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FOUR

M ay I speak to you, Jean Marc?” Catherine stood in the doorway, her hand nervously fiddling with the knob. “I know you’re working and I promise I’ll take only a moment. I have something to ask of you.”

Jean Marc carefully smothered his impatience and pushed the papers in front of him aside. “You wish to know when we’re going to Versailles? I should be well enough to travel within a few days. Have you been bored here at the inn?”

“No, I’ve been very happy here.” Catherine closed the door and came forward to perch on the edge of the chair beside his bed, clasping her hands together on her lap. “It’s…different being with Juliette.”

Jean Marc chuckled. “I’d say different is an apt word to describe Juliette. You’ve certainly spent enough time with her in the past two days to judge.”

“I like her, Jean Marc.” Catherine’s hands twisted together. “She does not deserve—” She broke off. “Have you ever noticed she always wears gowns with sleeves down to her wrists?”

Jean Marc’s smile faded. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“Marguerite.” Catherine met Jean Marc’s gaze. “Why would she want to hurt Juliette? I haven’t been punished by Claire since I was a small child.” She paused and then said in a rush, “Juliette’s arms are covered with bruises.”

Jean Marc went still. “You’re sure of this?”

“I’ve seen her arms. They have terrible bruises. I felt ill.…” Catherine shook her head. “I asked her what happened and she shrugged and said Marguerite had been bad-tempered since she had been forced to leave the palace and stay at the inn.”

The intensity of the anger searing through Jean Marc astonished him. Christ, Juliette had said Marguerite was not pleased to be here, but he had paid no attention. He had joked and dismissed the subject. Why in thunderation hadn’t she told him what the black-hearted bitch was doing to her?

“I didn’t know what was for the best,” Catherine whispered. “She told me I could do nothing and to forget it. But it isn’t right Can you help her, Jean Marc?”

“Yes.” What he’d like to do was break that harridan’s scrawny neck, he thought grimly, a solution that was clearly impossible under the circumstances. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

“Soon?”

“Tonight.”

“Thank you, Jean Marc.” Catherine stood up and moved hurriedly toward the door. “I’m sorry to have troubled you. I’ll leave you to your work now. I only thought…”

The door closed behind her.

It had not been easy for Catherine to come to him, Jean Marc thought as he stared absently at the panels of the door.

She had always been a shy, gentle child and, for some reason, particularly intimidated by him.

Perhaps some of Juliette’s boldness had rubbed off on her during their association of the last few days.

Or perhaps she had been so horrified by Juliette’s mistreatment she could not bear the thought of not doing something to help her.

Think of something beautiful .

No wonder Juliette knew so well how to combat pain. She had obviously experienced it for the major part of her life.

His grip tightened on the coverlet as he remembered Catherine’s words.

“Terrible bruises.”

“I felt ill.”

“The wound’s healing very well.” Juliette tied the fresh bandage, helped Jean Marc into his linen shirt, and began to fasten the buttons. “You should be able to travel soon.”

“Day after the morrow, I believe,” Jean Marc said without expression. “I’ve arranged for a carriage to send you and Marguerite to Versailles tomorrow morning.”

Juliette’s fingers froze on the button she was fastening. “Tomorrow?” She shook her head. “Next week, perhaps. You’re not well enough to—”

“You leave tomorrow.” Jean Marc’s lips thinned. “And your kindly Marguerite can toddle happily back to your mother instead of devoting her questionable attentions to you.”

Juliette frowned. “Catherine told you? She shouldn’t have done that. Bruises are nothing—”

“Not to me.” Jean Marc cut fiercely through her words. “I’ll not have you suffer for my sake. What do you think—” He broke off. “You leave tomorrow.”

Juliette’s fingers fell away from his shirt as she gazed in wonder at him. “Why are you so angry? There’s nothing to be upset about.”

Jean Marc was silent for a moment, his expression shuttered. “Good night, Juliette. I’ll not say good-bye because I trust we’ll see each other at Versailles.”

“Yes,” Juliette said dully. It was over. The days of companionship with Catherine, the hours of exhilarating conversation with Jean Marc. She tried to smile. “I cannot persuade you how foolish it is to rush your recovery in this fashion?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll not waste my time.” She started to turn away.

He caught her hand. “Not yet.” His usually mocking expression was surprisingly grave. “Not before I express my appreciation.”

She determinedly blinked her eyes. “That’s unnecessary.

I didn’t do it for you. I owed you a debt and I paid it.

Why should I—” She broke off as he pushed up the loose sleeve of her gown.

He stared at the deep purple-yellow marks marring her smooth flesh.

“Only bruises. I’ve had much worse. I bruise very easily.

” She pointed to a faint yellow mark on her wrist. “You see? You did that yourself when you held on to me when the physician was removing the dagger.”

He looked sick. “ I did that?”

“You didn’t mean to do it. I told you, one has only to touch me to leave a bruise.” She tried to keep the desperation from her voice. “So there’s no reason for you to press on to Versailles until you’re entirely well.”

“No reason at all,” he said thickly, his gaze never leaving her arm.

“Except that I’ve always thought you had the most exquisite skin I have ever seen.

Roses on cream…glowing with life. I find I can’t bear this atrocity.

I can’t stand seeing…” He trailed off as he turned her arm over and stared at the marks on the more delicate flesh of her inner arm.

Then, slowly, he lifted her arm and pressed his lips onto one of the most livid bruises.

She stiffened in shock, staring down at the dark hair of his head bent over her arm.

She was suddenly acutely aware of the scent of tallow of the candles on the table by the bed, the play of light and shadow on the planes of his cheekbones, the sound of her own breathing in the silence of the room.

His lips felt warm, firm, gentle on her flesh, and yet they caused an odd tingling to spread up her arm and through her body.

He looked up and smiled crookedly as he saw her expression. “You see? Who knows? If you stay, there may come a time when I’d be more dangerous to you than your dragon, Marguerite.” He released her arm and leaned back against the headboard. “Bonne nuit, ma petite.”

She didn’t want to leave him. She wanted him to touch her again with those strong, graceful hands. She wanted to tell him…

Merde , she did not know what she wanted to tell him. It was clear he wished to be rid of her and she would not beg him to let her remain.

She turned on her heel, the skirts of her black gown flying.

“I didn’t really want to stay. You’ve been nothing but trouble to me and Catherine is only a stupid girl who knows nothing.

Nothing!” She grabbed her painting from the easel and strode toward the door.

“Marguerite said the queen is at Le Hameau now. She can be at ease there with few of the strictures of the main palace and will probably receive you at the queen’s cottage.

” She opened the door and glanced at him over her shoulder.

Her eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“But it will do you little good to see her. She will never give you the Wind Dancer.”

Juliette stood with spine straight and head high, waiting on the wooden bridge leading to the queen’s cottage as Jean Marc, Catherine, and Philippe strolled into view.

Jean Marc experienced a mixture of sharp pleasure and deep regret as he saw her. He had carefully avoided thinking of the girl since the evening three nights past when he had told her she must leave the inn. Now the sight of her was like a sudden blow.

“Juliette!” Catherine rushed toward her. “I was so afraid I wouldn’t see you again. Why did you leave the inn without a word of farewell?”

“I knew I’d see you here.” Juliette smiled at her. “I couldn’t allow you to see the queen without me being present.” She gazed challengingly at Jean Marc over Catherine’s head. “Jean Marc would probably have managed to get all of you put into chains.”

Philippe chuckled. “You clearly have little respect for his tact. I assure you Jean Marc can be very diplomatic when it serves him.”

“But he likes his own way and so does the queen. I’m not about to let him throw away his life after I’ve worked so hard to save it.

Come along. She’s on the terrace.” Juliette turned and walked quickly across the quaint bridge arching over the mirrorlike lake.

She led them over carefully tended lawns toward the queen’s cottage.

The cottage actually consisted of two buildings linked by a gallery that could be reached by an external spiral staircase, Jean Marc noticed.

He had heard much of this village the queen had built at such extravagant expense a short distance from the small palace of the Petit Trianon.

Le Hameau was everything he expected—charming, bucolic, a fairy-tale peasant village where the animals smelled sweet and the containers used to milk the cows were of fine Sèvres china.

A fleecy snow-white lamb wearing a pink bow lay at Marie Antoinette’s slippered feet, and a brown and white milk cow grazed a few yards away from the terrace. Yellow silk cushions occupied the space directly in front of the queen, and sprawled on the cushions was Louis Charles sound asleep.