Page 44

Juliette felt a queer ripple of heat go through her.

She knew she was no beauty but he still found her pleasing.

How quickly his manner had switched from cool incisiveness to sensuality.

“I agree.” She quickly turned toward the steps.

“I’m aware that no artifice would make me beautiful like Catherine or my mother.

Nor would I wish to be. It would only get in my way.

” She was mounting the steps quickly, not looking back at him.

“You’re fortunate I’m not a beauty or you’d be without your supper until midnight.

Even with the help of three maids my mother took at least four hours each day at her toilette. ”

“Yes, I’m very fortunate.”

The weariness in his tone caused her to look back at him but his face was mirror-smooth.

The emblem of the Sun King on the zenith of the gates shone in golden splendor in the moonlight, and for a moment Juliette was wafted back to those other times she’d stopped at that very spot.

The memory was so strong it was a shock to see not the Swiss guard, but a soldier wearing a black cocked hat flourishing a revolutionary cockade and a uniform sporting a tricolored sash.

Juliette tensed as the guard approached with crisp military precision the wagon she and Jean Marc rode. The light cast from the lantern he carried revealed a face weathered by sun and time with a long nose and slablike cheekbones. His eyes narrowed as he examined the papers Jean Marc handed him.

Juliette drew the woolen cloak more closely about her as a chill of apprehension ran through her.

The guard was taking a long time with the papers and he didn’t seem the sort of man who could be easily bribed.

What if it was the wrong guard? The papers he was examining had been hurriedly and clumsily forged, but Jean Marc had assured her it wouldn’t matter.

The papers were only to give an appearance of authenticity in case there was more than one guard at the gate.

There wasn’t. If this was the one who had accepted Jean Marc’s bribe, there was no need for subterfuge.

“You come very late, Citizen. Eight bells tolled only moments ago.” The guard held the papers closer to the lantern.

“We’re on our way to Vendée and wished to claim the belongings we left here two years ago, when our master fled the palace.”

The guard’s gaze was cold as it shifted to Jean Marc’s face. “It says here you were employed by the Duc de Gramont as his coachman.”

Jean Marc shrugged. “The times were bad, and it was better than starving. Thank God for the revolution. My wife and I have now opened a fine café on the rue de Rivoli, where we grovel to no one.”

“Then why do you go to Vendée?”

“It’s only for a visit. Vendée was the place of my birth, and we thought to give these belongings to my brother, who has not been as fortunate as we.”

It was the wrong guard. He was asking too many questions.

The guard lifted his lantern to shine on Juliette’s face. “This is your wife? She was also in the service of the Duc de Gramont? In what capacity?”

“Maidservant.”

The guard’s expression was growing more suspicious by the moment.

“Why lie to him?” Juliette asked suddenly.

Jean Marc stiffened and turned to look at her.

“Everyone knows what a canaille the duke was. He kept me at court to use me as his strumpet. I was only eleven years old when he forced his way into my bed.” She cuddled lovingly close to Jean Marc on the seat of the wagon.

“I know you’re trying to hide my shame, but this good man must have heard how the duke used children to soothe his lust.”

“It’s true. I’ve heard many such stories about the duke since I was assigned here.” The guard smiled wolfishly. “It must have pleased you that the duke was beheaded at La Force last month, Citizeness.”

“It wasn’t his head I wanted struck from his body.”

The guard chuckled and lowered the lantern. “Pass through, Citizen.” He handed Jean Marc the papers. “Go to the queen’s vestibule. There will be someone there to direct you to the chamber where all the boxes are kept. You know where it is?”

Jean Marc nodded. “Of course.”

“If the guard’s not on duty, call out for him. He’ll probably be in the guardroom playing cards.”

“I’ll do that.” Jean Marc snapped the reins and the wagon rolled slowly through the gates into the Cour Royale.

The wheels creaked as the wagon lumbered over the cobblestones of the vast courtyard.

“It was the wrong guard,” Juliette whispered.

“You can’t always be sure a bribe will work. Anything can happen. Sometimes they’ll become frightened. Sometimes their duty will be changed.” Jean Marc shrugged. “It was fortunate you knew of the Duc de Gramont’s lascivious tastes. Your lie disarmed him completely.”

“It was no lie.” Her gaze was searching the massive bulk of the palace just ahead.

Light streamed from a few windows on the lower floors, but the other windows were dark, empty of life.

“Pull into the shadows over there by the east wing. We can’t chance encountering anyone else on the way to the Belvedere while we’re in this wagon.

We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”

His expression was suddenly harsh. “What do you mean, it was no lie? De Gramont raped you?”

“What? Oh, de Gramont was my mother’s lover, you know.”

“So that gave him the right to—”

“We have no time to talk of trivialities,” Juliette said impatiently as she jumped down from the wagon and started across the courtyard. “If we hurry, we should be able to make it to the Belvedere in forty minutes. Take the lantern but don’t light it until we need it.”

“Trivialities? I don’t regard the rape of a child as a—” He broke off as he noticed she was almost out of earshot. He grabbed the lantern from the wagon and caught up with her by the time she reached the corner of the wing. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“If you like.” For so cynical a man Jean Marc was reacting most peculiarly.

The idea of her in the duke’s bed clearly bothered him and the knowledge filled her with inexplicable excitement.

The Neptune Basin was just ahead and her pace quickened.

“Do you think the gates of the smaller palaces will be guarded?”

“Perhaps. I couldn’t gather any detailed information without incurring suspicion. If they are, will that be a problem?”

Juliette shook her head. “I know the grounds of the Petit Trianon very well.” She grinned. “I hid from Marguerite in every glade, fountain, and building at one time or another.”

“Marguerite?” Jean Marc nodded. “Oh, yes, your charming nurse. Whatever happened to her?”

“She fled to Spain with my mother the night of the massacre at the abbey.” Juliette turned left at the Basin. “Francois tried to persuade my mother to take Catherine and me with them, but she wouldn’t agree. He became very annoyed with both of them.”

“I can understand his feelings.”

“I told him it would do no good.” She frowned. “We should go faster. Are you able?”

“Able?”

She carefully avoided looking at him. “Well, you must be over thirty and you get no exercise.”

“I’m thirty-two, which is no great age.” Jean Marc’s tone was icy. “And how do you know I get no exercise?”

The excitement was growing within her. “You take carriages everywhere and you work for hours in your study. You cannot be very fit.”

“I don’t spend all my time with my ledger books. Perhaps I should demonstrate my fitness to you,” he said silkily. “I assure you I’m no aging de Gramont.”

Jean Marc appeared unable to let the subject of de Gramont alone and was obviously sensitive regarding his own age.

Juliette thoroughly enjoyed turning the tables, pricking at his aplomb now when usually she was the one on the defensive.

“Oh, I know that. The duke was in his fifties.” She pretended to think about it.

“But he hunted a great deal and his body was amazingly strong for—”

“Set the pace,” Jean Marc grated between his teeth. “I assure you I’ll keep up.”

She cast a sidewise glance at his grim expression and then thought it best not to answer at all. She increased her speed until she was almost running past the silent fountains and ghostly statues toward the gates of the Petit Trianon.

The Belvedere was an enchanting enclosed pavilion crowning a grassy hillock. The graceful octagonal structure overlooked a small rivulet issuing from a pond behind the Petit Trianon. Four steps surrounded the Belvedere with pairs of sphinxes set at intervals.

“She said it’s under one of the sphinxes on the stairs facing the pond,” Juliette whispered as she strode down the winding walk bordering the lake. “The one on the left.”

“Buried?”

“No, a hidden cache.”

They had reached the four steps of the pavilion and Jean Marc halted beside a sphinx. “It appears—”

“Hush! I hear something.” Juliette glanced over her shoulder across the rivulet toward the palace of the Petit Trianon.

Dots of light punctuated the darkness. “Mother of God! Lanterns! Come with me.” She flew up the steps of the pavilion.

What if the doors were locked? The knob turned under her hand and she pulled Jean Marc inside and closed the glass-paneled door.

Jean Marc pushed her to the side and peered through the glass. “Soldiers.”

Juliette’s heart skipped a beat. “Searching for us?”

“Possibly.” Jean Marc watched for a moment and then shook his head. “There’s no urgency. Probably a patrol making rounds. We were lucky not to have run into them coming from the palace.”

Being in the pavilion was no real shelter, she thought desperately. Not only were the four doors glass-paneled, but the long windows were almost floor to ceiling and separated by only narrow strips of wall. It was as if they were captured in a crystal box.

“Are they coming here?”