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“Nor do I.” Danton’s gaze went to the turn of the road where the two women had disappeared. “And so I’m willing to give you a sop to your conscience as long as it can be done safely. What excuse is Dupree giving for the massacre of the women of the abbey?”

“Prostitution and treason.”

“Flimsy. However, the war hysteria is high enough in Paris for them to accept anything Marat tells them—which means your ladies in distress will likely be condemned as enemies of the revolution.” He shrugged.

“I’ll drive to make sure you get through Dupree’s sentries.

My ugly face is known well enough so they probably won’t stop the coach.

If they do, I’ll let you deal with them. ”

“It will be my pleasure.”

“I’m sure it will.” Danton smiled sardonically. “I can see your temper is not of the best.” He started walking to the bend in the road. “I think you’d better ride in the coach with your highborn waifs, my young firebrand. I want no more deaths unless I deem them necessary.”

“They’re not ‘my waifs.’ After we get them to Paris, they can take their own risks. I’m done with them.”

“We shall see.” Danton shot Francois a speculative glance as he climbed up onto the driver’s seat. “Before now I would never have believed you’d have turned knight for any aristo. It’s clearly an evening for surprises.”

Francois had scarcely seated himself opposite Juliette and Catherine when the coach started with an abruptness that sent him lurching back against the cushions.

Juliette waited for him to speak.

He said nothing.

Juliette gazed at him in exasperation. The hard, stormy intensity Francois Etchelet radiated would ordinarily have intrigued her artist’s eye, but at the moment it served only to annoy her. “Well?”

He gave her a glance. “Georges Jacques will get us through the sentries.” He did not elaborate.

“How can you be sure?”

“He is Danton.”

Juliette tried to restrain her irritation. “And what does that mean?”

“He’s the hero of the revolution.”

She gazed at him scornfully. “Heroes don’t participate in massacres.”

“He’s the Minister of Justice, the head of the Executive Council, and a very great man.

Today he spoke before the entire assembly and saved the revolution.

The representatives were like frightened sheep because the Prussians had taken Verdun and might march on Paris.

They would have disbanded the assembly and surrendered. He wouldn’t let them.”

“I don’t care about your revolution.” Her arm tightened around Catherine’s shoulders. “I care only about her…and about myself and the Reverend Mother and all those—”

“You don’t understand.”

“Do you?”

“Most of the time I do.” He shook his head wearily. “Not tonight. Why were you even at the abbey? You should have taken warning when they forbade the nuns to teach you. To be an aristocrat in France today is to be in peril. You should not—”

“Catherine is no aristocrat.” Juliette cut through his words. “Her family is in the perfume trade in Grasse, but your fine patriots didn’t question her heritage before they raped her.”

Francois’s gaze shifted to Catherine. “She’s not of the nobility?”

Juliette shook her head. “It scarcely matters now.”

“No, it doesn’t matter.” He looked at Catherine with a curious intentness that bewildered Juliette. Catherine was a sight to stir sympathy in the hardest breast—sitting so still, pale as the moonlight streaming through the windows of the coach. She reminded Juliette of Sister Bernadette’s effigy.

However, Juliette somehow doubted if Francois Etchelet could be easily moved by any woman.

Still, she sensed he was no immediate threat to Catherine.

Lethargy was attacking Juliette’s body and she forced herself to sit up straighter in the seat.

She mustn’t give in to it. There were still threats to be faced and decisions to be made.

And this Francois Etchelet could very well be one of the greatest dangers of all. Whatever had motivated him to save them, it certainly wasn’t gallantry, and it was clear he resented being thrown into the role of rescuer. “Where are you taking us?”

Etchelet’s gaze was still on Catherine’s face as he answered Juliette’s question with one of his own. “Do you have a family in Paris?”

“Only my mother. The Marquise Celeste de Clement.”

“A marquise? Well, she should be able to find a safe place for you to hide. We’ll take you both to her.”

“It will do no good. She won’t want me.”

“Your arrival may prove inconvenient, but I don’t doubt she’ll take you in.”

“You’re wrong. She doesn’t—” She stopped as she saw his closed expression. He wouldn’t listen. He was eager to be rid of them. She leaned back and wearily closed her eyes. “You’ll see.”

“Where does she live?”

“Fourteen rue de Richelieu.”

“One of the finest addresses in Paris. I should expect nothing less of a marquise.” Francois leaned forward and drew the heavy velvet curtains over the windows.

“However, there’s no longer a rue de Richelieu.

The government’s changed the name to the rue de la Loi. There are many such changes in Paris.”

Juliette was too weary to give the scathing comment that occurred to her regarding those changes. She would save her strength for what awaited her arrival at her mother’s house.

The coach was challenged only once as they passed Dupree’s sentries. Danton met the challenge with boisterous good humor and a ribald remark about his distaste for the carnal talents of the nuns and his eagerness to get back to his wife in Paris. They were allowed to pass.

It was only a few hours before dawn when they arrived at 14 rue de la Loi.

The elegant three-story town house sat imposingly among other equally impressive houses on the tree-lined street.

However, the other houses were dark, as befitted the lateness of the hour, while Number 14 was ablaze with light.

“Trouble?” Danton smiled mockingly down at Francois as he lifted Juliette from the coach.

“We’ve had nothing else. Why should this be different? Are you coming?”

Danton shook his head. “I’ll stay here. I have no desire to be connected by anyone with this endeavor. Besides, we may have need of a hurried departure.”

Without question and despite his words Danton was enjoying the situation, Francois thought. He did not wait for Juliette but strode up the six stone steps and knocked on the elaborately carved door.

There was no answer.

He knocked again. Louder.

No answer.

The thunder of the third knock could be heard halfway down the street.

The door was thrown open by a tall, lean woman in a black gown. “Stop,” she hissed. “Do you want to wake the neighborhood. Go away.”

“I must see the Marquise de Clement.”

“In the middle of the night?” The woman was outraged. “This is no time for calls.”

“Let us see my mother, Marguerite.” Juliette pushed in front of him into the light. “Where is she?”

“In her bedchamber, but you can’t—”

Juliette brushed her aside and entered the elegant, venetian-tiled foyer. “Upstairs?”

“Yes, but you’re not to disturb her. The poor lamb has enough to worry about without you coming to torment her.

” Marguerite’s disdainful gaze traveled over the torn, bloodstained ruin of Juliette’s gray gown.

“I see those nuns haven’t been able to make a gentlewoman out of you in all these years. What trouble are you in now?”

“This is Marguerite, my mother’s servant,” Juliette said to Francois as she moved toward the stairs. “Come along, you won’t be satisfied until you see for yourself.”

She quickly climbed the stairs, her back very straight.

“She has no time for you,” Marguerite called from the bottom of the stairs. “She’s sent a footman to hire a carriage to take her away from this horrible city and it will be here any moment.”

A door at the head of the stairs flew open. “Marguerite, what is that—” Celeste de Clement stopped in mid-sentence as she caught sight of Juliette. “Good God, what are you doing here?”

Juliette had not seen her mother since she had entered the abbey but there appeared to be little change in her.

She might be even more beautiful. Celeste’s sea-green velvet gown flattered her tiny waist and a cream-colored lace fichu framed the smooth olive skin of her shoulders.

Her shining dark hair was unpowdered and fell in fashionable ringlets about her heart-shaped face.

“I’ve come to throw myself on your loving protection.

” Juliette’s tone was threaded with irony.

“The Abbaye de la Reine was attacked by a mob tonight, and my friend, Catherine, and I need a place to hide.”

“They’re killing everyone in the prisons.” Celeste shuddered. “I didn’t know they’d attacked the abbey too. No one told me.”

“I believe it’s considered customary to express curiosity about one’s daughter’s welfare in these circumstances. If someone had told you, would you have come running to my aid?”

Her mother bit her lower lip. “Why are you here? You know I can’t help you.

I can barely help myself. Do you realize that canaille Berthold has told me to leave his house?

He says the times are growing too dangerous for him to risk harboring a marquise.

” Her violet eyes glittered with anger. “After I lowered myself to welcome that bourgeois pig to my bed, he abandons me when I most need him. Now I must return to Spain to that boring house in Andorra until I can think what next to do.”

She stiffened as her gaze fell on Francois standing on the steps behind Juliette. “Who is this man?”

“Francois Etchelet. He brought me here from the abbey.”

“Then let him help you.” Her mother whirled in a flurry of sea-green velvet, marched back into her chamber, and slammed the door.

“Are you satisfied?” Juliette asked Francois without expression.

“No.” Frustration and exasperation sharpened Francois’s voice. “You’re her responsibility and she has to care for you.” He climbed the staircase two steps at a time and yanked open the door to the bedchamber.

Celeste de Clement looked up with wide, startled eyes from the portmanteau she was packing.

“How dare you? I told you—”

“She needs your help,” Francois said curtly. “She’ll probably be arrested if she’s found in Paris in the next few days.”

“What about me?” Celeste asked shrilly. “Do you know how dangerous it is for me to be here without protection? Do you realize how many members of the nobility have been arrested in the past week? And now those horrid beasts are murdering and killing and—”

“Raping,” Juliette finished from the doorway.

“Well, I’m sure you weren’t troubled, ma fille .” Her mother tossed a yellow taffeta petticoat into the bag. “After all, you’re not at all pretty.”

Pretty? What did appearances have to do with that horror at the abbey? Juliette gazed at her in disbelief as she remembered the child Henriette and the Reverend Mother. She turned to Francois. “May we go now?”

Francois stubbornly shook his head, his gaze on her mother. “She’s your daughter. Take her with you.”

“Impossible. No aristocrats are being given passes to leave the city. I had to make a bargain with that beast Marat to get one for myself. It’s not at all fair.

That pig thinks I’ll send it, but he’ll find I’m not so easily cowed—” She broke off and turned back to her packing.

“Juliette will have to shift for herself.”

When had she ever done anything else? Juliette walked out of the room and down the stairs.

Francois was behind her by the time she reached the bottom of the staircase. “She has no right to refuse you. The two of you are no longer my responsibility,” he said fiercely.

“Then leave us in the street and go about your business.” Juliette’s tone was equally fierce. Strange how raw she felt after seeing her mother. The interview had gone just as she expected, and she should really be numb to pain after the events of this night.

Marguerite smiled smugly as she held open the door for them. “I told you it would do you no good to see her. You were stupid to think—”

Etchelet’s breath exploded in a harsh rush. Juliette saw only a blur of movement. Yet Marguerite was suddenly jammed up against the wall with a dagger pressed to her long neck. “You said? I don’t believe I could have heard you correctly.”

Marguerite squealed, her eyes bulging as she gazed down at the knife.

Etchelet pressed the knife until a drop of blood ran down Marguerite’s neck. “You said, Citizeness?”

“Nothing,” she squeaked. “I said nothing.”

Juliette watched the wildness flicker in Etchelet’s taut face. For an instant she thought he would push the blade home, but he slowly lowered it and stepped back. A moment later he slammed the door behind them.

Francois sheathed his knife in his boot. “I lost my temper. I’ve been trying to keep from striking out since I arrived at that abbey and of a sudden I snapped. But I shouldn’t have frightened the servant when it was the mistress I wanted to skewer.”

“You didn’t like my mother?” Juliette asked. “How extraordinary. Most gentlemen do.”

“Do you have any friends or other relations in Paris?”

Juliette shook her head.

“There must be someone. What of Citizeness Vasaro?”

“Catherine’s guardian is Jean Marc Andreas. He has a house on the Place Royale but he’s not in residence at present.”

“Not the Place Royale.” Francois’s brow was creased in thought as he told her absently, “It’s the Place de l’Indivisibilité now.”

“Mother of God, not again? How does anyone find his way around the city? Such stupidity.” Juliette enunciated precisely. “Number Eighteen Place Royale.”

“Are there servants?”

Juliette shrugged. “I don’t know and I can’t ask Catherine.”

“No, you can’t ask her.” Francois’s gaze went to the carriage and Juliette again noticed that curiously intent expression on his face. “She’s not…well.”

Danton gazed quizzically down at them as they approached. “The marquise was not obliging?”

Francois shook his head. “The marquise is a bitch.”

“What a pity. I suppose you’ll just have to take these forlorn women to your bosom and care for them yourself.”

“The devil I will.” Francois opened the door of the carriage and half lifted, half pushed Juliette onto the seat next to Catherine.

For the briefest instant his gaze rested on Catherine’s delicate features before he continued.

“I detest spoiling your amusement, Georges Jacques, but when you feel you can bestir yourself, take us to the Place Royale.”

Danton’s lips twitched. “Place Royale? I do believe you’re being corrupted by these aristos.”

“I mean the Place de l’Indivisibilité.” Francois slammed the door of the carriage shut.