Her voice, a golden timbre, soothed him. “Andrew is a close family friend. I help whenever I can. You dear French—what a horror you are experiencing.” She placed a hand on her heart. “It is my daily prayer it will all end, and soon.”

Matteo nodded. “I will not leave until our people are safe. Day and night I will work to bring a stop to Robespierre and his horrific reign.”

Lady Cavendish looked out her window, her voice quiet but firm. “Comte Durand, you must leave France.”

His body stiffened next to hers. “I cannot. Is that where we are headed? To England? Because if so, I must leave this carriage at once.”

Lady Cavendish turned to him, her voice urgent. “You must not. The west barricade is upon us. Bibot is at this very moment hungry for aristocratic blood. We only hope we have won in our race to get here before the news of your downfall has reached his ears. Now, please, for all that is good and holy in France, do your part and play along, or we all die.”

The carriage pulled to a stop. They had indeed reached the west barricade and were now a part of the line of people attempting to leave the gates of Paris.

“I cannot desert my homeland. There is much good I can do here. The Pimpernel. I could assist him. I could hide people. I must do something. I cannot simply leave.”

Lady Cavendish moved closer to him and placed her hand on his arm, her body leaning suggestively into his. She reached her other hand to palm the side of his face. He noticed people in the crowds looking curiously, some venomously, into their carriage. Remembering their ruse, he smiled down at her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

She said, “You will not be deserting them if you leave. If you stay, you will die, and then you will truly have deserted them forever. Robespierre is under the impression that your concealed bloodline has now been revealed and that you are, in fact, a prince legitime of France.” She reached up and curled a lock of his hair around her finger.

Matteo’s eyes widened in disbelief. “She wouldn’t.”

Lady Cavendish nodded. “I assume you are referring to Éléonore Duplay? She did. And now in France, your life is worth only the amount of enjoyment these lovely citizens will reap from your swift meeting with La Guillotine. Please, Comte Durand. You could do much good from the safe shores of England.”

Her eyes implored him, wide and pleading. He didn’t know how any man ever refused this woman. He nodded. He would leave, for now. But he would not desert France, even if he must help from afar.

“Kiss me!” Lady Cavendish pulled at his neck.