“No one will tell me how to reach him, how to speak with his league. I cannot even communicate with Lord Devereaux. Lord Hastings refuses to give me anything but bland platitudes. I have sent numerous requests for his attention. I might die before I can even offer my assistance to the man.”

Scarlet reached her hand up to his face and with her finger smoothed the stress lines on his forehead and then around each eye. “Do you wish so badly to rush into danger?”

Matteo took her hand in his own and kissed her knuckles before placing it back on his forearm. He stepped forward on their path. Then he ran his free hand through his hair in frustration. “No, it is not that. But I cannot simply do nothing. And with a good disguise, I do not see what would be wrong with me playing some small part. I could wait at the docks. I could help man the ship. I could acquire lodging. Anything at all would be preferable to nothing.” He paused and with a sheepish lift of his shoulders said, “You see? You are no longer in my embrace, and all the troubles return.”

Scarlet shook her head and pulled gently on his arm. “Come, let us finish taking our turn about the gardens.”

He allowed himself to be led down another path toward a pond and gazebo, his mind still racing. As much as he was drawn to this beauty by his side, he felt equally agitated by the state of his brothers in France. More could be dying by the day, and he knew nothing about it. He hadn’t yet heard from Potier to know of his safety or to hear how the rest of the staff fared, despite his many inquiries. After his own denouncement, he knew several other families of his and Éléonore’s acquaintance could be next on her list. He had written letters to warn each one of them as well but had heard nothing in return.

Scarlet interrupted his thoughts. “We really do need to discuss Prince George’s ball.”

He groaned again.

Pulling away, she led him to a bench. “Come now, it won’t be so bad. You do like to dance, do you not?”

Matteo smirked. “I am French, am I not?”

Laughing, she leaned closer. “You are most definitely French.” She rested her hand on his arm as they sat, turned toward each other on a bench overlooking the pond. “The prince himself is most anxious to make your acquaintance. It is my hope that you two can become friends of sorts. He is in need of a reliable confidante, and I can think of no better advisor on the affairs in France than you yourself would be.”

He felt the lead in his chest lighten. “I might be of some assistance, yes. I could help him understand the best ways to attempt any sort of negotiation with Robespierre.”