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“Because you wish to see me there?”

“Perhaps. There haven’t been many gardens in my life.”

“But you said you wouldn’t choose to live in—”

“I’m not always logical.”

“Juliette says you’re clever and kinder than you pretend.”

“And do you always trust Juliette’s judgments?”

“I have been lately. It’s…easier.”

“I can see how it would be. If you want to remain a child forever.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Because you were raped?”

She stiffened. “It’s not kind of you to mention—”

“If you find me lacking in kindness, then could it be that Juliette’s judgment isn’t infallible?”

She frowned as she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Why are you arguing with me?”

“Because evidently no one else does. They just pity the poor, wounded Mademoiselle. Do you wish me to pity you too?”

The corners of her lips suddenly turned up with rueful humor. “No, but if I did, it would do me no good. You obviously will do as you please.”

“Ah, now we understand each other. No pity.”

Catherine abruptly felt lighter, as if some tremendous burden had been lifted. “No pity.”

He put the brush on the nightstand. “There, I’ve done my penance for offending you. Tell me, for what sin is Juliette paying penance?”

She frowned in bewilderment. “Sin?”

“It doesn’t seem unnatural to you that she cossets you as if you were a small child?”

“I don’t demand she do anything. She says—”

“It’s time.” He stripped off his coat. “The servant woman will be back to clear away soon. Lie down and turn your back to me.”

She gazed at him in confusion.

He was stripping off his shirt. “Mother of God, can’t you see I’m trying to spare your delicacy of feelings? Do you want to see me naked?”

“You’re cursing again.” She hurriedly scooted down and turned her back to him. She could hear his movements behind her. He was undressing. Soon he’d slip naked beside her in this bed. She supposed she should be frightened, but she was too bewildered to know what she was feeling.

“Move over.” He was standing beside the bed.

She hurriedly rolled to the far side of the bed. A cool draft chilled her as the covers were lifted and he slipped beneath them. She could feel the waves of heat his body emitted though he was not touching her. Sweet heaven, she was frightened. She began to tremble again.

“Stop that.” His tone was rough, yet, in an odd way, comforting. “It will be over soon.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want you. It’s only pretense. Skinny women don’t please me. Men don’t want every woman they see, you know.”

“The Marseilles at the abbey were—”

“That was different. That was a sickness, a fever.”

“Henriette was only ten years old.”

“Not all men are the same. Some men are aroused by only one kind of woman. Some men, like Robespierre, are totally abstinent. There are other men who don’t like women at all but prefer men.”

She was startled. “Really? Do you prefer—”

“No, I’m not a sodomite.”

“Oh,” she hesitated. “Then you…” She stopped, shivering in distaste. “You like to hurt women.”

“It doesn’t have to hurt. If a woman pleases me, I can make her enjoy what happens between us.”

She was silent.

“It’s true. I tell you, there’s no—” A soft knock halted the soft vehemence of his voice.

“Quick!” He was over her, flesh pressed to flesh before she knew what was happening. “Come in.”

The door opened to admit the same stout servant woman who had served their meal. She stopped and murmured something before rapidly clearing the table.

“Hurry.” Francois’s voice was thick with impatience.

The servant woman giggled and her motions deliberately slowed.

A wild cascade of sensations and thoughts tumbled through Catherine as the warm, hard musculature of Francois’s chest pressed against her softness.

The tomb! She opened her lips to scream.

His gaze bore down as he whispered, “No!”

Her lips closed as she gazed helplessly up at him.

Slowly the terror began to ebb away. It was the same, yet totally different, she realized.

This body was warm, sleek, nude, not dressed in rough clothes that scratched her flesh.

This body was hard and masculine, yet carefully withheld to save her both unnecessary contact and weight.

This was no anonymous stranger above her.

This was Francois, his face square, bold, its fierceness clearly defined in the candlelight.

It was odd how that very fierceness offered her the comfort of blessed familiarity.

“Blow out the candles and begone,” Francois ordered over his shoulder.

Another giggle and the room was suddenly plunged into darkness. The door closed.

Francois settled as far from her as possible on the bed. “There, it’s over. I told you it wouldn’t be so bad.”

He had left her so quickly, it was clear he found the physical intimacy as distasteful as she had, Catherine thought.

Her nipples still tingled from the warm texture of his skin against hers, the slight abrasion of the tight curly hair that thatched his chest. Yet she discovered to her surprise that the feeling wasn’t totally unpleasant.

The entire experience had not been the horror she had thought and, as he said, it was now over.

She breathed in a sigh of relief. “Do we go to sleep now?”

“If we can.”

She was beginning to think she would have no trouble sleeping that night. The ordeal was over, and every muscle in her body felt heavy, sluggish. “Do you stay here with me?”

“There’s only one bed.”

She closed her eyes. “Yes, of course.”

There was a long silence in the room before she spoke again. “May I ask a question?””

“Yes.”

“Why are you always so angry with me?”

He didn’t answer for such a long time she was beginning to think he was ignoring the question.

“Because I bleed inside when I look at you.”

“What?”

“Go to sleep.”

Another silence fell between them.

“I’m sorry I was so foolish. I didn’t understand.”

“Understand?”

“That you didn’t want to hurt me.” She turned on her side to face the wall. “I thought all men desired women only because they were women. I’m glad you explained. I feel more at ease with you now.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” she whispered drowsily. “I’m glad I don’t please you and you don’t want me.”

“No, I don’t want you.”

As she drifted off to sleep she heard him repeat the words. Strange, on his lips they sounded like one of the holy litanies the nuns had taught her.

“You don’t please me.

“And I don’t want you.”

Juliette met them at the door when Francois and Catherine arrived at the Place Royale the next morning.

“Is all well with you?” Juliette’s gaze anxiously searched Catherine’s face. She felt a surge of relief. Catherine showed no sign of ill treatment. In truth, her expression was surprisingly alert. “He did you no harm?”

“Other than stinging my ears with his foul language, he did me no harm,” Catherine said. “He has a more unruly tongue than even you, Juliette.”

“I’ve had a few more years to practice.” Francois smiled faintly. “And I didn’t spend my childhood in a nunnery.”

Catherine frowned. “Still, you should not—”

“Well, it’s done.” Juliette pulled Catherine into the foyer, untied her bonnet, and took it off. “You’re home safe and I’ll take care of you. Are you tired?”

Catherine looked at her uncertainly. “I don’t think so. I slept very well.”

“Good. But perhaps you should rest anyway. Jean Marc and Philippe are at Monsieur Bardot’s place of business arranging for funds for your stay at Vasaro. When they return we’ll have dinner and then be on our way. Run along to your room and I’ll be up in a moment.”

The vivaciousness faded from Catherine’s expression. “If you think it best.” She turned obediently toward the stairs.

“Wait. Don’t do it,” Francois said softly. “Tell her no, Catherine.”

Juliette frowned. “Why should she? You know she’s not been well. She should rest before the trip. Look at her, she’s fading more by the minute.”

“Perhaps I am a little tired.” Catherine ignored Francois’s frown as she started heavily up the stairs. “I’d like to go to the garden before we leave for Vasaro. Do I have time, Juliette?”

“After your rest.” Juliette turned to Francois. “I’d like to speak to you.”

“I thought you would.” His gaze was following Catherine as she slowly climbed the steps. “I believe I’d like to talk to you as well. Come along.”

He turned and strode into the salon.

Juliette hesitated in surprise at his assumption of command before hurrying after him. “You shouldn’t have taken her away last night. You had no right. You could have frightened her.”

“I did frighten her.”

Juliette stiffened. “What did you do to her?”

“Oh, I didn’t force myself upon her, if that’s what you suspect.” Francois met Juliette’s gaze. “But I frightened her, and made her angry, and made her face unpleasantness.” He paused. “Just as you’ve been facing it since you left the abbey.”

“I’m able to face it. Catherine’s not strong enough to deal with it yet.”

“She’s stronger than you think. Last night she came alive. If she’s as fragile as you seem to think, she should have wept or swooned and she did neither. And I think I discovered why she’s been getting worse instead of better.” He paused. “It’s you.”

“Me!”

“You’ve been smothering her.”

Juliette gazed at him incredulously. “That’s not true. You know nothing about her. She needs me.”

“Does she?” Francois said softly. “Or do you need her?”

Juliette’s hands clenched into fists. “You’re wrong. She can’t do without my help. She’s with child.”

“She did without you last night.” Francois studied Juliette with cool objectivity. “I don’t doubt you care for her, but no one is worse for her at the moment than you. She needs to stop leaning and stand by herself, and I don’t believe you’re capable of letting her do that.”

“You lie! I’m capable of doing anything that will help her.”

He slowly shook his head. “You’ll smother her with attention and soon she won’t be able to live without it. You’re beginning to destroy her. You care too much for her to force her to stand alone.”