Page 69

NINETEEN

I thought we were going back to Cannes, Jean Marc.

” Juliette’s hands closed on the rail as she gazed at the tall, round turrets of the splendid chateau set like a jewel on the island off the Bonne Chance ’s bow.

“I told Catherine we’d come back to Vasaro before we went to Paris. Why are we here at the Ile du Lion?”

Jean Marc turned to watch the sailors lower the longboat into the turbulent sea. “There are things I must have packed and taken away from here. The furnishings, the journals, my father’s paintings.”

“Why?”

“Because I won’t risk leaving them to the looters when they decide to take the chateau away from me.”

Her gaze shifted to his face. “You’re so sure it will happen?”

He nodded. “It will come. There’s a madness in the land and it’s growing worse every day.”

“Then why do you remain?”

“It’s the country of my birth. I keep hoping…” He shook his head. “But I won’t blind myself to realities because I want to remain here. The family must survive if all else perishes.”

She studied his expression. “The family. That’s why you would like a child by me. You want a child to help the Andreas family survive.”

“Perhaps.”

“It wouldn’t help. The child wouldn’t have the Andreas name.”

Jean Marc’s gaze met her own. “That’s true. Certain adjustments would have to be made.”

“And, besides, we both know I’m not with child.”

He smiled faintly. “Yes, we do. However, one can never know what tomorrow will bring.” He gazed once more at the chateau. “Do you wish to go ashore with me? The chateau has been closed since my father died and there are no servants to make you comfortable.”

She was surprised at the abrupt change of subject. “How long will we be anchored here?”

“Several hours. I want to supervise the loading to make sure they’ve missed nothing of importance to me.”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “I do want to go ashore.”

The rose garden they passed through on the way to the chateau in which Jean Marc had grown up was a wild tangle of thorn-laden shrubbery.

Juliette asked, “Why did you close the house after your father died?”

“I was seldom here. It was more convenient for me to buy a house in Marseilles and conduct my business from there.”

“But it’s so beautiful here.” She gazed out over the myriad paths and graceful fountains of the garden that stretched as far as the shimmering blue-green waters of the Golfe du Lion. “This garden must have been lovely at one time.”

He nodded. “One of the most beautiful in France. The garden’s actually older than the chateau.

It was designed by Sanchia Andreas in 1511 when the island was first purchased.

The chateau was built later.” He climbed the stone steps and inserted the large brass key he carried into the lock before calling back to Captain De Laux over his shoulder.

“The Jade Salon, first, Simon. It’s on your right.

Have the men pack everything very carefully. ”

“You want the furniture loaded on the ship too?” Simon asked.

“Everything. Nothing’s to be left behind that can be transported.”

“So that’s why you wouldn’t let me negotiate a return cargo at La Escala. The furniture will fill the entire hold.” Simon turned and began giving the orders to the sailors straggling through the garden behind him.

Juliette followed Jean Marc into the chateau, gazing curiously around the huge foyer.

Dust and cobwebs had claimed the hall. Sheer lacy webs surrounded the candles in the chandelier and clouded the Venetian mirror on the wall.

Grime dimmed the glory of the stained glass windows that formed an arched cupola over the entire foyer and cast rainbow prisms of color on the teak tiles of the floor.

Jean Marc opened a handsomely carved oak door. “This was my father’s study. There are a few journals I want to pack myself.”

Juliette followed him into the room and closed the door. Dust and cobwebs again, though all the cushioned pieces of furniture in the room were covered with sheets of linen.

Jean Marc was gazing at the painting over the fireplace.

The woman in the portrait wore a blue satin gown with wide skirts.

Her classical features were flawless, her form slim yet voluptuous.

Long dark lashes veiled deep blue eyes and her long golden hair was styled in a coiffure that had been popular when Juliette’s mother had first taken her to Versailles.

“She couldn’t be that beautiful,” Juliette stated positively.

“The artist flattered her. My teacher, Madame Vigée Le Brun did that all the time with her subjects. Did she paint this portrait?”

“No.”

“Who is she?”

“Charlotte.” Jean Marc’s gaze never left the painting. “It was painted by one of her lovers, a man named Pierre Kevoir.”

“No wonder he flattered her.”

“It was no flattery. She was far more beautiful than this.”

“Truly?” She moved forward to stand before the painting. “Then she was even more lovely than my mother. Your father didn’t know this artist was her lover?”

“He knew. He knew about all of them. She made little attempt to hide her affairs.” Jean Marc finally tore his gaze away from the painting and walked to the desk across the room. “The journals are in this drawer…”

“Why did he keep the painting here?”

“He loved her. He said she was the most beautiful thing he possessed and wanted to have her likeness before him always. My mother died when I was five and my father met Charlotte d’Abois two years later.

He begged her to marry him but she was never like other women.

She had no use for the strictures of marriage and enjoyed the freedom of her life as a courtesan.

” His lips twisted. “However, she also enjoyed the power money gave her and consented to be his mistress.” Jean Marc’s words became jerky as he drew four large journals from the top drawer of the desk.

“He didn’t care that she slept with Kevoir. ”

“Most peculiar,” Juliette said. “He must not have been at all like you. I think you’d care very much if a woman you loved cuckolded you.”

“How perceptive.” His voice was without intonation as he went to the bookshelves and took down two volumes.

He carried them back to the desk. “But, since that circumstance is not likely to occur, we need not consider it. I have no intention of either sharing you or falling into the trap of loving you, Juliette.”

Juliette felt a sudden pang and she quickly nodded. “Of course, it was only an observation.” She gazed back at the painting. “She has no expression. Was she a cold woman?”

“Not in bed. She cuckolded my father with half the men in Marseilles.”

“But other than in bed?”

“Yes.” Jean Marc went to the pedestal by the window, brought the crystal swan to the desk, and set it carefully with the journals. “Very cold.”

“What happened when you returned from Jamaica?”

“Why are you asking these questions?” He smiled crookedly. “You have no sketchbook and pen in your hands.”

“I want to know.”

He suddenly slammed the drawer of the desk.

“When I returned I found that two months before she had run away to Greece with her current lover, Jacques Leton. She’d been stealing funds from the company for some time and giving them to Leton.

Everyone knew but my father. That was the reason she’d arranged for me to go with Basteau on the slaver.

” His voice harshened. “She made my father look the fool. I went after them.”

Juliette’s gaze remained riveted to his face. “To Greece?”

“Yes. I challenged and killed Leton. But Charlotte hadn’t grown tired of him yet and felt cheated. She decided to punish me.”

“How?”

“She returned to my father and begged his forgiveness.”

Juliette gazed at him incredulously. “And he took her back?”

“Without even a harsh word.” He smiled bitterly.

“I told you she ruled my father. Four months after she returned here, she married him. She tried to make him disinherit me, but he consented only to sending me away. He told me I didn’t understand Charlotte and we’d all be happier if I went to Italy to the University of Padua.

She died two years later and I returned home.

” He looked at Juliette. “Satisfied? You’ve finally stripped me of all my secrets. Does it please you?”

“No.” She wanted to reach out and comfort him but he had once again retreated behind his glittering barrier. “Did you…have affection for her?”

“When I was a child I thought she was a magical being just as my father did. I learned quickly, however.”

He had learned pain and betrayal and the knowledge that he was helpless in the wake of the power wielded by Charlotte d’Abois. Even now, after all these years, she could see those emotions burning still within him.

“I can’t understand how he could take her back.”

“I can. He was a dreamer. He saw her only as he wanted to see her.” Jean Marc drew a deep breath. “My father always said I couldn’t understand him because I was too practical to dream. Well, God save me from the dreamers of this world.”

“He didn’t understand you,” Juliette said quietly. “I think you, too, have dreams, but you rule them instead of letting them rule you.”

“Nonsense. I’m no dreamer. You’re right, my father and I were not at all alike.” He moved across the salon toward the door. “I believe only what I can see and touch.” He locked the door. “And I want very badly to see and touch you at this moment, Juliette. Will you please unfasten your gown?”

She gazed at him in surprise. “Now?”

He smiled recklessly. “Why not? I have a fancy to take you in a place that’s not moving and shifting with every wave.” He took off his coat and tossed it on the desk, half covering the crystal swan. “Indulge my whim.”

She had begun to realize he seldom acted on impulse. There was some reason he wanted to make love to her in this room. Something to do with the rawness of the pain she sensed within him.

Jean Marc was moving toward her. “You have no objection?”