“Tomorrow is the seventeenth of January. We should be preparing for—”
“You dare try to tell me what I should do? Perhaps you should put on the gown.”
“No.” She hurried to the door. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
The hammering assaulted Juliette’s ears as she came down the stairs.
“What’s going on here?” Juliette hurried into the Gold Salon. “Dear heaven! What on earth are you doing, Robert?”
“Packing.”
“So I see.” She looked around the room in bewilderment. All the paintings had been stripped from the walls and several boxes and trunks set around the room.
Robert looked up from the painting he was boxing. “Monsieur Andreas said we must pack all of these for travel.” He went back to his work.
Juliette wandered around the room, looking at the vacant walls. All the Fragonards, Bouchers, even the portrait of the Wind Dancer were gone. “Where is Monsieur Andreas now?” she shouted above the hammering.
“He went to see Monsieur Bardot,” Robert said. “He left directly after breakfast.”
Juliette paused beside a familiar brass-bound oak chest. The Wind Dancer itself. “He had you bring this up from the cellar?”
Robert nodded. “He asked particularly for that chest. Everything of value must be readied to leave. You’re going on a journey, Mademoiselle?”
“I … don’t know.” For an instant she felt panic surge through her. Perhaps Jean Marc was tired of her and sending her away. No, he wouldn’t pack up the entire household just to rid himself of a mistress.
“Make sure you pack all of Mademoiselle’s paintings in her room, Robert.” Jean Marc stood in the doorway of the salon. “And tell Marie she’d better start packing Mademoiselle’s clothing as well.”
Her clothes. No mention of his. The panic came again and Juliette tried desperately to keep it from showing. “We’re going somewhere?”
“Yes.” He turned to Robert. “We’ll be in my study, sorting out the papers in my desk.” He pulled Juliette along by the wrist.
She hurried to keep up with him as he crossed the foyer.
“I’m sending Robert and Marie to Vasaro tomorrow with the paintings and the statue. I’m not sure they’ll be safe in Paris after we’ve gone. If everything goes well, Catherine and François’s part in this may not be discovered and Vasaro will be a safe haven for all of them.”
“Them? We’re not going to Vasaro, Jean Marc?”
He shook his head. “Charleston. I’ve just come from Bardot’s offices to make final arrangements for the channeling of money to François to help free some of those poor devils headed for the guillotine and to pick up the Andreas jewels. I hadn’t seen some of them for years. I think you’ll look quite fetching in the rubies.” He pulled her into the study and slammed the door behind them. “Do you wish to see them?”
“No.” She gazed at him in bewilderment “Charleston? Is that what all the packing is about? Why Charleston?”
“It seemed a good idea. America has hordes of savages, but their government doesn’t cut heads off and has the greatest respect for bourgeois businessmen such as myself.” He released her wrist and crossed the study to the desk stacked high with ledgers and papers. “Merde, I don’t know where to start.” He frowned down at the ledger on top of the stack. “And the boy will be safe there.”
She went still. “Boy?”
He looked up and smiled at her. “Vasaro’s hardly a safe place for Louis Charles. If we stayed anywhere on the Continent, they’d find him eventually. He’ll be much safer in Charleston with us.”
“You’re going to … keep him?”
“My dear Juliette, I have no intention of undergoing any more of these tiresome plots ever again. I know very well that if the boy were recaptured, you’d insist on going to his rescue. I’ll be much more comfortable having him under my eye.”
“And under your protection.” Juliette added huskily, “You know that as soon as you leave the country, the National Convention will seize everything you own.”
“Everything they can lay hands on,” he agreed. “I’ve tried to modify their seizures in the past few weeks by discreetly liquidating and sending everything I could to my agents in Switzerland. But the losses will still be enormous.”
“Yet you’re willing to accept them?”
“Oh, I fully intend to be recompensed.” His dark eyes were suddenly twinkling. “After all, I wouldn’t be a good man of business if I didn’t demand my price.” He paused. “I want a son, Juliette.”
She stared at him silently.
“And a wife. Do you think you can bring yourself to oblige me?”
“Why?” she whispered.
The laughter disappeared from his face. “Because I’m not at all sure I could live without you. You should be happy. You’ve won the game, Juliette.”
“There is no game.” She took a step toward him, her gaze desperately searching his face. “Don’t hide from me. I need you to say it.”
“I don’t want to say the words. They will strip me naked.”
“I enjoy you very much without clothing.” Juliette took another step. “And I’ve been naked for months.”
“To my infinite delight. You won’t spare me?”
“No, I can’t spare you.”
He gazed at her silently for a moment. “I … love you.” He paused. “I love you as completely and foolishly as my father did Charlotte d’Abois.”
Joy surged through her, filling her with light. “Not foolishly.” Juliette smiled radiantly. “We’re quite different. She was not a nice woman and I’m well worth loving.” She launched herself into his arms and hugged him with all her strength. “And I’ll give you so much love that you won’t—When did you know? It was very wicked of you not to tell me before this.”
His arms went around her and his dark eyes glittered with a suspicious moisture as he looked down at her. “That shouldn’t surprise you. I’ve never been overly kind to you.”
“Yes, you have.” Her smile faded and her expression became grave. “Even when you didn’t want to be kind, you couldn’t stop yourself. You have a great heart, Jean Marc. You gave me understanding and compassion and—Now, tell me when.”
He cradled her cheeks in his hands. “You never give up, do you? It didn’t come with a crash of thunder. It just … came. I suppose I always knew. Since the time you cared for me at the inn at Versailles. You walked into a room and it became your room. You left a room and it became … empty. You moved me and tormented me yet gave me peace.” He kissed her tenderly on the lips. “And if I had the great heart you mistakenly think I have, I would have been able to force myself to say these words long before this.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’ve said them now.” She slipped back into his arms and laid her head contentedly on his shoulder. “I can’t believe it. You truly care for me? You’re not toying with me? Truly, Jean Marc?”
His arms tightened around her and he didn’t answer for a moment. When he did, the words were soft and muffled in her hair.
“Tutto a te mi guida.”
“You’re a very enigmatic man, you know. It’s just like you not to tell me we’re going to America until the day before we leave.” Juliette glanced at him as they strolled through the garden a few hours later. “I wonder if I’m ever going to learn all your secrets.”
“Do you want to know all my secrets?”
Juliette had a sudden memory of the vulnerability of his expression when he’d looked down at the revealing sketch she’d made on the Bonne Chance. Let him keep his secrets. She had no desire to learn anything that would hurt him to disclose. “Only if you wish to tell them. I imagine I’ll find out everything about you in the next fifty years or so. It might even make life more interesting if you surprised me occasionally.”
Jean Marc threaded his fingers through her own. “I shall endeavor to do so. I’d hate you to become bored with me.”
“I don’t mind your secr
etiveness as much as I do your stubbornness. I don’t know how I could come to love such a stubborn man. You made me very unhappy with all your dawdling.”
“You didn’t show it.”
“I have pride. I gave you my love, and I had no intention of letting you know I wasn’t happy with the little you gave me.” She walked in silence for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about it and I think perhaps you should have shot Charlotte d’Abois instead of her lover. We would all have been much happier if you hadn’t let her scar you.”
Jean Marc chuckled. “Could I challenge the woman to a duel?”
“Why not? If you hadn’t been so honorable, I’m sure your father would—”
“I wasn’t honorable.” The laughter had disappeared from Jean Marc’s face. “I betrayed him.”
Juliette stopped and turned to look at him.
“Secrets? Here’s one I’ve never told anyone.” Jean Marc’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Charlotte d’Abois came to my bed when I was fourteen. I didn’t turn her away.”
Juliette’s eyes widened in shock. “You loved her?”
“Mother of God, no!” he said violently. “By that time I knew what she was and I didn’t even like her. It didn’t matter. I knew she didn’t really want me. She was amused by my antagonism and wanted to show me how helpless I was. She knew exactly what to do to me to make it not matter. During that summer she came to me several times and I couldn’t send her away.” His expression was tormented. “She belonged to my father and I cuckolded him.”
“Did he know?”
“No, but I knew. I loved him, I respected him, and still I betrayed him.”
“You said she was very beautiful.”
“What difference does that make?” he said fiercely. “I should have sent her away. I tried, but she was too strong for me. She was like a fever.”
Strength. He had been defeated by Charlotte d’Abois and suffered the most painful torment possible. Was it any wonder he had been fighting to prove over and over he could never be so subdued again?
“You were only a boy.” Juliette frowned. “And I think she must have been even worse than I thought. Is that why you wanted to leave your home and go away on a voyage?”
“Partly. I couldn’t look at my father without wanting to go out and jump into the sea. I finally told her no more.” One corner of his lips rose in a twisted smile. “She wasn’t pleased.”
“And she arranged to send you away on the slave ship.”
“The fault wasn’t entirely hers. I betrayed him.”
She gazed at him in astonishment. “Mother of God, your father was a grown man and he was helpless before her and you were only a boy. Your father brought his mistress into your home and let her hurt you. If anyone was to blame, besides that pig of a woman, it was your father. Where is your good sense?”
He looked at her in surprise. “I never thought of—” A slow smile lit his face. “You’re so angry you’re trembling. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Well, I am upset. I don’t like what that woman did to you and I don’t like the idea of her in your bed. It makes me angry and frightened.”
“Frightened? Why should you be frightened?”
Juliette tried to control her voice. “Because she had the power to hurt you and I’m afraid you cared more for her than you’ve told me.”
“You have nothing to be frightened about.” His hands gently encircled her throat, his thumbs rubbing the hollow where she pulsed with life. “She was only a boy’s first passion. I’ve never loved any woman but you.”
“Nor shall you ever,” she said with sudden fierceness. “I think I’d be very angry if you decided to play that stupid game with another woman.”
He kissed her gently. “You’ve forgotten. The game is over and you’ve won it.”
“No.” She met his gaze directly. “If there ever was a game, we’ve won it.”
He smiled and the last shadow vanished from his expression. “I would never dare to disagree with you in your present uncivilized mood. Very well, we’ve won it, ma petite.”
TWENTY-FIVE
January 19, 1794
6:34 A.M.
The morning dawned cold, bright, and clear. Juliette slipped out of bed and padded barefoot across the bedchamber to throw open the casement window. Her face was alight with eagerness as she called back over her shoulder. “There’s a strong west wind, Jean Marc. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
“It’s a sign you’ll catch a chill if you don’t come back to bed.”
“It’s blowing toward Charleston.” Juliette stood there another moment, looking down into the garden and then beyond the wall to the steep slate rooftops of Paris. “It’s blowing toward America.”
“Come to bed, ma petite.”
Juliette reluctantly closed the window, turned, and walked across the room toward him. “I still think it’s a good sign.”
7:30 A.M.
“I’m frightened,” Catherine whispered as she drew closer to François. The fire had gone out in the porcelain stove and the room looked cold and dreary in the pale morning light. “I didn’t think I’d be afraid, but I am. So many things could go wrong.”
“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” François said as he tucked the covers around her. “We’ve planned everything down to the last detail. The boy will be freed.”
“You and Juliette made plans before and the queen still died.”
“We were betrayed. It will be different this time.”
“I hope so.” She closed her eyes and moved still nearer into the security of his arms. “I pray it will.”
8:37 A.M.
Dupree shivered as he pushed the coverlet aside and swung his feet to the floor. As always, he was bathed in sweat from the fever that attacked him every night. He knew he was growing weaker with every passing day.
He wondered if he was slowly dying.
No, he couldn’t die. Death would mean he could never be near his mother again. He had only to get through today and all would be well. He had realized he hadn’t the strength for extensive or elaborate schemes and had planned everything to explode in one splendid burst of violence and consummate vengeance. Mother would be pleased with him, the Comte de Provence would be pleased with him.
And Juliette de Clement, and Jean Marc Andreas, and the queen’s whelp would be vanquished … forever.
11:15 A.M.
“Jean Marc is being very generous,” Nana said. “The money will help us free many prisoners. I somehow didn’t expect him to remain involved after the boy was freed.”
“Jean Marc seldom does what one expects him to do, and he’s not nearly as hard as people think.” Juliette rummaged through the basket of fans she’d set on the table. “I’ve brought you a gift.” She handed Nana the white lace fan on which she’d painted the Pegasus. Her eyes twinkled as she unfurled it with a flourish. “I thought it only proper you should have the best fan I’ve ever made, since it was you who taught me the art.”
“It’s lovely.” Nana took the fan and wafted it gently back and forth before her face. “But it’s much too fine for me. I certainly can’t use it here at the Café du Chat.”
“A gift doesn’t always have to be used, but only brought out now and then as a remembrance. I thoroughly approve of gifts.” Juliette reached across the table to clasp Nana’s hand affectionately. “And I just wanted to give you something as a farewell present. You’ve been a good friend to me during this last year.” Her face became shadowed. “It hasn’t been a happy time for either of us, has it? The queen …” She smiled with an effort “Jean Marc and I are leaving France tonight I hope we won’t be gone forever, but who knows what life will bring?”
Nana looked down at Juliette’s hand gripping her own. “Yes, it’s best that you leave Paris.” She squeezed Juliette’s hand and quickly released it. “And I thank you for the fan. You’d better go now. We all have things to do today.”
Nana actually looked shaken, Juliette thought wit
h sudden anxiety. How strange, when she was usually fully in control of herself and any situation. “You are quite right, I must return to the Place Royale.” She pushed her chair back and stood up. “You’re a brave woman, Nana, and I admire you very much. Au revoir.” She started to turn away.
“Juliette!”
She glanced back at Nana and saw again that uncharacteristic expression of nervousness. “Yes?”
Nana gazed at her a moment and then shook her head. “Nothing. I just wanted to say I admire you, too … very much.” Nana met her gaze. “I hope all goes well for you.” She looked down at the silk fan. “And … be careful.”
Juliette nodded, then made her way out of the café. While she’d been inside the sun had disappeared and fog had descended on the city.
Her hired carriage waited at the curb a few yards down the street, but the coachman was nowhere to be seen. Puzzled, she stopped short. She shrugged and crossed the short distance to the door of the coach. Many cafés lined the Pont Neuf, and it was likely the coachman had only stepped inside one of them to refresh himself.
She opened the door of the carriage.
“Bonjour, Citizeness.”
At first she didn’t recognize the man sitting on the seat of the carriage. The entire left side of his jawbone was crushed inward and his nose smashed and twisted until it bore little resemblance to the original orifice.
Then his pouty lips smiled with catlike pleasure and she knew who he was.
“Dupree,” she whispered.
“Certainly. And, of course, you do remember my old friend Pirard from the abbey? He’s standing right behind you.”
She started to turn her head.
Blinding pain crashed through her left temple.
12:30 P.M.
Jean Marc opened the envelope, drew out the paper, and read the note.
He paled as panic engulfed him.
“Monsieur Andreas?” Robert gazed at Jean Marc in concern. “Is all well?”
“No.” Jean Marc’s voice was hoarse. “I’ll need a carriage.” His hand clenched, crushing the note. “Immediately.”