He blushed in embarrassment. Did she know the details of his own capture? “Yes, long before I showed my sorry face to rescue him, he had been safely on the road and away from any danger. I should have trusted, listened, but I felt so alone, unheard. I couldn’t bear another moment waiting around in safety while my actions were possibly putting people to death.”

She squeezed his hand. “I would have done the same.”

He turned to her, eyes widened. “You would?”

“Without a doubt. I am sorry for not understanding. We should have involved you from the beginning.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I only hoped to spare your life. Yours is particularly at risk here, you know, and we worried your presence would endanger the mission and yourself.”

He did not know how to act around this new Scarlet. She was the same as ever and yet different. He could also sense a new delicate thread holding her together; somehow he knew that thread wore ever thinner and that as strong as she appeared, her growing fragility could easily break, and at any moment.

But he had to understand. “You were so different. Our wedding night . . .” He almost winced when he said it. Dare he bring it up?

“I should have talked to you, asked you, but I didn’t know what to do, and I was off to France the next morning.” She paused and then smiled sheepishly, possibly trying to cloak a hint of vulnerability. “So, you weren’t secretly meeting with Éléonore?”

“I was.”

Scarlet moved backward on the bed, leaning away from him. A new fear entered her eyes. “Matteo?”

“She blackmailed me. Threatened to use the journals and letters against innocent lives if I did not try to help her track down the Pimpernel. Demanded meetings and attendance at parties with her, all the while using me as her spy. And then the prince asked me to watch her, keep her away from as many as possible. I didn’t know where to turn for help, so I kept her happy, giving her nothing, until one evening I had had enough and told her to leave me alone. The next day I sailed for France myself.” He dared a look at her face and was taken aback by the joy that shined in her eyes.

“Oh, Matteo, I am so sorry. How I have doubted you, mistrusted.”

He stood and pulled her to her feet in front of him. “You were worried I was having secret trysts with Éléonore, romantic trysts?”

A deep rosy blush filled her face, and she closed her eyes against the pain, easily discernible there, and then nodded.