Shouts from behind the doorway made her jump, and she ripped off her wig, running along the shadows toward a set of doors. She pulled a cap out from her bodice, and before the door shut behind her, she pulled away at the skirts she wore and placed the flat cap on her head.

His mind tried to make sense of what he had just seen. Scarlet. He could not be mistaken. Those green eyes could not belong to anyone else. Another pair of green eyes, wrapped in a dark turban, flashed in his memory. Scarlet. His rescuer in the turban, this white-haired beauty, and his wife, all the same woman.

His feet trudged along, but he no longer saw his surroundings. The note to Buckley: I will follow our usual methods. Her sudden disappearances, her friendship with Simon, her home in Paris. How was it that she had been in Paris right at that moment when he’d needed to escape the city? Scarlet never travelled to France; at least, he didn’t think she ever did, not dressed as herself anyway—except in the moment of his rescue at her home in Paris. Perhaps she visited more often than he’d realized. Because here she was in France right now, dressed as . . . someone. He felt her eyes follow him as the guards dragged him across the open space and down another corridor from there. One quick glance over his shoulder proved she watched him still, leaning up against a doorframe, dressed as a young lad. His heart pounded in shock and disbelief at what he was seeing. He didn’t dare turn to see her again, hoping not to draw attention to her figure, hoping she could escape.

But he couldn’t make sense of it. What was she doing with those women? He knew she helped the Pimpernel from time to time. She always played it off as some big game. Just as she played off her fashion act for the members of the ton. And now she was dressed as a lad? What if everything about her was one big act? What if she were far more involved in France than she let on, even to him? He reviewed again all he could remember about the green-eyed turbaned woman. The league had given her great deference. And when the plans changed, she had taken charge and the others had followed with a practiced efficiency. Could she head up this gang? Work closely with the Pimpernel himself?

Hot, fiery jealousy filled him, almost whiting out his eyes. The only other man who could be worthy of such a woman as Scarlet would be the Pimpernel—and someone of her brilliance would surely be attracted to such a man.