He was undeterred. “You have obviously over-imbibed. Shall I get you some assistance to your carriage?”

“Matteo, the pure dove. Pardonez moi while I chortle at the absurdity.” She leaned closer to Scarlet, and Matteo stepped between them, shielding his wife. Éléonore purred, “You must know he has tasted other lips, tasted these lips.” She swiveled her hips and then turned, nearly dragging a stumbling Lord Panning with her. They exited down the stairs at the other end of the terrace toward another ballroom entrance.

Scarlet’s silence unnerved him.

“Please, my dear, I abhor that woman. I believe she has my misery as her main purpose. You must know she means nothing to me.” He tried to reach for Scarlet’s hand, but she pulled it away.

“I know nothing about your relationship with Miss Duplay.”

“I have no relationship.” How could she not understand? Why would any moral man of sense be attracted to such a person? Did his wife have such little faith in him? If only they had more time together. He must prove himself anew, wipe all uncertainty from her heart forever.

Scarlet held up her hand. “Whatever your history, you are much closer than I imagined.”

“But you don’t understand at all. Please, allow me to explain.”

A chime rang from inside the house, calling people to whist if they so desired.

Matteo’s hand flew to his pocket watch; he had but three minutes to arrive in the drawing room. He turned with concern to his pale and exhausted wife.

Scarlet’s body deflated before his eyes. With a great sigh, she said, “I am tired. Perhaps we may discuss things this evening. But for now, I will return home. It is nearly one in the morning.”

He tried to show his heartfelt urgency with his eyes. “I would very much like to explain further this evening. Now, where would you like to rest? Shall I bring you some lemonade?”

She rested her hand on his arm. “Near the prince, if you would, and lemonade would be lovely, thank you.” Her face remained drawn and pale.

He led her as gently and quickly as possible to a chair near the prince, who welcomed her with exclamations and raptures. Matteo promised to return and bowed his departure.

As he strode away, he asked the nearest footman to provide the lemonade. And then his thoughts turned to the Pimpernel and the grave danger to many families in France. Rushing to the drawing room, he hoped he was not too late. Just as he was about to enter, a grating sound reached his ears as it had far too often this evening.

Chortling, Éléonore said, “Matteo, are you following me? Hungry for another rendezvous, oui?”