If not for Scarlet, he would leave England immediately, head to France, and rescue Potier himself. He could sneak into the homes of all those who had not returned his correspondence and warn them all. He should go, Scarlet or no. What choice did he have? Waiting in England, dressed like a fop, dancing attendance on the prince had not saved the DuPont family. He might be doing some bit of good here, yes, but urgent needs awaited him across the Channel. Needs that were so immediate, they could not wait for the pleasure of the English court or the attention of the Pimpernel, were he ever to respond to Matteo’s pleas to show himself.

Scarlet. Thoughts of her filled his soul like the cool breeze of a summer day. A bit of relief loosened the tightness in his chest, and he desired to hold her as he never had before. Hers was the comfort he sought and desperately needed. His feet found their strength, and he began again to make his way to the ballroom.

The sight upon entering jarred him. He wasn’t sure what specifically about it startled him. Scarlet swirled through the room in the arms of the prince. They laughed and bantered in a ridiculous manner as they always had. The prince held her closely as he always did, and he looked to her with a deference and respect that Matteo appreciated. But Scarlet appeared different, her eyes more vulnerable, her expression needy. He had not seen that raw need in her face, not since the night she’d returned to him from her aunt’s, sobbing in his arms. What had placed such a look on her face, and why had she turned to the prince for comfort?

Matteo waited until the music ended and then approached them from behind. The prince saw him first and whispered something to her that made her body stiffen. Odd. Reaching them, he placed a hand at the small of her back, above the huge rump. He bowed to the prince. “Your Highness.”

He could hardly contain his urgency to pull his wife into his arms. “Scarlet. Might I have a moment?” She paused and then turned to him with a blank look of confusion. “Is it our dance already? Oh no. We danced our two at the beginning. Surely you remember . . .”

He played along. “Yes, my dear, we did. I was hoping we might drink a lemonade and have a bit of walk through the gardens as well? Might we?” He held out his arm, gesturing that they could walk in the direction of the food and then out onto the adjoining terrace. He tried to show with his eyes how much his request meant to him.