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“You can’t work through this meal, Jean Marc,” Juliette said as she opened the door of the study the next evening. “You must have supper with us tonight.”

“Must?” Jean Marc repeated silkily.

Juliette nodded. “We have a guest.”

“What guest?” Jean Marc’s chair screeched as he pushed it away from the desk. “Dammit, you know we can’t have guests with you and Catherine in the house.”

“Join us in the Gold Salon in a few minutes.” Juliette left the study.

Francois Etchelet looked surprisingly elegant when he was shown in.

His dark brown hair was drawn back from his face and fastened with a black tie, and his dark blue coat fitted his shoulders as impeccably as did Jean Marc’s or Philippe’s.

The gracefulness of his bow betrayed an easy worldliness, and Juliette had a sudden memory of Philippe’s words regarding Francois’s reputed seductions.

Evidently the panther did indeed have hidden facets to his character.

“Good evening, Monsieur Andreas,” Francois said to Jean Marc and then continued impatiently. “This travesty of a social supper isn’t necessary. Let’s get on with it. Why did you send for me?”

“I didn’t send for you.”

“Then why am I here?”

“I have no idea.” Jean Marc turned to Juliette. “Suppose we ask Mademoiselle de Clement?”

“Later,” Juliette said, her gaze fixed on Francois. “Talk. I’m still thinking about it.”

“As you command. We wouldn’t wish to disturb your concentration.” Jean Marc began to pour wine from the silver pitcher into the goblets Marie had set in readiness on the rosewood table. “Dupree is still in Paris, Etchelet?”

“Not much longer perhaps. Georges Jacques is concerned about how the war is going and may leave for the front shortly. He’ll ask Marat to delegate Dupree to his entourage.”

“Perhaps?” Jean Marc grimaced. “I don’t like to depend on uncertainties. Can’t we hurry things a bit? How much would it cost to get the guards at the gates to look the other way?”

“It can’t be done.”

“I could be very generous.”

“Impossible.”

“There are no incorruptible men.”

Francois inclined his head. “And no one knows that better than you, do they? You frequent the National Convention more than most of the delegates themselves.”

Jean Marc stiffened. “You object to me bettering the fortunes of your fellow revolutionaries?” he asked softly.

“Georges Jacques says I think the revolution is all shining virtue.” Francois shook his head. “He’s wrong. I know exactly how corrupt some of the men of the convention can be.”

“And you have no quarrel with it?”

“I accept it.” Francois paused. “As long as it doesn’t strike at the heart of the revolution. Bribe whomever you will to circumvent tax levies and trade embargoes. I do not care. Just stay away from the Rights of Man and the Constitution.”

Jean Marc’s eyes narrowed on Francois’s face. “And what would you do if I decided I needed to make a few adjustments in those august documents?”

Francois smiled pleasantly. “Cut your heart out.”

Jean Marc braced. Slowly, he relaxed. Finally, he smiled. “I don’t believe I need to tamper with your Rights of Man. For the most part, I approve.”

“How fortunate for both of us.”

Juliette had been following the exchange with keen interest. The two men were completely different in character and philosophy, yet they were smiling at each other with complete understanding.

However, she must stop this verbal minuet and bring them back to the principal topic.

“Why is it impossible to bribe the soldiers at the gates?”

Francois turned to her. “Because they’re more afraid of Dupree than greedy for Monsieur’s francs. Greed is universal but there are certain limits.”

“Not extensive ones.” Jean Marc held out one of the silver goblets of wine he had poured for Juliette. “Perhaps you can persuade them to—What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Juliette couldn’t stop staring at the deep red of the wine in the goblet. Sickness caused her stomach to clench and then churn helplessly. She mustn’t be sick.

“You’re ill.” Jean Marc’s gaze was on her face. “You’ve turned white. Take a sip of the wine.”

“No!” She pushed the goblet from her and stepped back. “I’m not ill. I won’t be ill.”

“Very well. You needn’t become violent about it. I only thought a drop of wine would brace you.”

“Juliette doesn’t like wine,” Philippe said. “I’ve often teased her about it. She always has water with her meals.”

“How unusual.” Jean Marc studied Juliette’s face. “And unhealthy. Water from the abbey must have been a good deal more pure than that of Paris.”

Juliette swallowed and looked away from the goblet. “I don’t know if it is or not.”

“I recall Catherine saying the wine of the abbey was excellent. That the nuns grew their own grapes and that—”

“I’ll take it.” Francois stepped forward and took the goblet from Jean Marc. “We poor republicans get little opportunity to sample the wine cellars of merchant princes.” He lifted the cup to his lips and sipped the wine. “Excellent.”

To Juliette’s relief Jean Marc’s attention swung immediately to Francois. “I’m delighted that a republican can appreciate something besides the Rights of Man.”

Francois smiled. “I’m a Basque. No one can enjoy the pleasures of life more than a Basque.”

Francois had deliberately diverted Jean Marc’s attention to himself when he’d realized Juliette was upset, an act that seemed totally out of character.

But was it? She stared at the man thoughtfully.

“It’s time for supper,” she said abruptly.

“Marie’s a fine cook, Francois. Better than you can find in the kitchen of any eating establishment in Paris. ”

All three men looked at her in surprise.

“Come along.” She turned and led the way through the arched doorway connecting the dining room to the salon. “You can talk to Jean Marc over the meal about ways of getting Catherine out of Paris.”

Marie had served the fourth course when Juliette suddenly broke the silence she had maintained throughout the meal. “Francois.”

Francois glanced at her across the table. “Yes?”

She ignored him as she turned to Jean Marc at the head of the table. “I’ve decided we’ll use Francois.”

“I dislike the word use,” Francois said. “I’ve agreed to give you my assistance, but it will be in the way I choose. I am not one to be ‘used.’”

“Oh, hush, I meant nothing by the word. I’m not always as silver-tongued as I might be.”

“Not always?” Jean Marc murmured. “Rarely.”

“That doesn’t matter now.” Juliette leaned forward, her expression suddenly eager. “Are you wed, Francois?”

He frowned warily. “No.”

“Good, that would have ruined everything. Make him an offer, Jean Marc.”

Jean Marc leaned back in his chair and studied Francois calmly. “Of marriage? I think not. He does not appeal to me.”

Francois’s lips twitched. “Thank God. I believe I’d put your tampering with my person on the same level as tampering with the Rights of Man.”

“This is no time to be joking.” Juliette glanced at Jean Marc impatiently. “Catherine.”

Jean Marc’s lids lowered to veil his eyes. “An interesting choice.”

“No!” Philippe threw his napkin on the table. “It’s madness, Juliette. He’s a stranger to her. He’s a stranger to all of us.”

“I can make her accept him,” Juliette said.

“She wouldn’t accept me,” Philippe said.

“That was different.”

“How?” Philippe demanded. “She’s too ill to—”

“May I inquire as to just what you’re discussing?” Francois demanded.

“I’ll have no part of it.” Philippe scraped his chair from the table and rose to his feet. “And neither will Catherine.”

Juliette watched him stride angrily from the room.

“Good. Now we can get on with it.” She took a deep breath.

“Don’t you see, Jean Marc? What could be better?

A civil marriage. Robert told me that the new assembly—no, they call it the convention now—that the convention has passed a law that makes it very easy to marry and divorce.

One merely has to appear before the civil authorities and sign certain contracts. Is that not true?”

“So I’ve heard.” Jean Marc continued to stare at Francois.

“And, married to Francois, Catherine would be under the protection of a member of the revolutionary government. Wouldn’t it be reasonable for him to send her away from Paris if her health was not as good as it should be?”

“Wait,” Francois said sharply. “You wish me to wed Mademoiselle Vasaro?”

“Of course! Have you not listened to what I’ve been saying?” She turned back to Jean Marc. “Catherine probably wouldn’t regard the contract as making a marriage since a priest wouldn’t preside. It would be only a matter of pretense to her.”

Francois said with measured precision, “Since I seem to be central to your plan, perhaps you should include me in your discussion.”

Juliette leaned back in her chair again. “He’s right. Make him an offer, Jean Marc.”

Jean Marc lifted his goblet to his lips. “I think Juliette may be correct. You may be the answer. How much does Danton pay you, Etchelet?”

“Enough for my needs. What does that—”

“Six hundred thousand livres,” Jean Marc said quietly.

“A dowry large enough to make you a moderately rich man and the marriage need last only long enough to spread a cloak of safety over Catherine and Vasaro. The marriage contract will read that you’re entitled to keep the entire dowry in case of a divorce. It’s a very generous offer.”

An expression of surprise crossed Etchelet’s face before he could school his features. “An amazing offer.”

Juliette nodded. “And it will remove Catherine from Paris, where her presence is a threat to both you and Danton. Your wife wouldn’t be stopped at the gates and questioned closely, would she? Can’t you see it’s the perfect solution?”

“It could work if the way were carefully prepared.” Francois’s tone was impassive. “And you could accompany her from the city as her maidservant.”

“What? Oh, yes, I could.” Juliette rushed on, “Then you’ll do it?”