“I’d say your incendiary capabilities are extraordinary.” To her relief, Jean Marc finally shifted his gaze. “Do I detect a hint of sentiment?”
She shook her head. “It’s very beautiful here, but I liked the abbey better.” She was silent a moment. “Why did you intercede with the queen to have me sent there?”
“Why do you think?”
“Because of Catherine.”
“It was partly Catherine.” His voice was suddenly rough as his gaze returned to her face. “Stop chattering. It doesn’t matter if you’re frightened.”
She should have realized she couldn’t deceive him. “I’m only a little frightened.”
“But you won’t give in to it. You won’t let anyone see.” He knelt beside her and pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “Christ, stop trying to hide it.”
He felt hard and strong and smelled of spice and the night. She buried her face in his shoulder. “You told me not to let you see any weakness.”
“Did I?” His hand gently stroked her hair. “Ah, yes, I’d forgotten. I’m not usually so generous as to give warnings. Never mind, this isn’t the kind of battleground I was speaking about.”
“I’ll be all right soon. It was the surprise …”
“I was scared out of my wits too.”
She looked up at him in surprise. “You were? You didn’t show it.”
“I’ve had a few more years of practice hiding my feelings than you have.”
She didn’t know any other man who would have admitted to fear, but he had never been like other men. He had always been only Jean Marc, and the gift he was giving her tonight was as unique as the man himself. He had saved her pride by his simple admission of fear. “You’re a strange man.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“Because it’s true.” She nestled closer into his arms. “I never know what you’re going to do next.”
“Nothing at the moment. Hush.”
She fell silent for a moment, absorbing his comfort and strength. Warmth flowed through her, not the tingling heat of lust but something deeper, cozier. She suddenly chuckled. “I feel very foolish kneeling here like this. We must look like two porcelain figures in a music box.”
“You must be feeling better if you’re thinking in pictures.” Jean Marc cast a glance out the window and then rose to his feet and opened the door. “I believe it’s safe to leave now.”
Juliette scrambled to her feet and grabbed the lantern. “Shall I light it?”
Jean Marc was already going down the steps. “Not if we can avoid it. It might be seen.” Jean Marc knelt by the sphinx again, examining it closely. “I see no levers.” He pushed at the base. “The foundation is solid.” He pushed sideways on the body of the sphinx.
It moved!
He pushed again, harder.
The statue swung to the side at a right angle, revealing a deep cavity measuring a good two feet square.
“I can’t see. Light the lantern.”
Juliette’s hands were trembling as she obeyed him. She drew closer to the sphinx, blocking the light with her body as she held the lantern directly over the dark cavity.
She heard Jean Marc mutter a curse but she was too shocked to speak.
The cache was empty.
Jean Marc smiled and waved at the guard at the front gate as the wagon passed under the Sun King’s golden emblem.
He snapped the whip and the horses picked up speed. As the wagon began to rumble through the streets of the town Jean Marc’s smile vanished. “So where is it?”
“I don’t know. She said it was at the Belvedere.”
“Then you’re evidently mistaken about her trusting you. She sent you on a fool’s errand.”
“I don’t think so.”
Jean Marc shot her an impatient glance. “The Wind Dancer wasn’t there, Juliette.”
“But I’m certain she didn’t realize it wasn’t still where she put—” Juliette stopped, her eyes widening as she remembered the queen’s exact wording. “But she didn’t put it in the cache herself.”
“No?”
Juliette shook her head. “She said, ‘I had it hidden in the Belvedere.’ Someone else must have hidden it for her.”
“And then taken it out unbeknownst to her. Who?”
“Someone she trusted.” Juliette shrugged. “It could have been anyone. The queen’s never been overly shrewd and trusted almost everyone at court. Her ladies-in-waiting, a servant, her family. We’ll have to ask her.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
“I’ll go back to the Temple.”
“No.” Jean Marc’s tone was sharp as a scythe. “You most certainly will not.”
“But I’ll have to ask—” She stopped. “But François said he wouldn’t help me another time. I suppose you’re right. I won’t be able to visit her again, but there must be another way to find out.” She frowned. “William Darrell quite likely has access to Her Majesty.”
“Who in perdition is William Darrell?”
“I’m not sure. The name sounds English, doesn’t it? The queen told me to give him the money I received from you. If he’s trying to help her escape, he must be able to get a message to her.”
“Perhaps. Did she tell you where to reach him?”
Juliette nodded. “I’m to ask for him at a café on the Pont Neuf. I’ll go there tomorrow.”
Jean Marc smiled sardonically. “In your chimneysweep disguise?”
“Of course not. That wouldn’t be at all suitable. I’ll have to think of something else.”
“I’m the one who’ll go.”
Juliette shook her head. “I won’t tell you where he can be found unless you promise to let me go too.”
“This place is no doubt a hotbed of royalist sympathizers with every agent of the Commune sniffing about.”
“You exaggerate. So far I’ve found the Commune to be composed of bumblers and lummoxes. Look how easily I got in to see the queen. And tonight we danced past that guard at the gate—”
“And were almost captured by the patrol,” Jean Marc finished. “They’re not all bumblers. You forget our friends François and Danton.”
“But they’re no threat to us. It’s worth the risk. You want the Wind Dancer and I want the two million livres.”
They reached the outskirts of the town and Jean Marc turned the wagon toward Paris. “I believe I’m going to regret this. I should leave you at an inn here with funds enough to take you to Vasaro on the coach.”
“I’d only follow you.”
“On foot?”
“Why not? I’m young and strong and—”
“Not a doddering man of thirty—”
“Thirty-two.”
“I was going to say that.”
“You needn’t snap at me.”
He glanced sidewise at her. “Why not? You’ve certainly recovered your equanimity and you’re clearly trying to annoy me. I should think it would offer you satisfaction.” He smiled crookedly. “Enjoy it, Juliette. When you realize why you are doing this, I think it will bring you little pleasure.”
She had already begun to suspect why drawing fire from him had brought her such a feeling of exhilaration. But now she realized since that moment when he had held her in the pavilion the excitement and satisfaction of taunting him had entirely vanished. She looked away from him. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going back to Paris with you tonight, and tomorrow night I’m going to the café to see this William Darrell. The discussion is closed.”
“Not quite.”
Juliette gazed at him warily.
“It’s a long trip back to Paris. I wish to be amused. Tell me a few anecdotes of your interesting past at Versailles.”
“It wasn’t very interesting. All I did was paint.”
“But you had many fascinating acquaintances,” Jean Marc said softly. “For instance, I think it’s time you told me all about the ‘triviality.’ Who was the Duc de Gramont?”
/> THIRTEEN
The hair of the stylishly coiffed wig was so pale a shade of gold, it shimmered silver beneath the candles of the chandelier of the foyer.
“Take it off,” Jean Marc said flatly.
“Don’t be foolish, it’s part of my disguise.” Juliette drew the wine-colored velvet cloak more closely about her as she came down the staircase toward him. “I think it looks quite splendid. Marie said Madame Lamartine obtained the hair for the wig from a village in Sweden where all the women have hair of this color.”
“Everyone at the café will be staring at you.”
As Jean Marc was staring at her now. Juliette’s heart began to pound harder, and the excitement she had known the previous night suddenly returned. She could see an emotion other than displeasure in his expression. “Oh, but they’ll be staring at Jean Marc Andreas’s latest mistress, not at Citizeness Justice.”
“My mistress?”
“Danton said I needed a more clever disguise, and you were most insulting about my dirty face.” Juliette strolled over to the ornate gilt-framed Venetian mirror on the wall and patted the long curls spiraling in glossy clusters to touch her bare shoulders. “I look completely different. I believe I like this much better than being the lamplight’s daughter. Yes, this will be my permanent disguise.”
“The one is as bad as the other. I dislike fair hair intensely.”
Juliette gazed at Jean Marc’s reflection in the mirror. “But why? It’s a very fine wig and a very fine disguise. You’re a rich man who has had many mistresses. I live in your house. Therefore, isn’t it natural I should occupy your bed?”
“Entirely natural.” His gaze narrowed on her face. “What are you trying to do, Juliette? I’m not a man you can tease with impunity.”
“I’m not teasing you. I wouldn’t know how. What’s your objection to my pretending to be your mistress?” Juliette suddenly snapped her fingers. “I know, you don’t think I’m ravissante enough. It’s true I’m not pretty, but that needn’t make any difference.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “There were a few women at Versailles who weren’t pretty but still seemed to fascinate gentlemen.” She frowned. “I wish I’d paid more attention to how they deported themselves.” Her brow cleared. “Oh, well, I’m sure I’ll play the role very well. I’m not unintelligent, and if I do something wrong, you can always tell me. You’ve had more experience dealing with the demimonde than I.”
“I’m to be your instructor, then?”
“No, you must only—” She broke off as she met his gaze in the mirror. She realized she had gone too far. What demon prompted her to goad Jean Marc in the direction she had no intention of traveling? He was looking at her as he had that night in the dining room, and she again experienced the strange hot breathlessness. She glanced hurriedly away. “Never mind, I’ll probably do very well alone.”
His black eyes glittered as he took a step toward her; the movement was stalking, predatory. “But the role you’ve chosen requires my complete cooperation.”
“Not necessarily.” She turned quickly and started for the front door. “Only when we’re in public must you pretend to find me très intéressante. You can do that.”
Jean Marc opened the door. “Oh, yes, I can do that.”
The Café du Chat was brightly lit, noisy, and the patrons a mixed group of students, workers, and well-dressed merchants who were accompanied by ladies of various stations ranging from poorly dressed stolid peasants to flamboyant birds of paradise who laid no claim to domesticity.
“You see, I’m not at all out of place.” Juliette sat down at a small damask-covered table in the corner of the room. “I’m certain that red-haired woman with the short fat gentleman is not his wife.” She tilted her head. “Perhaps I should study her.”
“Don’t bother. I’d never consider her for a mistress.” Jean Marc motioned to a burly man wearing a leather waistcoat and white apron who was bearing a tray to another table. “And we’re not here to further your knowledge of demimondaines.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Juliette unfastened her cloak and let it slip from her shoulders to the back of her chair. “Her face is a trifle hard but very pretty and has—Why are you laughing?”
His gaze was on the low square neckline of her wine-colored gown. “Forgive me, but have you not … blossomed?”
“You think it’s too much? I have a small bosom, so I stuffed six handkerchiefs down my front to push me up and make me appear more womanly. Don’t gentlemen prefer ladies with large breasts?”
“I believe you can dispense with the handkerchiefs.” His gaze lingered on the bared flesh glowing against the wine-colored velvet. “Large breasts are not required.”
“That’s a relief.” She made a face. “The handkerchiefs are not at all comfortable. The lace borders scratch and make me want to pull them out.”
“What an interesting—” He stopped as the burly man he’d summoned appeared at his elbow. “A bottle of wine and fruit juice for the citizeness.” He paused and lowered his voice. “And a word with Citizen William Darrell.”
The man’s chubby, cheerful face didn’t change expression. “Will you have some of my fine lamb stew? It’s the best in all of Paris.”
“I think not.”
The man turned and wound his way across the room to the kegs against the wall. He returned and set a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table. “It’s too late in the year for fruit juice.”
“Water,” Juliette said impatiently. “And William Darrell.”
“Water?” The waiter shrugged and turned away. “I will see.”
“What’s wrong with the man? He’s not paying any attention to us.”
Jean Marc poured wine into one of the glasses. “You should really get over your aversion to wine.”
Juliette’s gaze was following the waiter. “He’s serving someone else. Why doesn’t he—”
“A lovely fan for the citizeness?” A tall woman with glossy chestnut hair plopped down onto the chair between Jean Marc and Juliette and placed her straw tray of paper fans on the table. “Every citizeness wants a pretty fan to show where her loyalty lies.” She unfurled the fan in her hand. “Here’s one of the glorious capture of the Bastille. I painted it myself. See the red glow of the torches and the—”
“The citizeness doesn’t want a fan,” Jean Marc said.
“Perhaps one of Danton or Robespierre.” The woman fumbled through her tray and triumphantly withdrew a fan. “Here’s Citizen Danton. Notice the noble brow.”
“This is a terrible painting.” Juliette took the crudely executed fan and shook her head. “And it doesn’t even look like Danton. Danton is ugly.”
“But such a man has noble thoughts.” An engaging grin lit the woman’s freckled face. “I paint the ideal, not the man.”
“You paint carelessly, and ideals do not excuse such a terrible misuse of color and form. Have you no respect for your craft? How can you offer—”
“If you don’t like Danton …” The woman fumbled among her merchandise again and extracted another fan and unfurled it with a flourish. “The Temple, where our patriots hold those bloody tyrants.”
“These towers are completely out of proportion. You have them almost the same size, and this one is much larger.”
“Wait.” Jean Marc took the fan and looked at it more closely. “This one has a certain charm. Observe the pigeons, my dear.” He lifted his gaze to meet Juliette’s. “Four pigeons taking flight from the large tower.”
Juliette’s gaze flew to the fan vendor’s face.
The woman smiled. “You wish to buy this fan?”
“I haven’t decided.” Juliette studied the woman with more care.
The woman was well worth a second look, Jean Marc thought. She seemed to be a trifle under thirty, certainly not in her first youth, yet her yellow woolen gown flattered both her shining brown hair and full, statuesque figure. Her features were nondescript and her cheeks and
snub nose liberally dusted with freckles, but the expression in her hazel eyes was lively and her smile full of humor.
Jean Marc leaned forward in his chair. “Show us something else, Citizeness …?”
“Nana Sarpelier.”
“I’m Jean Marc Andreas, and this is Citizeness Juliette de Clement.”
The woman unfurled another fan. “This one may please you. It’s a ship of our glorious navy. Notice the sails battened by the wind and the figurehead of Virtue Incarnate.”
“And the name of the ship on the bow,” Jean Marc said softly.
“The Darrell.” Juliette pounced. “Where is he? We want to see him.”
“Who sent you here?” Nana Sarpelier unfurled another fan and batted her long lashes flirtatiously over the rim as she fanned herself.
“The lady in the Tower,” Jean Marc said.
The fan seller opened another fan. “That’s difficult to believe.”
“How else would we know to come here?” Juliette asked. “We need to speak to William Darrell.”
“There is no William Darrell. The name’s only a password.” The fan vendor closed the fan. “However, there are certain people with the same interests in fans as yourselves who might be able to help you. Give me your message.”
“I need to ask the queen something and I have no way to get back into the Temple to see her,” Juliette said. “But your group must be able to do so.”
“We don’t risk contact unless it’s important.”
“Would two million livres pouring into your coffers for our common purpose be considered of importance?”
Nana Sarpelier didn’t change expression. “It’s certainly a good deal of money. Still, it would have to be discussed.”
“When?”
“I’m not sure. What message do you wish us to give to her?”
“A question.” Juliette leaned forward. “Tell her Juliette needs to know who placed the object in the cache. The name of the person. The name.”
The fan vendor took back from Jean Marc the fan depicting the Temple, gave him the one of Danton, and held out her hand palm up. “Give me a few francs.” She put the money Jean Marc gave her on her tray and stood up. “Merci, Citizen. The lady will be the envy of all when she displays my fan.”