He studied Scarlet: her hair, the graceful turn of her neck, the slight pink on her cheeks, the three freckles on her nose. Always his balm. He felt his mouth turn up in the grin of new love while he watched her sleep, her chest rising and falling in soft little breaths.

The room began to warm, or he did, with another body pressed against him. And soon, the clothing between them felt wet with perspiration. Drops collected on his forehead and he longed to wipe his face before they dripped onto his precious wife, but he daren’t disturb her.

She shifted in her sleep and smiled. “Matteo,” she mumbled and turned to his chest.

A great happiness and relief filled him. Something about that gesture—turning to him, even in sleep—warmed him and gave him great courage. Whatever it was she desired, he would be at her side. His grin widening, he squeezed her closer to him, tilting his head to watch her face.

“And now I might be ill at the sight of you.” Éléonore’s shrill voice grated his nerves, and Scarlet startled in her sleep.

“Have a care, Éléonore, and do be quiet.” He scowled at her.

She slammed the hatch on their door shut and ordered the guards to open the door. Matteo braced himself.

Her hips swiveled as she walked. Once she was completely in the room, she ordered the guards out. “But leave the door open, please, the stench is overwhelming.” Holding her nose under a handkerchief, she cackled a horrible screechy laugh.

Scarlet’s eyes fluttered open. She watched Matteo’s face. “I thought she was just interrupting my dreams. But here she is.”

He nodded.

Louder, she asked, “Is she dressed as dreadfully as last time?”

Not even bothering to hold back his chuckle at his wife’s superb humor, he turned his head to Éléonore, allowed his eyes to travel from her feet to her hair, and tilted his head to the side. “I don’t know. I’m not the best judge, but I’d say worse. Or she has some kind of costume today, I don’t know.”

Scarlet eyed him, refusing yet to look at her. “Costume, you say? Is there a ball? A masquerade? Oh, Matteo, we must attend.”

“Hmm. No, not that kind of costume. You’ll have to see for yourself, to be sure, but I do believe she’s going for a certain look here, a tone, as it were.”

“Oh, if I must. My fashion expertise is needed everywhere, I tell you. French prison is a first, I must admit, but . . .” She turned in his arms so that she faced Éléonore. “Oh, dear, you are right. Dreadful; worse even than the last we saw her.” Scarlet moved her hand to her mouth and shared a look with Matteo before turning back to Éléonore. “Prison officer.”

Éléonore snapped, “What?”