Hours later, Scarlet crept into his room and watched him while he slept. His body convulsed now and then with the sobs of a young child during sleep. Tears welled in her eyes. Had she caused this pain? Could she not crawl into bed beside him and wrap her arms around his quivering frame? Oh, how she loved this man still. Even knowing he had betrayed her, even knowing he had sent an innocent family to their deaths over a childhood grudge, she loved him. And blast that wretched love. She would be miserable all her days because of it. With a soft sigh of despair, she turned from the room, climbed into her own bed, and curled into a ball knowing she had to endure only another hour of her sleepless night before the sun would once again appear, and she would be on her ship to Calais.

Chapter Seventeen

Paris, France

The effort to block all thought of Matteo from her mind exhausted her far less as soon as she donned her new costume and began life as Renée Moreau the Seamstress.

Claire Lacombe, noted founder of the Society of Revolutionary Republican Women, fingered Scarlet’s fine lace. “Amazing. So intricate. A name is written right there, clear as day, but you can’t see the pattern unless you know exactly what to look for.” She reached her hand out to grasp Scarlet’s in her own. “Come to our meeting this afternoon. Pauline Léon needs to meet you and see your talents.”

An odd sort of gratitude reminded her of her mother’s patience in insisting Scarlet become proficient at needlepoint and tatting lace. The irony of its current use almost brought a smile to her face. “I do hope it will help. I thought of the idea watching those knitting women by the guillotine.” She created a look of shy humility. “Thank you, Mademoiselle Lacombe. To think I will be assisting you, a famous actress, in this great Revolution.” She squeezed Claire’s hand in her own.

“Please, call me Claire. We are to be sisters in arms, after all.” Claire held tight to her hand in return. “You’ve come at the perfect time. We are running out of ways to communicate our denouncements. The infernal Pimpernel seems to get wind of half of them.” Claire shook her head in disgust. “We must prove to Robespierre that women have a place in the new society. We are a force that cannot be denied. The more we denounce, the more we prove to him our loyalty.” A feverish excitement flashed through her eyes, and her skin flushed.

Scarlet inwardly cringed in disgust. Was everyone in France in a crazed, bloodthirsty frenzy? She swallowed a hint of apprehension that tried to build a lump in her throat. “Where shall I meet you?”

***