“Oh, not improved, no. A gardener does not look stunning, no. A marchioness on her way to the prince’s ball, when her name is Lady Cavendish—she looks stunning. But let us not overlook the charms of Lady Cavendish the gardener; she is something altogether more appealing.” He stepped closer to her at the bottom of the stairs and looked down into her eyes. “Earthy, real, bare.”

She blushed and looked down. “Matteo, honestly.”

He tilted his head. “Perhaps bare is a bit inappropriate, is it not? I mean only the French understanding, au naturel. I find you are loveliest without a single adornment.”

“Then all this effort for nothing, Comte?” She turned in a circle, arms out.

“Oh non, mon amie. For nothing? No. You have made a good Frenchman’s blood simmer and his heart pound. Surely, that is not for nothing.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, and she laughed again.

“And you, Matteo, are as handsome as I have ever seen you.”

He held his arm out to her. “Will you accompany me to the prince’s ball, my lady?”

“I would be delighted.”

In the carriage, Scarlet squirmed in her seat. She wrung her hands. She swung her feet.

Matteo reached forward and lifted her hand to his mouth. “What is troubling you?”

She sighed. How would she explain this? “Matteo, I also have a part to play in London at these events—an act of sorts.”

Matteo’s eyebrow raised. “And what is your act?”

Staring out the window at the passing darkness, she remembered why she had avoided becoming close to many people. What could she say to Matteo? He deserved to know more, but most of the reasons for her carefully protected façade she could not reveal, ever aware of the lives protected through her guarded secret.

When she turned back to him, her lips quirked in a crooked smile. “I will leave you to guess. But be prepared.” She squeezed his hand, suddenly anxious and hoping to please him. “Please understand that the person you have come to know is more the real core of who I am than the one you will see tonight. She is . . .” Scarlet blushed and looked into Matteo’s warm chocolate eyes. “She is something else entirely.”

Confusion flitted across his face, but he said, “So I should play along—as you say—help you with your deception?”

Her free hand reached forward. “You can, or at least do not appear overly shocked by it. Remember, I am helping France too, in my own way.”

Tilting his head to the side, he regarded her for a moment before shrugging. “I hope to be entertained as well as useful this evening, then. Would you do me the honor of saving me the first dance?”

“The second.” A tender smile graced her lips. “The first is already engaged. Prince George and I will be opening the ball.”