The prince winked. “In love with the woman, are you?” He laughed good-naturedly. “As is half the ton and nearly all of my court. I daresay I would be too, if I were free to fall in love.” He chuckled again. “She will return soon enough. She is always flitting about in one place or another, but she always comes back.”

This new information joined a jumbled puzzle of pieces Matteo was trying to sort but had so far been unsuccessful.

When the prince stood, Matteo joined him. “Thank you for meeting with me this morning. I hope we can do this again. I find I am in much need of a loyal Frenchman’s thoughts on any number of things. Please be available for me to summon here even on the smallest bit of notice.”

Bowing, Matteo said, “I would be honored. France will be greatly in your debt, and as I cannot trust the current government to even recognize our great need, I will thank you in our behalf.”

“I do this for my own country’s safety.” The prince turned to face a large map laid out across his table. “Whoever reigns in France after the current terror is over will have great power. I hope to ensure our friendship.”

“A wise aim.” Matteo moved to leave.

Prince George said, “One more thing. I will be having a French nationals ball, and I hope you will come. Keep Éléonore as sequestered off as is possible. Our French citizens are understandably petrified of the woman. And watch her. My sources tell me nothing is below her notice.”

Chapter Thirteen

Paris, France

Surrounded by French soldiers, her own men, dignitaries, and a few local gentry who dared socialize in public, Scarlet hoped to flaunt a convincing enough façade that she would dispel all suspicion.

Returning to her conversation, she placed a hand on her chest. “Oh, but you are deliciously funny, monsieur. I’m sure your little Marguerite will thank me a million times for this conversation. May I wish you every happiness, albeit premature? Surely she will accept your offer? How could she refuse such a man?” She patted the arm of this new acquaintance, one of the French soldiers for the Committee of Public Safety. “Please, try the pastries. I had them brought over specially from England. We employ a French chef there, you see.”

The irony was completely lost on her new friend, Monsieur Crevier. He grinned and promised to try them.

The strain of the evening began to tighten her stomach. More likely the strain of the entire stay in France weighed on her. Knitting at the base of the guillotine had proved to be her most trying deception yet. Day after day in such company, pretending to revel in the bloodlust, had drained almost all the light she had inside. Losing a family and almost losing Andrew had shaken her. She doubted herself and craved home.