Page 59

“You’re looking at me with clearer eyes.

I was never as bold and strong as you thought I was.

” Juliette kept her gaze on the sketch. “Francois once told me it was I who needed you. He must have been right, for you don’t need me at all now.

” She smiled with an effort. “You’ve grown beyond me. How did it happen?”

“Vasaro.”

“And Philippe’s little boy?”

Catherine’s eyes widened. “You know about Michel? How?”

Juliette shrugged. “The eyes are the same and the shape of the mouth.”

Catherine should have known Juliette would notice what she hadn’t seen. The eyes of the artist. “I’m bringing Michel to the manor to live as soon as I can persuade him to come.”

Juliette became still. “You’re going to marry the peacock?”

“No.”

Juliette relaxed. “That’s good. I’ve noticed some women are very foolish about men.” She began sketching in the mountains in the background. “You’re better off with the child than the man. I’d like to paint Michel. His face has much more character than the peacock’s.”

“Will you stay at Vasaro when you come back from Spain?”

Juliette shook her head. “I have something to do in Paris.”

“The queen?”

“Yes, Jean Marc and I have a bargain.”

“It’s not safe. Dupree will—”

“Safe enough.” Juliette’s lashes lowered to veil her eyes. “Dupree has left Paris and I won’t be recognized. I have a perfectly splendid wig in which I look quite unlike myself.”

Catherine shook her head skeptically.

“Stop fretting. I’m being very good about allowing you to get along without me.” Juliette’s eyes twinkled. “I couldn’t bear to have you start smothering me.”

“You’ll, at least, return to Vasaro before you go back to Paris?”

“Of course. I told you I wanted to paint Michel.”

Catherine smiled and ruefully shook her head. Juliette had not really changed. She was still afraid to admit or show affection. “Then I’ll marshal all my arguments and we’ll discuss it when you return.” She rose to her feet. “I’ll leave you to your sketching and order supper.”

“Wait.” Juliette scrambled to her feet and tossed the sketch on the window seat. “I have a gift for you.” She crossed the room to the lacquer and rosewood desk and opened the middle drawer. “I want you to promise me you’ll use it.”

“Gift?” Catherine had a sudden memory of the day Juliette had given her the locket with the miniature. How long ago that seemed.

Juliette was drawing a large volume bound in crimson morocco leather from the drawer. “It’s a journal and you must write in it every single day. I’ve dated every page.” She paused. “Starting on the second of September 1792.”

Catherine’s smile faded. “The abbey.”

“It’s for no one’s eyes but your own.” Juliette crossed the room and placed the volume in Catherine’s hands. “It will help you, Catherine.”

“No…”

“It helped me. Jean Marc made me draw what happened and it…I hated him all the time I was drawing those canailles.” She met Catherine’s gaze. “But it freed me. And I don’t want you to stay a prisoner while I go free.”

Catherine smiled shakily. “I cannot draw.”

“But you can paint pictures with words. You’re much more clever than I am with books. Promise you’ll do it.”

“I can’t do it now.”

Juliette nodded. “Leave the first pages blank and go back to them. But you’ll do it someday?”

“Someday.”

“Soon?”

Catherine hugged Juliette quickly and said huskily, “Soon.” She released her friend and turned away. “Now let me leave before I start to weep and you accuse me of blubbering.” She paused at the door to ask, “Will Jean Marc and Francois be back tonight?”

Juliette shrugged. “Jean Marc didn’t tell me. I think if he could do so he’d sail away without returning. But he’ll want to know you’re entirely well before he leaves.”

“Then it may be just the three of us for supper.”

“Three? I thought you said the child would be here?”

“I’ve sent Philippe away for a while. It’s been a long time since he visited his family.” Catherine moved toward the door. “Vasaro doesn’t need him at present.”

“And neither does the mistress of Vasaro,” Juliette added softly.

“No, she doesn’t need him either.” Catherine experienced a strange weightlessness, as if something caged within her had been set free, and her hands tightened on the journal. “Not at all.”

Jean Marc didn’t arrive back at Vasaro until after midnight and Francois did not come with him.

Juliette jumped out of bed when she heard the soft thud of hoofbeats on the cork and stones of the driveway and was downstairs and throwing open the door by the time Jean Marc began climbing the steps. “Do we have a ship?”

“ I have a ship,” Jean Marc said. “The Bonne Chance is waiting in the harbor. Francois stayed in Cannes to see a port representative and smooth the way to make sure we’ll be able to sail tomorrow night.”

“It’s good that he’s making himself useful.” Juliette’s tone was abstracted as she gazed at Jean Marc. Sharp lines of weariness slashed both sides of his mouth, and it was clear he was not in a gentle temper. “Have you supped?”

“Before I left Cannes.” His gaze traveled over her. “Don’t you ever wear anything to bed but that disreputable garment?”

Juliette looked down at the full white nightgown. “Why? It was very kind of Marie to give it to me, and it’s warm and comfortable. The nights here aren’t as cool as in Paris, but there’s still—”

“Never mind.” Jean Marc shut the door and crossed the hall toward the stairs. “Good night, Juliette.”

“I’m going with you to Spain, you know.”

He stopped but didn’t turn around. “No.”

“I speak the language. She’s my mother. You need me.”

“I don’t intend to argue with you. I’m tired. All day I’ve been dealing with greedy officials I’d rather drown than bribe, and I still have to find a way of getting rid of Francois before I sail.”

“But you need me.”

He turned and looked at her, and she went still as she saw his expression. “The only way in which I’d need you on this journey is to provide me with the most basic carnal comforts and, if you choose to come, that will be your function. Do you understand?”

She suddenly couldn’t breathe, and it was a moment before she could speak. “You’re threatening me?”

“No, I’m warning you. A last warning.” He smiled lopsidedly. “Only God knows why. I haven’t had a woman since I left Marseilles, and at the moment I’m every bit as hot as your lecherous Duc de Gramont.”

“He wasn’t mine. He was my mother’s.”

“For which I find I’m exceedingly grateful. But, if you’d occupied every nobleman’s bed at Versailles, I’d still invite you into mine.”

“I would think that would be most unwise. A good many of them had the French pox.”

“In my present state I assure you it would make not a whit of difference to me.”

“That would be unreasonable of you. A moment of pleasure and then a most—” She stopped and drew a deep breath. She knew her words had been flowing with a total irrationality, for she was aware only of the tingling starting between her thighs and the flush burning her cheeks.

Jean Marc’s gaze was fixed soberly on her face.

“Don’t do it, Juliette. I find myself in the odd position of respecting you, which is not at all common for me.

For once in my life I’m trying to forget about what I want and let you go free.

It’s no mean sacrifice on my part.” He paused.

“You were right. I’ve never loved a woman and never intend to do so.

It’s all a game to me and, once I start it, I have to win.

I never give up until I do. Take my advice and escape.

Unless you want our relationship to culminate in the usual pleasurable manner, you’ll stay at Vasaro.

” He started up the stairs. “And if you do decide to come, I wouldn’t advise you to bring that abominable nightgown for which you have such a fondness.

The very first thing, I’d throw it over the side. ”

“Who is he?” Michel asked.

Catherine tossed two more roses into the basket before she looked at the crest of the hill where Michel was pointing.

Francois Etchelet stood watching them, his gaze focused intently on Catherine. “Francois Etchelet, one of the visitors from Paris.”

“I know that. He was there at the house the day you were hurt, but who is he to you?”

“I told you.”

“He was angry with Monsieur Philippe,” Michel said. “I think he wanted to kill him because he hurt you.”

“You’re mistaken, he cares nothing for me.

” Yet this man was her husband, she remembered with a sense of shock.

If not in the eyes of God, in the eyes of the republic of France.

The memory of that day had faded and become as dreamlike as everything else that had happened before she had looked out the carriage window the first day and seen the flowers. Vasaro was now the only reality.

“He’s waiting for you. He wants you to come to him,” Michel said. “I think he’ll stand there until you do.”

Catherine smiled. “Well, we wouldn’t want him to take root on the hill. It might prove very inconvenient to have to work around him if we decide we need to plant it someday.” She started down the row. “I’ll be back soon, Michel.”

He didn’t answer, and when she glanced back it was to see Michel still gazing thoughtfully at Francois.

“Juliette told me you were here. I didn’t expect to see you looking so well,” Francois said as she reached the crest of the hill. His gaze went slowly over her from her thick single braid to the wooden shoes on her feet. “I thought you’d still be—”

“Lying frail and sickly in my bed?” Catherine finished. “I’m quite well again.”

Francois nodded slowly. “I see you are.” His gaze suddenly swooped to her face. “Do you still dream?”

She tensed. “I forgot you knew about that stupidity. I regret I was such a bother to everyone during that time.” She paused. “I’m happy you, at least, were well paid for your efforts on my behalf.”

“Very well paid,” he agreed impassively. “You didn’t answer me. Do you still dream?”