaps their deaths were her first angry reaction to his escape from France. He clenched one fist. Would he never be free of that woman and her claws?

He reached the stables and left the reins with a waiting stable hand.