The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

by Iris Johansen

  “I didn’t abandon her,” Juliette said, stung. “I told you why I didn’t go with her. She’ll be better off without me for a while. In a few months I’ll join her at Vasaro and stay with her until the child is born.”

  “And what if she realizes she’s with child before you decide to grace Vasaro with your presence?”

  Panic speared through Juliette and she couldn’t speak for a moment. “I could be wrong. She might not be with child. We weren’t absolutely sure.”

  Jean Marc gazed at her in disbelief.

  “And if she is, then she’ll just have to face it alone. She has Vasaro and Philippe. Philippe said he would send for his mother as soon as they arrived. I couldn’t be expected to stay with her. She has to face what happened to her sometime, doesn’t she? She’s stronger than we think. You should have seen her this morning when François brought her—”

  “Juliette.” Jean Marc’s voice cut through her feverish dialogue.

  Jean Marc’s face blurred and Juliette fought back the tears stinging her eyes. She whispered, “I’m so frightened, Jean Marc. What if I’m wrong? When I told her I wasn’t going with her to Vasaro she looked so bewildered. I tried to explain it to her, but I know she didn’t understand.”

  “I’m having a good deal of trouble understanding myself.”

  “You see, I thought she needed me.”

  “She does need you.”

  “Does she?” Juliette swallowed and shook her head. “She did at the beginning, but now I can’t stop sheltering her. I’m too selfish.”

  “Selfish?”

  “I liked having her need me. It made me feel so good to be important to her.” She drew a deep shaky breath. “I thought about it a long time today and I realized François was probably right about me being bad for her. At first I decided I’d go to Vasaro anyway, but I knew that wouldn’t do. I don’t give up easily what I want. I had to cut the ties and let her go alone.” She tried to smile. “And if I am wrong, Philippe will send you a message and I’ll find a way to get to her at once.”

  “May I point out you’d been a virtual prisoner in this house for almost six weeks before we could arrange to get you safely out of Paris?”

  “We wouldn’t have to be nearly so careful with me as we were with Catherine.”

  “No?” For an instant the sarcasm was arrested on Jean Marc’s expression, and he quickly glanced away. “I suppose I’d forgotten that no care need be taken for your welfare.”

  She nodded briskly. “So you see my being here isn’t nearly as foolhardy as you might think. I can stay here for a few months and when Dupree leaves Paris we’ll have François get me papers that—”

  “No.”

  “But why? I’ve explained why it’s best for Catherine that I stay here.”

  “But you haven’t explained why it would be best for me. Why should I harbor an enemy of the republic? Every minute you stay in my house, everything I own is in danger.” He smiled cynically. “Including my head. Personally, I don’t believe the claims the guillotine is the most humane way to die. I think it lacks a certain dignity.”

  Juliette hadn’t considered the possibility that her presence might put Jean Marc in actual physical danger. She found the idea hard to accept. “You have too many friends in the government to be in jeopardy.”

  “When a house topples, everyone scurries to get out of the way, not prop it up.”

  “We could find a way to—”

  “You’ve been fortunate not to have been discovered already.” Jean Marc’s lips tightened. “Particularly when you decide to stroll about the streets of Paris in broad daylight.”

  “I told you why I took that risk.”

  “I don’t regard your reasoning as either clear or prudent.” He shook his head. “Prudent? Merde, what am I thinking of? You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  Juliette frowned. “I suppose I could try to find some other place to live. Perhaps Robert would help—”

  “No!” Jean Marc’s hand clenched on the stem of his goblet. “You’re leaving for Vasaro as soon as possible.”

  “Maybe you’re right. I guess Robert could be connected back to you. Besides, I wouldn’t want to endanger him.” She met his gaze across the table. “Very well, I’ll admit I could be a danger to you. What would make the danger worth tolerating?”

  He looked down at the wine in his glass. “Nothing.

  “There must be something you want. You’re very greedy.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Oh, I approve of greed. All the best artists were greedy. They took whatever they needed from life and from the people around them and put it into their work. It’s really quite fair when you consider what they gave back. That’s the most sublime form of avarice.”

  He looked startled. “And is my greed sublime?”

  “Well, perhaps not sublime, but I’ve never heard talk of you cheating anyone, so surely it’s a good, honest greed.”

  He smiled faintly. “Well, since I’m afraid you don’t have anything to feed my greed, you’ll just have to go—”

  “The Wind Dancer!” Juliette’s eyes were suddenly alight with excitement as she leaned forward in her chair. “Of course. You want the Wind Dancer!”

  A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “And you don’t have it.”

  “But perhaps I could think of a way to get it for you.”

  His gaze narrowed on her face. “I thought you said Marie Antoinette had the right to keep her treasure?”

  “It’s not doing her any good in the Temple, is it?” She was thinking quickly. “How much would you be willing to give to get the Wind Dancer back? I can’t remember how much you offered the queen.”

  “Two million livres. Plus the loan I made to the king.”

  “And you didn’t get any of the loan back?”

  He shrugged. “I knew it was a risk.”

  “Two million livres.” Juliette gnawed at her lower lip. “It’s a great deal of money. Would you pay me two million livres for the Wind Dancer?”

  Jean Marc was silent a moment. “Yes.”

  Her gaze flew to his face. “You do want it. It wasn’t only your father who wished it returned to the family. You want it too.”

  Jean Marc sipped his wine.

  “You must want it very badly.” Juliette’s gaze was still fastened on his face. “Why?”

  “I don’t like being thwarted.”

  “No, I think it’s more than that.”

  “If it is, then I refuse to let you probe it out of me. A man must have a few secrets.”

  Jean Marc had more than his share and Juliette had never wanted more to uncover them than at that moment. In the candlelight his black eyes shimmered with cynical amusement and those beautifully shaped lips smiled mockingly. Yet, beneath it all, she sensed something …

  He shifted his shoulders impatiently. “This conversation is useless. You’re trying to sell me something you don’t possess.”

  “I’ll want two million livres for it,” Juliette said slowly. “And I want to stay in this house under your protection for as long as I wish. That’s my price for the Wind Dancer. Would you pay it?”

  Jean Marc frowned impatiently. “You’re being ridiculous. You don’t have any idea who has the statue.”

  “Would you pay it?”

  “The revolutionary government has been searching for the Wind Dancer ever since it disappeared.”

  “Would you pay it?”

  “Yes,” he snapped.

  “Then it’s a bargain.” Juliette smiled with relief. “Now, all I have to worry about is how I’m going to find it for you.”

  Suddenly Jean Marc began to chuckle. “Merde, for a moment I was taking this nonsense seriously.”

  “I am serious. I see nothing to laugh about.”

  “It’s impossible.”

  “I don’t see why.” Juliette frowned. “Though I admit I’ll have to think about it.”

  “I’m sure you will. And, in the meantime
, you won’t mind my making plans for sending you immediately to Vasaro?”

  “But I’ll need time to—”

  “You have no time.” Jean Marc’s smile faded. “I’ll not risk having you in my house a moment longer than necessary. You’ll be on your way to Vasaro before the week is gone.”

  “Only a week?”

  “Surely that’s enough time. After all, you said it wasn’t an impossible task.” He smiled recklessly and suddenly leaned forward and offered her his wine. “Shall we toast your success?”

  She jerked back away from the goblet. “I don’t like wine.”

  He was watching her. “Not even to toast such a splendid enterprise? Just a sip?”

  “No!” Juliette tried to steady her voice. “You’re making mock of me.”

  “No.” He lifted the wine to his own lips. “But I admit to curiosity. I delight in complexity and I find you the most intriguing of puzzles, Juliette.”

  “I’m not particularly complex. I’m not even clever with books, like Catherine.” Juliette pushed back her chair and stood up. “You’re the puzzle.”

  A smile so wickedly sensual it took her breath lit his lean face. “Then perhaps we should attempt to merge our complexities to form a felicitous whole.”

  She stared at him in fascination, a sudden tightness constricting her chest. She was acutely aware of the lithe power of his physique beneath his air of elegant indolence, the grace of his long, tanned fingers toying with the fragile stem of the crystal goblet. “How?”

  “In the usual manner. I’m not one who demands a bizarre repertoire of—” He stopped as he noticed her expression. “What did you expect?” he asked softly. “If you didn’t want to solve the puzzle, you should have gone on to Vasaro. You knew what awaited you here with me.” He paused. “Didn’t you?”

  She had known, she realized. She had not wanted to acknowledge it, but he was right, she had known. “You want to … fornicate with me.”

  “Blunt, but precise.” He leaned back in his chair. “To be even more precise, I wish to fornicate with you for a long, long time and in ways which you may not even be aware exist.”

  Her heart was pounding so hard she could scarcely breathe. “I doubt it. I’m not like Catherine. At court I heard and saw many …” She trailed off and swallowed hard. “Why? I’m not at all pretty.”

  “You think not? Then why do I find you desirable?” His voice thickened. “Why do I grow hard when I look at you?”

  Her eyes widened, instinctively shifting to his lower body hidden by the damask tablecloth. “Do you?”

  He smiled and pushed his chair back. “Come and see.”

  Her gaze quickly fell to the plate in front of her. “I think not. I have no wish to fornicate with any man.”

  His smile widened as he rose to his feet. “No? Let’s see, shall we?” He was beside her chair in three strides, pulling her to her feet. He sat down in the chair from which he had just evicted her and pulled her down onto his lap. “If you won’t look at me, feel me.”

  She stiffened with shock. Even through the multitude of layers of clothing separating them she could feel the bold arousal pressing against her womanhood. And where he touched her she tingled, burned, ached. She should be fighting him, she thought hazily. But Jean Marc wasn’t the Duc de Gramont; he wouldn’t take what she didn’t want to give. “This is foolish.”

  “Infinitely.” He unfastened the top of her gown and bared her throat. “And we’ve only just started. I wonder what you’d say to the other foolish positions I’ve been imagining you in of late.” His head lowered and his tongue licked delicately at the pulse rioting in the hollow of her throat.

  She inhaled sharply and he looked up and nodded slowly. “You like that? Let me free your breasts and I’ll do other things you’ll like.”

  She could feel the tension of his every muscle, see the pulse that was pounding in his temple as he wrapped his arms around her. “Why are you doing this?”

  He looked down at her. “Because you refused to understand,” he said quietly. “This is what we are together. This is what we’ve been since you cared for me at the inn over five years ago.” His hands cupped her hips and he pressed her down on himself. “I warned you. If you let me, I’ll take until you have no more to give. It’s my way.”

  He was pulsing, hard, alive against her, and his eyes were glittering wildly in his taut face. Juliette couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. She was beginning to feel a heavy, hot languor sweeping through her and her breasts were swelling, ripening.

  His gaze was suddenly intent on the bodice of the gown. “Let me see your breasts. They want me, don’t they? See how they’re pushing against—”

  “You should not speak in this way.”

  He chuckled. “Since your own tongue is far from discreet, I can’t see how you can reprove me.”

  “I did not ask to see your—” She broke off, her color rising even higher. “I mean I—”

  “I know exactly what you mean.” His eyes were twinkling as his teeth closed on her left earlobe. “You do not have to ask. I’m at your disposal at any time.”

  His teeth were hard as he gnawed gently at the softness of her lobe, and she suddenly felt the warm tip of his tongue in her ear. A hot shiver rippled down her nape and through her body. “Let … me go.”

  He immediately released her and leaned lazily back in the chair. “I have no intention of taking you on this chair in the dining room. Robert and Marie might wander in and be shocked.”

  She jumped off his lap and whirled to face him. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his black eyes glittered with recklessness as he stared at her. She could see the hard length of his manhood outlined against the fitted tightness of his silk trousers and had a sudden tingling memory of how he had felt against her only a moment before. He was savage need clothed in silken elegance. She realized at that moment he wouldn’t care if the entire city saw him have his way with her. The knowledge brought her a queer, half-terrifying excitement. “You are not—I don’t think you’d care!”

  “Shall we see if you care?” he challenged softly.

  She backed away from him, her gaze fastened on his face. She couldn’t seem to look away from him. She had never really seen this Jean Marc before. She had always known he was there waiting for her. He had even allowed her fleeting glimpses she had chosen to ignore.

  But she could ignore them no longer. This was the man to whom innumerable mistresses had whispered pleas and entreaties, the Jean Marc capable of any excess of primitive hunger and sensual indulgence. His eyes appeared to be growing darker, more glittering, dominating the room, dominating her. “No, I don’t want to—” She broke off and shook her head. “This is not why I stayed in Paris.”

  “But it’s what you’ll get if you remain.” He looked down at his lower body. “All of it, all the time. Would you like me to tell you all the ways I mean to have you?”

  She laughed shakily. “You’re just trying to frighten me into going to Vasaro.”

  “You know better.” His gaze rose to her face. “One week. If you’re not on your way to Vasaro in one week, you’ll become my mistress.” He shrugged. “It will happen sometime, it may as well be now. God knows, I feel as if I’ve waited a century already.”

  “You’re not stupid and will probably come to your senses in time.”

  “I doubt it. I haven’t recovered them in the last five years. You were always there in the back of my mind.”

  “Well, I wish you’d let me return to the back of your mind. I’ve no desire to be any man’s mistress. I want only to paint and—”

  “I will give you one week before I send you to Vasaro.” He stood up and took a step toward her. “Naturally, during that time I’ll feel free to indulge myself freely with your enchanting person.” His fingers reached out and caressed her throat. “I must have some compensation for the danger you place me in and it will prepare you for more extensive intimacies to come.”

  His stroking
was gentle and his touch as light as if he were fondling something precious and loved. She wanted to stay there, letting him caress her, letting him look at her with that expression of intoxicating possessiveness.

  “You look like a child lifting her face up to be kissed,” he whispered.

  “I’m not a child.”

  His smile faded. “I know and you never were. That’s always been the problem. I could never keep from wanting you even while I tried to perceive you as a child in need. You always managed to tear me in two.”

  “I was never in need. I could care for myself always.” She pulled her gaze away and backed away from him toward the door. “I’m tired and I have to think. I believe I’ll go to my chamber and—”

  She broke off. He was chuckling softly and she glanced at him with a sudden surge of anger. “Stop laughing at me. I don’t like it.” She drew a deep, trembling breath. “I think you’re capable of being very, very cruel, Jean Marc.”

  “You may not realize it, but you also have that potential. Which is another reason I want you from under my roof. We could quite possibly rip at each other, and you’re not strong enough for the battle yet. Strange, but I find I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Juliette felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. Her breath vanished and another rush of blood scorched her cheeks. What was wrong with her? It couldn’t be Jean Marc who was affecting her in this manner. She would not allow it to be Jean Marc. It must have been the long walk that afternoon that made her knees suddenly weak and trembling.

  “This is all nonsense. I have to think,” she muttered, and turned and fled from the room.

  Danton rose to his feet and ruefully shook his head as his wife closed the door of his study behind Juliette. “I admit to being so ungallant as to wish never to see you again, Citizeness de Clement. François made no mention to me that you were still in Paris.”

  “He doesn’t know.” Juliette threw back the hood of her brown cloak. “May I sit down? I walked from the Place Royale and I’m a trifle weary.”

  “By all means.” Danton watched her cross the study and plop down in a cushioned chair. “I assume Andreas doesn’t know of your visit here or he would have provided you with a carriage.”