“You were more than you think you were.”
“I was an insufferable prig.”
“A prig.” Juliette’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Not insufferable. I suffered you, didn’t I?”
“We suffered each other.” Catherine chuckled. “Good God, why I ever let you make me chase after you to that tomb—” Her laughter faded and then she determinedly smiled, blocking out the other memories and keeping only the ones to cherish. “You were perfectly abominable to me on occasion.”
Juliette had noticed the hesitation and reached out to take Catherine’s hand with careful casualness. “It was good for your character. Now François will seem a saint to you in comparison.”
François. Catherine leaned back in the carriage, excitement and fear equally mixed within her. How did she know François even wanted her any longer? Juliette said he did but she could be mistaken. Six months was a long time. Perhaps there was even someone else.
Well, if it was too late, she would face it without shirking.
She could no longer hide in Eden.
“Mademoiselle Catherine, it’s good to see you looking so well.” Robert smiled warmly as he held open the front door. His gaze went beyond Catherine’s shoulder to the street where Juliette was supervising the unloading of her paints and canvas. She suddenly turned and ran up the steps.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle.” Robert beamed at her. “Monsieur Andreas will be very happy you’ve returned. The house has seemed very empty since you’ve been gone.”
She made a face. “I’m sure it’s been a good deal quieter anyway.” She untied the ribbons of her bonnet. “But why are you opening the door? Where are the servants?”
“Gone. All the servants are gone except Marie and me. Monsieur Andreas dismissed them a few days after you left Paris.”
“How peculiar.” Juliette frowned. “I’ll speak to him about it. Where is he?”
“He’s not yet arisen.”
“Good Lord, it’s almost noon. He always rises early.” Her eyes widened in alarm. “Is he ill?” She started across the foyer toward the stairs at a run. “I must go see, Catherine. Make sure they don’t damage my portrait of Michel when they unload it.”
She burst into Jean Marc’s darkened chamber a moment later. “What’s wrong? Are you ill? I knew I should never have gone away.” She saw a stirring in the bed and hurried over to the window and ripped back the drapes to let in the light. “Look what happened. There are no servants in the house and you’ve become ill and—”
“Juliette.” Jean Marc’s voice was husky with sleep and surprise as he sat up in bed. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“It’s time I came back.” She ran over to the bed and threw herself into his arms. Before he could move she had covered his face with kisses. “Oh, Jean Marc, I’ve missed you. Please don’t be ill. All the time I was running up the stairs I was thinking. ‘What if he’s truly ill? What if he dies?’ I can’t bear it if you’re—”
“Hush!” His arms went around her and held her close. “I’m not at all ill.”
“Then why are you still in bed?”
“For the very good reason that I didn’t get to bed until nearly dawn.”
His heart throbbed strongly beneath her ear and she cuddled contentedly closer, nestling her cheek in the dark hair that thatched his chest. Life. “Well, it was most unkind of you to frighten me like that.”
“May I call it to your attention that I didn’t know you were returning? Why didn’t you send a message and—Never mind.” He tugged her head back and his lips covered hers with sudden passion.
Her arms tightened about him as joy soared through her. He was well and strong and they were together again.
Jean Marc lifted his head. His breath had quickened. “One of us is overdressed, and I believe it’s you. Take off your clothes, Juliette. Dieu, I’ve missed you.”
“Have you? I wanted you to miss me.” She looked up at him wistfully. “Truly, Jean Marc?”
“Truly.” He sent her bonnet sailing across the room. “As I mean to demonstrate immediately if you’ll please remove—”
“I can’t.” She reluctantly pushed him away and stood up. “If you’re not ill, then you must dress and come downstairs. Catherine is here.”
“Catherine.” Jean Marc frowned. “Why has she come to Paris? She shouldn’t have left Vasaro. Neither of you should have come back.”
“You knew I’d come back,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t leave you here alone, and I have something I must do.”
Jean Marc threw back the covers and got out of bed, reaching for his brocade robe on the chair. “Merde, haven’t you heard what’s going on here? The Jacobins have gone mad. They’re arresting and killing everyone in sight. They’ve executed every Girondin and aristocrat they can lay hands on and anyone else they have a quarrel against. The guillotine’s been working day and night since the queen’s death. Dammit, it’s not safe for you here.”
“The guillotine.” She shuddered as she remembered that day at the Place de la Révolution. The queen in her pretty red prunella slippers …”More deaths?”
Jean Marc buttoned his robe as he turned to face her. “Go back to Vasaro. When there’s so many deaths, it becomes commonplace. I’d have little chance of saving you if you went before the tribunal.”
She tried to smile. “And would you mind if I went to the guillotine? I hope you would. It would be very sad to have no one mourn me.”
“I’d mind,” he said slowly. “I’d mind so much that I’d probably be forced to find a way to destroy both that damn guillotine and the nation who ordered it used on you.”
Her eyes widened and she felt a sudden breathlessness. “How … extravagant. You would mourn me.”
“Good God, did I not say—” He broke off and turned his head away so that she couldn’t see his face. “However, François would be most upset if I also brought down his precious Rights of Man which would probably follow. So let’s avoid it by all means. Go back to Vasaro.”
She shook her head. “Even if I’d go, Catherine would not. She’s going to join François at the Temple.”
“No!” Jean Marc whirled back to face her. “Why?”
“She loves him,” she said simply. “It’s her place to be with him now.”
“Not at the Temple. If she won’t go back to Vasaro, let her stay here where I can try to protect—”
“She’s not a child any longer, Jean Marc. You can’t protect her. We must both do what we have to do.”
“The devil I can’t,” Jean Marc said harshly. “I should order Léon to bind and gag both of you and force you to go back to Vasaro.”
“We’d only come back.” She smiled. “I know you care about Catherine but she’s no longer your concern. She’s François’s wife now.” She turned and moved toward the door. “I’ll leave you to dress. Shall I send water up with Léon?” She frowned. “It’s not his duty and he’ll be quite upset. Really, Jean Marc, it’s not sensible to have only Robert and Marie in the household. Why did you send the rest of the servants away?”
“I thought it best. I’ve had a number of visitors of late that I wanted no gossip about.”
“Who?” She gazed at him curiously before pain suddenly tore through her. “A … woman? I suppose I should have expected it. You’ve always had many mistresses and I’ve been gone—”
“Seven weeks and three days,” Jean Marc said softly.
“I’m not sure how many hours, but I’m certain I would have been able to tell you if you hadn’t exploded into my chamber and roused me from a sound sleep.”
“Truly?” The breathlessness came again and with it the faintest stirring of hope. “Bankers are always good at numbers, aren’t they?”
“If they wish to make a success of their profession.” He shook his head. “No other women, Juliette. I found myself quite uninterested in replacing you in my bed. Another victory for you.”
“Then where were you last night?”
<
br /> “At one of those tiresomely clandestine meetings necessary for dire plots and conspiracies. Tell me, is there some rule that they always have to take place in the middle of the night?”
“Plots?”
He smiled slowly. “I’d hoped to have your Louis Charles safely out of the Temple before you returned but, as usual, you’ve done the unpredictable.”
“Louis Charles.” She gazed at him in amazement. “You’re helping us?”
“My dear Juliette, I do not help. If I become involved, I must seize control of a project.”
“Why?”
“Because I have a certain amount of self-love, I suppose.”
“No, I mean why are you doing this?”
“Do you expect me to say I’m doing it for the memory of the queen or the good of the country?” He shook his head. “I’m no idealist.”
“Helping Louis Charles to escape could destroy you.”
“Not if it’s done correctly.”
“But why take the risk?”
“A whim.”
She shook her head. “Tell me, Jean Marc.”
He was silent a moment. “Because I don’t like the idea of a child being made the pawn of nations merely because of his birth.” He gazed intently at her. “And because I never again want to see you hurt and broken the way you were the day Marie Antoinette was guillotined.”
Hope spiraled into joy. “I wasn’t broken.”
His lips twitched. “No, not broken but certainly radically bent.” He made a gesture as if to sweep her from the room. “Now, go order my bath. I shall feel better able to cope with you and Catherine once I have the sleep washed out of my eyes.”
Jean Marc descended the stairs an hour later to find Juliette coming in the front door.
“It’s too late,” Juliette said cheerfully. “Catherine’s gone. I just sent her to the Temple in my carriage. You must go there if you wish to argue with her, but that would be very foolish.”
Jean Marc didn’t seem overly upset at the news. “What a clever move on your part,” he said calmly. “Then I’ll argue with you instead. Come join me for breakfast.”
“I’ve eaten already.” She followed him into the breakfast chamber. “It’s after noon. You should be having dinner instead of breakfast.”
“That’s not what we’re supposed to be arguing about. Let’s consider what good your presence can do here in Paris.”
“I can paint the fans. I can act as courier.”
“We’ve formed another network. You don’t know these people and they don’t know you.”
“That was intelligent. François said he suspected the Comte de Provence had an agent in the royalist group at the Café du Chat.” She frowned. “But you must not let the count know you’re aware of his agent or he’ll take other steps to block your attempts.”
“François hasn’t cut his ties with the group and goes to the Café du Chat frequently.” Jean Marc sat down at the table and put his napkin on his lap. “I know you’ll find it incredible but we did think of that possibility even without you.”
“No one knows?”
“Nana Sarpelier.” Jean Marc buttered a croissant. “I trust that meets with your approval?”
“Oh, yes.” Juliette’s brow knit in thought. “When do you plan on freeing Louis Charles?”
“As soon as possible. But we have to have help from inside the Temple. François has been trying to influence the couple who care for the boy.”
“The Simons. The queen said she thought he was only stupid, not cruel. Do you think there’s a possibility they might help?”
He shrugged. “Bribery wouldn’t be a factor. François says they’re fiercely loyal to the republic but seem fond of the boy.” Jean Marc took a bite of croissant and chewed it thoughtfully before he added, “There are a number of problems as I see it. First, getting the boy out of the prison. Second, out of Paris and past the barriers. Then, where does he go from there? Perhaps to Vasaro for an interim period, but he won’t be safe there for long. If we take the boy to his relatives in Austria, he’ll probably have a fatal accident before he’s free a year. If he goes to another monarchy, they’ll use him as a pawn.”
“No!” Juliette sat down across from him. “Both the king and queen told Louis Charles before they died that he mustn’t strive to get the throne back.”
“As I said, there are problems.” Jean Marc finished his croissant and reached for his cup of chocolate. “We haven’t formulated a firm plan to resolve any of them, but I’ve been working on a way to get the boy out of Paris that has a certain flamboyant appeal you might appreciate. That’s where I was last night.”
“Indeed?” she asked, intrigued. “How are you going to do it?”
“I think I’ll wait until Monsieur Radon’s finished before I divulge this particular plan.” He finished his chocolate, set down his cup, and patted his mouth with his napkin. “But you can see we’re working diligently on the little king’s behalf. Why don’t you go back to Vasaro and let us get on with it?”
She shook her head.
“I didn’t believe you’d agree.” Jean Marc stood up. “I suppose I must make the best of the situation. Come along.”
“Where?”
“Seven weeks, three days, and six hours,” he said softly. “It came to me while I was in the bath. It’s been a long time, Juliette.”
Too long. She could feel her heart start to pound just looking at him, at the high sheen of his dark hair, at the slightly wicked curve to his lips as he smiled at her. “Yes.”
“Let’s see, I’ve argued with you to no avail. You’ve robbed me of Catherine to try to persuade to reason. I see no way to impose my will upon you except the one you accept most readily.” He held out his hand to her. “Come to bed, ma petite.”
Her heart was now beating so hard she could feel its thunder in every part of her body. He had said he missed her and what she saw in his eyes must be affection at the very least. She smiled brilliantly as she placed her hand in his and said meekly, “As you wish, Jean Marc.”
“As I wish? When have you ever done as I wished?”
The sound of their laughter echoed from the high-arched ceilings as they ran up the stairs, down the hall, and into his chamber.
Jean Marc’s laughter vanished as soon as the door shut behind them.
At first Juliette didn’t notice his sudden sobering as she started toward the bed, her fingers fumbling at the fastenings of her gown.
“No.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder and saw him taking off his pearl-gray satin coat.
“Don’t undress, Juliette.” His voice was soft, his gaze night-dark. “Not yet.”
She gazed at him uncertainly. “But you’re undressing.”
“Oh, yes.” He strolled forward and draped his coat carefully over the back of the blue and ivory tapestry-cushioned chair. “As quickly and expediently as possible.” He began to unfasten his white linen shirt. “But I’ve decided I don’t want you to do it.” He gestured to the chair where he had laid his coat. “Will you sit down?”
She crossed the room and dropped down on the chair he’d indicated, staring at him in bewilderment. “Jean Marc, you’re behaving very oddly.”
“Am I?” He stripped off the shirt and threw it aside. “Bear with me. It all has a purpose.”
She didn’t care a whit about his purpose. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to close her fingers on the dark, springy thatch on his chest, rub her palms on the smooth, hard musculature of his shoulders. “It’s been seven weeks, Jean Marc.”
He nodded. “Too long. I had a good deal of time to think.” He sat down on the bed, pulled off his left boot, and then tugged at his right boot. “About you, Juliette.”
Her hands closed tightly on the cushioned arms of the chair. Sweet heaven, he was beautiful. The sunlight streaming into the room bathed him in a golden glow, delineating each feature of his face, the tough, sinewy grace of his chest and shoulders.
“Aren’t you going to ask what I thought?” He tossed the other boot aside before he stood up again and quickly resumed stripping.
“Could we speak of this later?”
Jean Marc was naked now and she could feel heat suffuse her body as she looked at him.
He stood in the middle of the room, standing with legs slightly astride, lean buttocks tight, every muscle tense, his manhood boldly aroused.
She couldn’t breathe, the air in the room seemed heavy, vibrating with the same arousal she saw in him. She started to stand up and go to him.
“No.” He moved forward and pushed her gently back down in the chair. He dropped to his knees beside her chair, took her hands, and held them tightly. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“What?” He knew what she wanted of him, and it had nothing to do with him kneeling before her like a beautiful naked God come down from Olympus to seduce a mortal.
His gaze fastened intently on her face. “I want to give you something. I’ve always been the one who has taken. Now I want you to take.” His hands tightened on her own. “Use me, Juliette.”
Shocked, she merely stared at him.
He lifted her hand and placed it on his naked chest. She could feel the springy hair brush her flesh and the thunder of his heart beneath her palm. “I want you,” he said quietly. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted you more. It’s important that you know that.”
“Then, by all that’s holy, take me,” she said in exasperation.
The faintest smile tugged at his lips as he shook his head. “Tell me what you want. Do you want me to undress you?”
She nodded jerkily. “It would be an excellent start.”
He rose to his feet and pulled her up from the chair, his hands deftly undoing the fastenings at her neck. As his fingers brushed her flesh she inhaled sharply. Her gaze flew to his face, and what she saw there caused her heart to start to pound harder.
The golden olive of his skin was pulled taut with strain over his cheekbones, and his dark eyes glowed as they held hers. “Do you remember that first day in the cabin on the Bonne Chance?”
The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds Page 84
