Storm Winds (43 page)

Jean Marc’s gaze was fixed soberly on her face. “Don’t do it, Juliette. I find myself in the odd position of respecting you, which is not at all common for me. For once in my life I’m trying to forget about what I want and let you go free. It’s no mean sacrifice on my part.” He paused. “You were right. I’ve never loved a woman and never intend to do so. It’s all a game to me and, once I start it, I have to win. I never give up until I do. Take my advice and escape. Unless you want our relationship to culminate in the usual pleasurable manner, you’ll stay at Vasaro.” He started up the stairs. “And if you do decide to come, I wouldn’t advise you to bring that abominable nightgown for which you have such a fondness. The very first thing, I’d throw it over the side.”

“Who is he?” Michel asked.

Catherine tossed two more roses into the basket before she looked at the crest of the hill where Michel was pointing.

François Etchelet stood watching them, his gaze focused intently on Catherine. “François Etchelet, one of the visitors from Paris.”

“I know that. He was there at the house the day you were hurt, but who is he to you?”

“I told you.”

“He was angry with Monsieur Philippe,” Michel said. “I think he wanted to kill him because he hurt you.”

“You’re mistaken, he cares nothing for me.” Yet this man was her husband, she remembered with a sense of shock. If not in the eyes of God, in the eyes of the republic of France. The memory of that day had faded and become as dreamlike as everything else that had happened before she had looked out the carriage window the first day and seen the flowers. Vasaro was now the only reality.

“He’s waiting for you. He wants you to come to him,” Michel said. “I think he’ll stand there until you do.”

Catherine smiled. “Well, we wouldn’t want him to take root on the hill. It might prove very inconvenient to have to work around him if we decide we need to plant it someday.” She started down the row. “I’ll be back soon, Michel.”

He didn’t answer, and when she glanced back it was to see Michel still gazing thoughtfully at François.

“Juliette told me you were here. I didn’t expect to see you looking so well,” François said as she reached the crest of the hill. His gaze went slowly over her from her thick single braid to the wooden shoes on her feet. “I thought you’d still be—”

“Lying frail and sickly in my bed?” Catherine finished. “I’m quite well again.”

François nodded slowly. “I see you are.” His gaze suddenly swooped to her face. “Do you still dream?”

She tensed. “I forgot you knew about that stupidity. I regret I was such a bother to everyone during that time.” She paused. “I’m happy you, at least, were well paid for your efforts on my behalf.”

“Very well paid,” he agreed impassively. “You didn’t answer me. Do you still dream?”

“Occasionally, but it’s to be expected. It’s been over a week since I had the last one.” She was beginning to
be uncomfortable beneath the intensity of his stare and rushed on. “Juliette tells me you’ll be leaving tonight for Spain.”

François nodded. “We sail at midnight.”

“You’ll wish to leave Vasaro early. I’ll order supper for five o’clock.”

He suddenly smiled. “A hardy laborer in the field and now gracious mistress of the household? I find myself wondering what other sides to your character I’ll discover.”

“I wonder myself.” She turned and started back down the hill toward the fields and said over her shoulder, “You’ll like the wine of Vasaro. It flows sweetly but has a delicious bite.”

“An interesting description.” There was a thickness in his voice that made her gaze fly back to him in surprise. His face was without expression as he said, “I look forward to trying it.”

A shiver went through her like that brought by a sudden hot wind on fields wet with rain. She felt a tightening of the muscles of her stomach and suddenly her breasts felt … different. Fear?

She looked away from him, her pace quickening as she fled down the hill and through the field until she reached Michel. She began to feverishly pick the blossoms and toss them into the basket.

“You’ve lost the rhythm,” Michel told her, his gaze on the hill. “He’s still watching you.”

Catherine slowed and began to take more care. “Why are you so interested in him?”

“He’s gone now.” Michel began to pick the blossoms again.

“Why?” she persisted.

“I think he’s one of the ones who could understand the flowers.”

Catherine laughed and shook her head. “He’s not at all a gentle man, Michel.”

“It doesn’t take gentleness, it takes …” He paused, trying to put it into words. “A knowing. A feeling.”

“And he has it?”

“I think so.” Michel frowned. “I knew you would understand them, but he’s not like you.”

No, they had nothing at all in common, Catherine thought, and François was evidently capable of making her feel most uneasy. It was an excellent thing he was leaving Vasaro that night. The serenity she now possessed had been hard won, and she did not wish it to be endangered.

Catherine’s uneasiness became even more acute when she walked into the salon that evening and met François’s gaze. He rose to his feet and bowed politely but his stare was as intent as it had been that afternoon.

She suddenly became aware of the bareness of her shoulders gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight, the swelling of her breasts above the ivory satin of her gown. “Please, be seated.” She hurriedly sat down in an armchair and looked at Jean Marc. He was dressed for the journey in boots and dark clothing and she tardily realized François was similarly garbed. “Supper will be served in a quarter hour. I hope that will be all right?”

“Perfectly all right. Wine, Catherine?” Jean Marc was at the cabinet across the room, pouring wine into glasses. “You look in splendid health.”

“Splendid,” François echoed softly as he resumed his seat. The warmth of his smile embraced her across the room.

Catherine tore her gaze from François. “Wine? Yes, please. Where’s Juliette?”

“She hasn’t come down to supper yet.” Jean Marc turned and handed a glass to Catherine and then moved across the room and gave the other to François. “I haven’t seen her since last night.”

“I saw her this morning before I left for the fields. She’s probably sketching and forgotten the time again.” Catherine took a sip of wine. “If she’s not down in a few minutes, I’ll look for her.”

“There’s no hurry.” Jean Marc sat down and stretched his booted legs out before him. “Juliette’s seldom on time. Drink your wine.”

Catherine shot him a curious glance. “You’ve discovered that?”

“ ‘I’ve discovered a good many things about Juliette.” Jean Marc glanced idly at François. “You’re not drinking your wine.”

Catherine smiled. “It’s the Vasaro wine I told you about. You remember?”

“I remember.” François quickly raised the glass to his lips and drank deeply.

“Do you like it?” Catherine asked. “This is a good vintage.”

François nodded, his gaze meeting Catherine’s. “I find the bite more obvious than the sweetness, but sometimes that’s what a man needs.”

“Is it?” Heat began to tingle through her and she hastily averted her eyes. “Philippe said this year’s grapes would be excellent. I hope he’s right. The vineyards are—”

A sharp clatter interrupted her words.

She looked back at François, startled. He was slumped sidewise in his chair and his glass had shattered on the floor, the red wine splashed across the oaken tiles.

Catherine jumped up and rushed toward François in alarm. “Jean Marc, he’s ill!”

“No.” Jean Marc stood up and moved swiftly across the room. He pushed François’s head back and examined his face. He straightened and added with satisfaction, “But he’s very definitely asleep. He didn’t drink it all, but it should keep him out of the way until the ship is under sail.”

“You
drugged
him?”

“I thought it kinder than hitting him on the head,” Jean Marc said, then shrugged. “I respect the man. I didn’t want to hurt him.” He opened the top buttons of François’s shirt and spread back the stiff collar. “Now he should be comfortable enough. I have a horse saddled and waiting in the stable. By the time he begins to stir, the
Bonne Chance
will be out of the harbor.”

“This is not well done, Jean Marc,” Catherine said coldly. “He is a guest in my house.”

“My dear Catherine, would you have preferred I
waited until I got to Cannes and left him lying in the gutter for the thieves to pick?”

“No, but it is not right—”

“Danton set him to spy on me. I
won’t
find the statue only to have him take it away from me and give it to the republic.
Au revoir
, Catherine, tell Juliette I—” He stopped. “You probably won’t get a chance to tell her anything when she finds out I’ve left without her. She can be very voluble when she’s displeased.”

He left the salon and a moment later Catherine heard the front door slam behind him.

T
he
Bonne Chance
sailed out of Cannes harbor in late evening.

“I see no reason for all this hurry. I hope you know we left half of the trade cargo in the warehouse, Jean Marc,” Simon De Laux, Jean Marc’s captain of the
Bonne Chance
, said as he looked grimly back at the shore. “Mind, this journey won’t pay for itself.”

“Yes, it will.” Jean Marc slanted Simon a smile. “It may be the most profitable trip of our long association together.”

“I don’t see it.”

“Just put me ashore at La Escala as soon as possible and I promise I’ll be more than content.”

Simon shrugged as he turned away from the rail. “If that’s what you wish.” He started to climb the steps to the bridge. “By the way, I sent the woman to your cabin.”

Jean Marc froze. “Woman?”

“Mademoiselle de Clement. She came on board early this afternoon.” He grimaced. “She’s been sitting on deck all day sketching the men as they loaded cargo. If you must bring along a woman, I wish you’d choose one who doesn’t order my sailors to stop their work and pose for her. I might have been able to load all the cargo if—” He stopped as he saw Jean Marc’s expression. “You didn’t expect her?”

Juliette. Jean Marc’s hands tightened on the rail as he felt the sudden thickening in his groin. The surge of lust tearing through him was so violent it took him off guard and he couldn’t speak for a moment. “Yes.” Buried within him had been the knowledge Juliette would not give up. That she was on board filled him with a wild mixture of emotions he was half afraid to examine. He could accept the lust and excitement of the challenge to come, but for an instant there had also been joy and that must be banished. “Yes, I suppose I did expect her.”

“I was surprised.” Simon’s bushy gray-black brows furrowed. “She’s not your usual type of woman, Jean Marc.”

“No.” Jean Marc turned and strode down the deck toward the master cabin. “She’s not usual in any way.”

Juliette was sketching, curled comfortably on the bunk. Comfort fled and every muscle stiffened as Jean Marc walked into the cabin. His usual shuttered expression was firmly in place, but she could sense the volatility hidden beneath his quizzical smile. She swiftly lowered her gaze to the sketch she was finishing of the sailor lifting a cask of wine onto the deck. “Good evening, Jean Marc, I expected you much later. Did you rid yourself of François?”

“Yes, it proved simple enough. A bit of laudanum in his wine.” He closed the door and leaned back against it. “But it’s not such an easy matter to get rid of you evidently.”

“Are you surprised to see me?”

“No.”

“I like your Captain De Laux. He’s very gruff but he knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to speak his mind. Do you know he told me if I didn’t stop interfering he’d have me carried to the cabin and locked in? Very intelligent of him, don’t you think?”

“You’ve made a mistake. It took more strength than you know for me to let you go, and I have no intention of doing it again. I meant every word I said, Juliette.”

She forced herself to look at him and then wished she hadn’t. It was difficult to pretend to be casual when she saw the way he was staring at her. This wasn’t the Jean Marc who had held her and soothed her pain in the garden at the house on the Place Royale. This man was blade-sharp, blatantly sensual. “I know you did. Why do you think I told the captain I was to occupy your cabin? I thought it would save time to make things clear in the beginning.” She paused and whispered, “I
have
to go on this journey, Jean Marc.”

“At the price of your virtue? I assume you
are
a virgin, since de Gramont failed to seduce you?”

She tried to shrug carelessly. “That’s not so high a price. I thought about it a long time and decided none of the women I admire are virgins. Madame Vigée Le Brun and Madame de Stael have intelligence and wit and they’re both reputed to have lovers. I shall have a salon and paint many famous people.” She put the sketch on the mattress beside her. “Shall we proceed? I’m a little nervous and I’d like to get it over with.”

“Oh, no.” Jean Marc straightened away from the door. “I have no intention of hurrying. That’s not the way it’s done, Juliette. The consummation of the game always comes last. We have several days at sea to allow me ample time to obtain the satisfaction I want from you.”

She studied him, trying to see beyond the smiling cynicism. “You don’t wish to fornicate with me now?”

“My dear Juliette, I wish that so much I’m hurting with it.” Jean Marc moved toward her. “A man is far more vulnerable than a woman in this kind of battle, but I’ve learned to control my body’s reactions over the years. I can wait.”

Juliette blinked. “Wait for what?”

He smiled. “Until you say,
s’il vous plaît,
Jean Marc.”

She felt as if he’d struck her. “You do want to hurt me.”

“I want only to win the game.”

“It’s the same thing.” She shook her head. “I won’t let you do that to me.”

“Yes, you will. Because you want it as much as I do. It’s been there between us since those days at the inn.”

“No, I never thought of—I wanted only to paint you.”