“I have been enduring her intrusion into my life since I was a child. When we were younger, we played together, at first because my father impressed upon me the need to be kind, but then I took a liking to the adventures we would have together. We made use of servants’ hallways and the tops of trees and the dark of the woods to sneak around and creep up on people and act as the protectors and saviors of France. As youth, we would pretend to lead out in a revolution for freedom.

“But very shortly upon leaving my childhood, she became a dangerous burr, and I have lived in wariness of her temper and under the thumb of her goodwill until you rescued me, not just from France but from her clutches. That moment in the cabbage cart? I felt free for the first time in years.”

He searched her eyes, trying to show his sincerity, seeking a place inside her heart that would understand. “She has threatened my closest friends, implicated me in their deaths, threatened and blackmailed me at every turn, imprisoned me—twice now—and ordered my execution. I have absolutely no feelings of any positive nature for the woman and in fact constantly battle the evil thoughts of wishing for her death.

He knelt in front of her, holding her hand in his own. “Please, Scarlet, I thought you of all people would understand and not become one of the many voices accusing me of some kind of alliance with her.” He needed her to understand. It had suddenly become the most important goal of his existence that she believe him and know where he stood with Éléonore Duplay.

The lines on her forehead softened. “Of course, Matteo. I should have seen it. When you say it like that, I see that for you to still harbor any kind of good feelings for the woman would be the most ridiculous thing in the world.” She reached forward and placed a hand at the side of his face. “I am sorry for ever thinking it of you. Might I ask you to clarify for me a few things?”

His heart filled with hope. Would he finally understand whatever chasm had come between them?

He nodded. “Of course. You may ask me anything.”

“You said she implicated you in the deaths of your friends. Did she, in fact, sign your name?”

He grimaced. “She did, but it is worse than that. She produced evidence against them in the form of letters I wrote.”

“You wrote?”

He sat on the straw and dipped his head into his hands. “Yes. As youth, we began our own letters of denouncement, taking down as evidence all unjust treatment we saw around us. Years before the committee even thought of it.”

“But why did you do this? What did you hope to gain?”