“So I watched for a few days and saw the members of your little group coming and going. I have names and I have addresses. I could send every one of you to the guillotine.”
Nana’s eyes were cold as she looked up from the fan. “Then you’re a fool to come here. We’d be stupid to let you leave alive.”
He laughed. “Why do you think Jordaneau allowed me to come back here to see you?” He reached into his coat and brought out an envelope. “Because I showed him this letter from the Comte de Provence. It’s very carefully worded, of course, but it places me in complete control of the actions of both you and your friend Raymond Jordaneau.”
She froze. “Indeed?”
He nodded with satisfaction. “After I realized who your master was, I immediately wrote and offered my services. I no longer have a secure position in the government now that Marat is dead.”
“So you now serve the Bourbons.”
“Why not? There’s a certain glory in royalty. My mother will be pleased to be honored at the court of Vienna.” He dabbed at his nose with his handkerchief. “The count said he had heard of my work and would be pleased to have my help in a certain awkward matter. So he gave me authority over the two of you.”
“Why not the entire group?”
“You know the answer to that.” He smiled. “Because only you and Raymond Jordaneau are totally his creatures. You do the count’s bidding, not Etchelet’s.” He tapped the letter with his forefinger. “The count made it quite clear whom I can trust in this delicate matter.”
“And we’re to obey you?”
“Without question or he’ll be forced to do without your services. He’s very concerned about the possibility the little king might be freed and taken, not to his own loving arms, but to England. He believes Etchelet is working toward that aim without informing him.”
Nana was silent a moment. “It’s true. Etchelet only recently told me about it. I would have sent word to Monsieur in my next report.”
“But you don’t have to report to him now. You report to me,” Dupree said. “Much more convenient. We can’t allow Etchelet to succeed, of course. The count has made that perfectly clear.”
“What are we to do?”
“Kill the boy.”
Nana nodded. It was the answer she had expected. “It’s the sensible thing to do. If Etchelet didn’t free the boy, then one of the other groups might. The Baron de Batz almost managed to free the queen days before she was guillotined. How will you kill the child?”
“I haven’t decided. I’ll let you know. The count wants the death blamed on Robespierre in order to disrupt the convention.” He shrugged. “That may take some manipulation.”
“You have access to the boy?”
“Of course. You forget who I am. I may no longer have my former power, but all the guards know of Raoul Dupree.” He rose to his feet. “Find out all you can from Etchelet regarding their plans. We must strike before them.”
She nodded. “Where do I reach you?”
He gave her the address of his lodgings. “You’ll come to me tonight.”
She looked at him in surprise. “I may not know anything for a few days.”
“You will come to me anyway. I require certain services.”
“What—” She broke off as she realized his meaning and couldn’t keep the distaste from her expression.
“You find me less than pleasing?” He laughed harshly. “So does the entire world. Andreas made me into this monster. Andreas and his bitch. We shall have to find a way to include them in our plans.” He turned away. “In the meantime, if you don’t wish me to send a report to the count that I found you unobliging, you’ll come to me tonight.”
He limped from the room.
TWENTY-THREE
François’s lodgings in the Temple looked more like a cell than living quarters for a municipal official, Catherine thought with a shiver as the officer stepped aside for her to enter. The stone walls seemed to breathe a damp chill and the furnishings were almost nonexistent: a simply crafted table with three chairs, a small chest, a narrow bed with only a shabby linen coverlet.
“I’ll have to wait here with you until Citizen Etchelet comes,” Captain Ardlaine told her apologetically as he pulled out a chair for her. “No one is allowed alone in the Tower without the proper papers.”
“I told you my husband didn’t know I was coming. He would have arranged to have me admitted if he’d—” She frowned. “Is it always this cold?” Catherine drew her crimson cloak more closely around her. The December cold seemed to pierce the thick stone walls. “Why is there no fire in the stove?”
“I’ll light one.” He moved toward the porcelain stove. “The citizen’s duties keep him away for most of the day, and it’s not practical to keep a fire—”
“Catherine!” François stood in the doorway.
He appeared harder, thinner, wearier than he had at Vasaro, she thought, but still he looked wonderful. She jumped to her feet. “This gentleman believes I don’t belong here, François. Please tell him I’m your wife.”
“My … wife,” François repeated slowly. He turned to the soldier. “Yes, of course, Paul, this is my wife, Catherine. God in heaven, what are you doing here, Catherine?”
She came toward him. “Why should I live in comfort at Vasaro when you choose to serve the republic by existing in this hovel? I decided I should be by your side.” She turned and smiled at the captain. “Thank you for being so kind, Captain. Will you have my boxes brought up from the courtyard now?”
The captain nodded. “You’re a lucky man, Citizen. But remember to get proper papers for her.”
“I’ll remember.” François’s gaze never left Catherine. “If she stays. My wife’s spirit is stronger than her constitution. I’m not sure living here would be the best thing for her.”
Catherine smiled at him. “I should know what’s best for me. Everyone knows a woman’s place is with her husband.”
As soon as the heavy oak door closed behind the captain, François demanded, “What’s this about, Catherine? Why are you here?”
She drew a deep breath. “This isn’t easy for me.”
“You have a message from Jean Marc?”
“No, I arrived only this morning. I haven’t seen Jean Marc yet.” She smiled ruefully. “Juliette knew he wouldn’t approve of my coming here, so she whisked me off before I could even—”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my husband,” she said simply.
He shook his head. “Nonsense. You never regarded that ceremony as anything but expedient.”
“It’s true that I’d like to be married again by a priest. Could we please do that, François?”
He went still. “What are you saying?”
“That … I love you.” She rushed on. “And I know you may not love me any longer, but I had to tell you. I had to try to—”
“Mother of God.” He swept her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. “Of course I love you,” he said thickly. “Always. But the abbey …”
Relief poured through her as her arms went around him to hold him tightly. “You persist in acting as if you’d raped me yourself. You should have explained why you couldn’t help me instead of letting Juliette tell me of William Darrell. Did you think me so shallow I would put my violation over the lives you’ve saved since then?”
“You forgive me?”
Her expression was sober as she stepped back and looked up at him. “The question is, do you forgive me? I was afraid to share your life even though I loved you. I don’t even know how you could still love me.”
“Don’t you?” His lips pressed her temple. “Perhaps because you have strength and gentleness … and truth.”
“Not truth. I seem to have told myself a good many lies in the past.” She smiled tremulously. “But I’ll try to give you truth from now on.”
His hands cupped her cheeks as he looked down into her eyes. “Catherine, I …” He kissed her gently, sw
eetly, with exquisite tenderness. He lifted his head and the expression on his face was as beautiful as the dawn rising over the fields of Vasaro. “My love.”
The joy became too strong to bear, and she closed her eyes for a moment. He was still looking at her with the same expression when she opened them and she knew she had to do something to lighten the moment or she would start to weep. She took a step back and laughed shakily. “Then it’s settled.” She looked around the apartment. “I must do something to improve this place. I don’t know how you can live in such discomfort. If we’re to stay here for any length of time, we must have blankets and carpets and a curtain for the window. And perhaps a comfortable chair by the stove for—”
“We?” He shook his head. “You can’t stay here.”
“Oh, but I can.” She gazed at him steadily. “I intend to stay here as long as you do, François. Make up your mind to the fact that I won’t return to Vasaro until you can return with me.”
“Catherine, I can’t come with you. There is much I have to do here.”
“I know, Juliette told me.” She reached up and touched his lips with her fingers. He belonged to her, she thought wonderingly. She had the right to reach out and touch him whenever she liked. “Then I’ll help you do them. We worked very well together at Vasaro. I’m sure we’ll do equally well here.”
“No.” His jaw set stubbornly. “You can’t stay at the Temple. For God’s sake, it’s a prison, Catherine.”
“That’s another reason we must make our surroundings as comfortable as possible.” Catherine brushed a kiss on his cheekbone before moving toward the door. “They’re bringing my boxes now. Will you see if that nice captain can find me an armoire in this vast place? I must go back to Jean Marc’s house and beg linens and blankets.”
“Stay there.”
“And we must keep a fire burning in the stove all the time. These stone walls are dreadfully damp.”
“Catherine, I have no intention of arranging a pass for you. The guards will refuse to let you back through the gates.”
“No, they won’t.” She paused at the door, her smile infinitely loving as she looked back at him. “Because, if they do, I’ll sit at the gate and weep and wail until they let me come to you. And that would cause a good deal of attention, don’t you think?”
“Yes, but you still—”
“And attention shouldn’t be focused on you at the present time. Besides, didn’t you marry me to protect me from the eye of the republic? Would you want word of François’s poor, rejected bride to be bandied among the soldiers and come to the ears of the Commune?”
A slow smile lit his face. “You’d really do it, wouldn’t you?”
She smiled serenely. “Certainly. I thought I’d made clear my position. If you wish me to be gone from here, you must accomplish your task quickly so that we may both leave.”
He shook his head ruefully as he bowed with a flourish. “I’ll do all within my power to oblige you, Madame.”
“And I’ll do all to oblige you,” she said softly, her gaze clinging to his a moment longer before she turned away and opened the door. “Remember the armoire.”
A Savonnerie carpet patterned in beige and ivory now covered the cold stone floor and heavy rose-colored-velvet drapes hung at the window. A scarlet velvet coverlet had replaced the linen blanket, and a massive cream-covered cushioned chair with a matching footrest occupied the area next to the porcelain stove.
“It’s not too bad.” Catherine tilted her head critically as she looked around the room. “I like the yellow curtains in my room at Vasaro better, but these are heavier and will do more to shut out the cold.”
“Did you leave Jean Marc any furniture?” François asked as he leaned back and rested his head on the cushioned back of the chair. “As I recall, he had a fondness for this chair. He always sat in it when we met in the Gold Salon.”
“Because it’s large enough for a big man. You need it more than he does.” Catherine smiled. “Don’t worry, he didn’t argue with me when I took it. Jean Marc has many chairs and he can spare us this one.” She shivered. “It’s still chilly here. We can’t seem to get rid of the cold. Is the little boy’s apartment this cold?”
François nodded. “But he’s not uncomfortable. The Simons treat him very well, by their own standards. Of late they’ve let him live a normal life.” His lips twisted. “Though, God knows, at first they did everything to turn him into what the republic wanted.”
“What do you mean?”
“Simon had orders to coarsen him, educate him in the ways of the common man.”
She frowned, puzzled. “What did they do?”
“Brought in whores, taught him to drink wine as if it were water. He was in a drunken haze during most of the period before they guillotined his mother.”
Catherine looked at him in horror. “But he’s only a little boy. How could they do that to him?”
“It’s Simon’s idea of heaven for the common man,” François said dryly. “Whores, wine, and time to enjoy both. In his eyes he was only doing his duty and showing the boy a fine time.”
Catherine shook her head. “How is Louis Charles now?”
“Old for his years. When I look at him and remember Michel …” His gaze met her own. “They’ve robbed him of his childhood. I want to give it back to him, Catherine, but I don’t know if anyone can.”
Tears welled in Catherine’s eyes as she heard the weariness and discouragement in his tone. He had struggled long and hard against tremendous odds and had lost as often as he had won. Pray God he did not lose this time. “When can I meet him?”
“Tomorrow. I have supper with the Simons twice a week and then play cards with Simon and a few of the officers. You’re sure you want to do this? They’re crude, bawdy people.”
“The field workers at Vasaro are certainly not genteel.” She smiled. “And I liked them very much indeed.” Her smile faded. “Though I don’t believe I’ll like these people. To bring whores to an eight-year-old boy …”
He held out his hand and she came to stand before him. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “You could always go back to your garden.”
“No, I couldn’t,” she whispered. “Not without you. Never again without you, François.”
He pulled her down on his lap and cradled her in his arms. He sat holding her, carefully, lovingly, for a long time without speaking. At first she was aware only of the delicious pleasure of being close and held as if she were a treasure infinitely precious to him. However, gradually she became aware the muscles of his body were hardening against her own. Her heart leapt and then began to pound harder as his lips pressed to her throat.
“You do know how much I want you?” he whispered.
She stiffened and then forced herself to relax against him. She had known this moment would come, and she had thought she’d prepared herself for it. She laughed shakily. “That night we were wed you said you didn’t like skinny women.”
“I lied.”
“When I thought about it later, I suspected you had.”
“I wanted you so much I was hurting.”
They were silent a long time.
His voice was muffled against her hair. “It doesn’t have to be tonight. I can wait.”
She was frightened. She could tell him to wait and he would do it. She wouldn’t have to face the fear tonight.
But if she told him to wait, she would be hiding again.
“No.” Her voice was trembling. “Now. Though I may not be able to please you.”
“You’ll please me.” His fingers sought and found the pins holding her bun, plucking them out one by one and dropping them on the floor. “If you only let me hold you close, you’ll please me. It pleases me to look at you, to hear you laugh.” He threaded his fingers through her long hair. “That’s the difference between love and lust, Catherine.”
His green eyes were so intent, his smile so tender, she felt her fear melting away. “How … do we start?
”
He lifted a long silken strand and rubbed it on his lips. “Anywhere we choose. We can do anything we like. There are no rules.” Suddenly his smile widened mischievously. “I know. Why don’t I brush your hair, my sweet?”
The pounding of her heart was starting to steady as she looked up at François. “Is … it over?”
A shudder went through François’s body as he moved off her and lay down beside her. “Yes.” His chest was moving in and out with the unevenness of his breathing. He turned her over and cradled her spoon fashion. “For now.”
“You were quite … intense.” She thought about it. “Does it always bring you that much pleasure?”
“It always brings pleasure but this”—he kissed her ear—“this is extraordinary, my love.”
“Why?”
“Do you suppose it’s because I love you? I can’t think of any other reason.”
“I like to know I brought you pleasure. It … warms me.”
He went still. “But you felt no pleasure yourself, did you?”
“I don’t know what you mean. I told you I—”
“Were you frightened?”
“At first, but not later.” She kissed the arm binding her to him. “You were so kind to me. I was afraid I’d see … but there was only you.”
“That’s good.” His voice was husky in her ear. “But I want more for you. Tell me what you felt, Catherine. I need to know.”
“Warmth, comfort, love.” She nestled against him. “It was really quite pleasant.”
“Nothing else?”
“Toward the end a kind of … tingling.” She rushed to assure him. “But you didn’t hurt me. I know you were being very careful.”
“Not careful enough. I should have taken more time. I tried but …” His lips brushed her ear and his voice was suddenly hoarse. “I’ve loved you for too long, Catherine.”
“Why do you feel so bad? I told you that I thought you—”
“Kind and gentle.” His arms tightened about her. “I believe I’m too impatient.”
“There’s something wrong? I was supposed to do something else?”
“No, I just thank God you’re not afraid of me.” He kissed her gently. “Never mind, another time. This is enough for now.”