Page 74 of Traitor in Her Arms (The Scarlet Chronicle 2)

“Yes.” Alex grabbed her arm and began to lead her toward the stairs. “Wear the redingote I gave you. You need to look your best, so spend a few moments on your hair. Toulan appreciates an attractive woman.”

Ramsey followed more slowly, frowning now. Gabrielle would bribe the warden, not seduce him.

“I’ll send word to Lord Antony and have him meet you at Notre Dame. There you can give the comtesse and her daughter into his safekeeping.”

Lord Antony? Who was this? It couldn’t be Lord Antony Dewhurst, could it? Sedgwick had gambled with the man—knewhim, if only slightly.

“Wait.” Ramsey stopped them before they could disappear into the small bedroom he and Gabrielle shared. “Is this Lord Antony another of the Pimpernel’s men?”

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I…” He shook his head. Alex was too suspicious. He would get nothing out of her. Today was his last chance to discover the Pimpernel’s identity from Gabrielle. “I’ll wait for you in the drawing room.”

An hour later, Gabrielle appeared in a red-and-white-striped redingote. Her skirt was royal blue, and she had a tricolor cockade pinned to her hat.

“You look patriotic.”

“Good.” She smiled at him. “That was the effect I was hoping for.”

The truth was she looked beautiful. She appeared every inch the viscountess she was—regal, graceful, polished. It was good to see her like this, good to be reminded she could never belong to him.

He had to look out for himself. He had done what he could for England when he’d taken those papers from Robespierre’s desk. And today he would do what he could for the Pimpernel’s cause.

He might like to pretend he was the dashing hero, but Gabrielle fit that part far better than he. He was little more than an informing weasel. But better to be a weasel than to hang at the end of a noose.

He offered his arm. “Shall we go to the prison, citoyenne?”

She linked her arm with his. “Merci,citoyen.”

—

It was a pleasant morning for a walk, Gabrielle thought. The sun was shining, a cool breeze ruffled her skirts, and the sky had not a cloud in sight. And yet she was shaking uncontrollably. She must be mad to enter a prison voluntarily and attempt to bribe the warden. Of course no madder than Diana’s brother joining the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. And all this time they had thought Lord Antony was in Rome on the grand tour. The daft man was in France playing at saving doomed aristocrats.

They were both daft, Gabrielle decided, but she was thankful Alex had asked Lord Antony to meet her at Notre Dame. She had never even thought how she would move the comtesse out of the city. It was one thing to bribe the warden to look the other way, but the men at thebarrièresmight not be so willing to allow another émigré to escape Paris.

She shuddered when she thought again of that horrible Sergeant Bibot.

“Nervous?” Ramsey asked.

She thanked God he was beside her. She needed him to lean on, to see her through this. How would she have done any of it without him? He had more than proven himself as trustworthy. “A little.”

“We already know Toulan will take the bribe. He’s been approached. We’re giving him what he wants.”

Ramsey was right. Hearing him say what she already knew calmed her nerves.

“The Scarlet Pimpernel has arranged all of this in advance. You only need see it through.”

“Shh.” She glanced around, noting the men standing in line outside aboulangerie. It seemed even Robespierre couldn’t ensure there was bread enough for all. “You don’t want anyone to hear you.”

“You’re right. Perhaps I should call him by his name. It would be less suspicious.”

“I’m not sure that it would.” They were approaching La Force now, and she was on alert for any mobs like the one they had encountered yesterday at the guillotine. Had that been only the day before? After the events of the night, she felt years older.

“You do know who you’re dealing with, don’t you, Gabrielle?”

Now she peered at him. “Of course I know who I’m dealing with.” But did she? Diana’s warnings haunted her. What if this was some elaborate ruse? No. She shook her head. No one would go this far, and neither Sir Andrew nor Lord Antony were part of a ruse.

“Who is he? The Pimpernel.”

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