“Sacre bleu!” The curse exploded from him as he jumped to his feet. “Will you stop shaking? I told you there was nothing to fear. Do you think this is easy for me? Mother of God, I—”
“Stop cursing!” His violence suddenly ignited an answering response. She glared at him. “I won’t stand for it. First you let those horrid men say filthy things to me, then you order me about, and now you curse in my presence as no gentleman would.”
He was staring at her in astonishment.
She gestured to the bed. “And this may be necessary but it’s not at all easy for me either.”
“Well, it’s certainly not my fault. I’ve behaved every bit as gently as that fine buck Philippe. I can’t remember ever using such soft words to any woman.”
“That’s quite clear. You do it very badly.”
The anger abruptly faded from his expression as his gaze narrowed on her face. “You prefer me to be rude?”
“It seems more natural. You make me uneasy when you pretend to be something you’re not.”
“Do I?”
“Has no one ever accused you of being rude before? Why are you staring at me like that?”
“I believe I’ve just made a discovery.” He gave her a curious smile. “And yes, it’s no secret among my acquaintance that I’m neither sweet-mannered nor a gentleman. Now, since you’re no longer quivering and quaking, may I get you a glass of wine?”
“I don’t rest well if I drink wine before I go to sleep.”
“You don’t look as if you rest well anyway.” He paused. “Do you still dream?”
“Yes.” Her gaze slid away from his and she changed the subject. “That’s why Juliette sometimes brushes my hair at night before I go to sleep. It … relaxes me.”
“Are you suggesting I take over her duty?”
She looked back at him, startled. “No.”
“I think you are.” His smile widened with amusement. “I think you’re angry with me for ordering you about and wish to humble me.”
Was he right? Catherine had not thought she was capable of wishing to see anyone humbled, but there was no doubt François’s arrogance had annoyed her exceedingly. “I was merely making a remark.”
He bowed mockingly. “Like any patriotic republican I’m not ashamed to discharge lowly tasks.” He strolled toward the highboy across the room. “Tonight we’ll pretend I’m Juliette.” He picked up the horsehair brush on the highboy and turned to face her. “I’ll even promise not to tongue-lash you as she might.”
She gazed at him uncertainly as she watched him come toward the bed. Her hand tightened on the sheet. “Juliette doesn’t tongue-lash me.”
“Then she makes you the sole exception.” He began to take out the pins binding her hair in its tight bun. “Why are you trembling? I’m only going to brush your hair.”
She closed her eyes tightly as the loosened hair tumbled down her back.
“I have no desire to touch you.” The brush began to move through her hair in long, deep strokes. For many minutes the only sound in the room was the sibilant whisper of the bristles in the thickness of her hair.
“I like that,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“What did you mean when you said we’re all many people?”
“What I said.” He brushed the hair back from her temple. “Look at yourself. You’re Juliette’s friend and Jean Marc’s meek little cousin. They each see you differently.”
“And how do people see you?”
“They see what they want to see.” He reached up and shifted the heavy swath of her hair over her right shoulder, his warm fingertips brushing her nape and igniting a faint tingling sensation that made her shiver. Then the light touch was gone and the bristles of the brush were once again moving through her hair.
“How do you see me?” she asked impulsively.
He hesitated in mid-stroke. “I see you in a garden.”
“Because you wish to see me there?”
“Perhaps. There haven’t been many gardens in my life.”
“But you said you wouldn’t choose to live in—”
“I’m not always logical.”
“Juliette says you’re clever and kinder than you pretend.”
“And do you always trust Juliette’s judgments?”
“I have been lately. It’s … easier.”
“I can see how it would be. If you want to remain a child forever.”
“I’m not a child.”
“Because you were raped?”
She stiffened. “It’s not kind of you to mention—”
“If you find me lacking in kindness, then could it be that Juliette’s judgment isn’t infallible?”
She frowned as she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Why are you arguing with me?”
“Because evidently no one else does. They just pity the poor, wounded Mademoiselle. Do you wish me to pity you too?”
The corners of her lips suddenly turned up with rueful humor. “No, but if I did, it would do me no good. You obviously will do as you please.”
“Ah, now we understand each other. No pity.”
Catherine abruptly felt lighter, as if some tremendous burden had been lifted. “No pity.”
He put the brush on the nightstand. “There, I’ve done my penance for offending you. Tell me, for what sin is Juliette paying penance?”
She frowned in bewilderment. “Sin?”
“It doesn’t seem unnatural to you that she cossets you as if you were a small child?”
“I don’t demand she do anything. She says—”
“It’s time.” He stripped off his coat. “The servant woman will be back to clear away soon. Lie down and turn your back to me.”
She gazed at him in confusion.
He was stripping off his shirt. “Mother of God, can’t you see I’m trying to spare your delicacy of feelings? Do you want to see me naked?”
“You’re cursing again.” She hurriedly scooted down and turned her back to him. She could hear his movements behind her. He was undressing. Soon he’d slip naked beside her in this bed. She supposed she should be frightened, but she was too bewildered to know what she was feeling.
“Move over.” He was standing beside the bed.
She hurriedly rolled to the far side of the bed. A cool draft chilled her as the covers were lifted and he slipped beneath them. She could feel the waves of heat his body emitted though he was not touching her. Sweet heaven, she was frightened. She began to tremble again.
“Stop that.” His tone was rough, yet, in an odd way, comforting. “It will be over soon.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want you. It’s only pretense. Skinny women don’t please me. Men don’t want every woman they see, you know.”
“The Marseilles at the abbey were—”
“That was different. That was a sickness, a fever.”
“Henriette was only ten years old.”
“Not all men are the same. Some men are aroused by only one kind of woman. Some men, like Robespierre, are totally abstinent. There are other men who don’t like women at all but prefer men.”
She was startled. “Really? Do you prefer—”
“No, I’m not a sodomite.”
“Oh,” she hesitated. “Then you …” She stopped, shivering in distaste. “You like to hurt women.”
“It doesn’t have to hurt. If a woman pleases me, I can make her enjoy what happens between us.”
She was silent.
“It’s true. I tell you, there’s no—” A soft knock halted the soft vehemence of his voice.
“Quick!” He was over her, flesh pressed to flesh before she knew what was happening. “Come in.”
The door opened to admit the same stout servant woman who had served their meal. She stopped and murmured something before rapidly clearing the table.
“Hurry.” François’s voice was thick with impatience.
The servant woman giggled and
her motions deliberately slowed.
A wild cascade of sensations and thoughts tumbled through Catherine as the warm, hard musculature of François’s chest pressed against her softness.
The tomb! She opened her lips to scream.
His gaze bore down as he whispered, “No!”
Her lips closed as she gazed helplessly up at him. Slowly the terror began to ebb away. It was the same, yet totally different, she realized. This body was warm, sleek, nude, not dressed in rough clothes that scratched her flesh. This body was hard and masculine, yet carefully withheld to save her both unnecessary contact and weight. This was no anonymous stranger above her. This was François, his face square, bold, its fierceness clearly defined in the candlelight. It was odd how that very fierceness offered her the comfort of blessed familiarity.
“Blow out the candles and begone,” François ordered over his shoulder.
Another giggle and the room was suddenly plunged into darkness. The door closed.
François settled as far from her as possible on the bed. “There, it’s over. I told you it wouldn’t be so bad.”
He had left her so quickly, it was clear he found the physical intimacy as distasteful as she had, Catherine thought. Her nipples still tingled from the warm texture of his skin against hers, the slight abrasion of the tight curly hair that thatched his chest. Yet she discovered to her surprise that the feeling wasn’t totally unpleasant. The entire experience had not been the horror she had thought and, as he said, it was now over. She breathed in a sigh of relief. “Do we go to sleep now?”
“If we can.”
She was beginning to think she would have no trouble sleeping that night. The ordeal was over, and every muscle in her body felt heavy, sluggish. “Do you stay here with me?”
“There’s only one bed.”
She closed her eyes. “Yes, of course.”
There was a long silence in the room before she spoke again. “May I ask a question?””
“Yes.”
“Why are you always so angry with me?”
He didn’t answer for such a long time she was beginning to think he was ignoring the question.
“Because I bleed inside when I look at you.”
“What?”
“Go to sleep.”
Another silence fell between them.
“I’m sorry I was so foolish. I didn’t understand.”
“Understand?”
“That you didn’t want to hurt me.” She turned on her side to face the wall. “I thought all men desired women only because they were women. I’m glad you explained. I feel more at ease with you now.”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” she whispered drowsily. “I’m glad I don’t please you and you don’t want me.”
“No, I don’t want you.”
As she drifted off to sleep she heard him repeat the words. Strange, on his lips they sounded like one of the holy litanies the nuns had taught her.
“You don’t please me.
“And I don’t want you.”
Juliette met them at the door when François and Catherine arrived at the Place Royale the next morning.
“Is all well with you?” Juliette’s gaze anxiously searched Catherine’s face. She felt a surge of relief. Catherine showed no sign of ill treatment. In truth, her expression was surprisingly alert. “He did you no harm?”
“Other than stinging my ears with his foul language, he did me no harm,” Catherine said. “He has a more unruly tongue than even you, Juliette.”
“I’ve had a few more years to practice.” François smiled faintly. “And I didn’t spend my childhood in a nunnery.”
Catherine frowned. “Still, you should not—”
“Well, it’s done.” Juliette pulled Catherine into the foyer, untied her bonnet, and took it off. “You’re home safe and I’ll take care of you. Are you tired?”
Catherine looked at her uncertainly. “I don’t think so. I slept very well.”
“Good. But perhaps you should rest anyway. Jean Marc and Philippe are at Monsieur Bardot’s place of business arranging for funds for your stay at Vasaro. When they return we’ll have dinner and then be on our way. Run along to your room and I’ll be up in a moment.”
The vivaciousness faded from Catherine’s expression. “If you think it best.” She turned obediently toward the stairs.
“Wait. Don’t do it,” François said softly. “Tell her no, Catherine.”
Juliette frowned. “Why should she? You know she’s not been well. She should rest before the trip. Look at her, she’s fading more by the minute.”
“Perhaps I am a little tired.” Catherine ignored François’s frown as she started heavily up the stairs. “I’d like to go to the garden before we leave for Vasaro. Do I have time, Juliette?”
“After your rest.” Juliette turned to François. “I’d like to speak to you.”
“I thought you would.” His gaze was following Catherine as she slowly climbed the steps. “I believe I’d like to talk to you as well. Come along.”
He turned and strode into the salon.
Juliette hesitated in surprise at his assumption of command before hurrying after him. “You shouldn’t have taken her away last night. You had no right. You could have frightened her.”
“I did frighten her.”
Juliette stiffened. “What did you do to her?”
“Oh, I didn’t force myself upon her, if that’s what you suspect.” François met Juliette’s gaze. “But I frightened her, and made her angry, and made her face unpleasantness.” He paused. “Just as you’ve been facing it since you left the abbey.”
“I’m able to face it. Catherine’s not strong enough to deal with it yet.”
“She’s stronger than you think. Last night she came alive. If she’s as fragile as you seem to think, she should have wept or swooned and she did neither. And I think I discovered why she’s been getting worse instead of better.” He paused. “It’s you.”
“Me!”
“You’ve been smothering her.”
Juliette gazed at him incredulously. “That’s not true. You know nothing about her. She needs me.”
“Does she?” François said softly. “Or do you need her?”
Juliette’s hands clenched into fists. “You’re wrong. She can’t do without my help. She’s with child.”
“She did without you last night.” François studied Juliette with cool objectivity. “I don’t doubt you care for her, but no one is worse for her at the moment than you. She needs to stop leaning and stand by herself, and I don’t believe you’re capable of letting her do that.”
“You lie! I’m capable of doing anything that will help her.”
He slowly shook his head. “You’ll smother her with attention and soon she won’t be able to live without it. You’re beginning to destroy her. You care too much for her to force her to stand alone.”
“And you wouldn’t care if she did fall when she found she hadn’t the strength to stand alone.”
He shrugged, his expression bland. “Why should I care? We both know I married her for the dowry. Once you leave this afternoon, I’ll be done with all of you. I offer you the benefit of my experience only as a disinterested observer.”
“As a spy.” Juliette’s voice was shaking. “Philippe said you were Danton’s spy.”
“True.”
“And an assassin.”
“I’ve killed men.”
“Yet you presume to tell me I’m—”
“You might ask yourself why you’re so upset that you’re hurling names at me.” François turned toward the door. “If you really care for Catherine’s welfare, you’ll find a way of leaving her to fend for herself once you’ve arrived at Vasaro.”
He walked out of the salon and a moment later she heard the door close behind him.
It wasn’t true. Catherine did need her.
Yet Catherine had looked surprisingly well when she arrived that morning. Not withdrawn and wit
hout spirit as she had been when she left the house the previous afternoon. It had been only when Juliette had begun to take charge and make suggestions that Catherine’s lethargy had returned.
Juliette could feel the tears burn her eyes and she blinked them away angrily. There could be other explanations. François didn’t have to be correct. She didn’t have to give up Catherine just because what he said had a few grains of truth.
You smother her.
You’re beginning to destroy her.
No one is worse for Catherine than you.
Or is it you who need her?
She had thought she was doing what was best for Catherine. Now she wasn’t sure of anything. François’s words had struck a chord that vibrated with the ring of truth.
She walked slowly from the salon and up the stairs.
Catherine lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, her gaze blank and dreamy. She was in the state Juliette had become accustomed to seeing her in the last few weeks. Now, after glimpsing the vivaciousness of her expression when she’d arrived so few minutes before with François, it came as a fresh shock.
Juliette smiled with an effort and came to sit on the bed beside her. “François said you were frightened last night.”
“Yes, there were some men at the inn who reminded me of—” Catherine stopped. “I wanted to run back here, but François wouldn’t let me. I knew you wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt me.”
“And I make you feel safe?”
“Oh, yes, always. I never have to worry about anything when you’re with me. You keep everything away from me.”
You won’t let her stand alone.
Juliette felt her hopes plummet as she reached out and took Catherine’s hand. “Tell me what happened last night.”
Catherine didn’t look at her. “I’d rather not talk. May I go down to the garden now?”
Catherine would go down to the garden and sit in dreamy silence. She would go to Vasaro and the silence would journey with her. Why? Because Juliette would be there to keep anything that might break the silence away from Catherine.
“Yes, you may go to the garden,” Juliette said numbly.
Mother of God, she hadn’t wanted Etchelet to be right.
Jean Marc helped Catherine into the carriage and looked beyond her at Philippe on the opposite seat. “Send a messenger as soon as you arrive safely at Vasaro. I wish to know at once.”