Storm Winds (9 page)

Catherine’s eyes widened in horror. “You think I should not obey her?”

“Of course, you should not o—” Juliette stopped as she met Catherine’s gaze. The girl’s fragility reminded her of one of the Chinese vases in the queen’s cabinet, and if Claire was anything like Marguerite … Juliette decided to temper her words. “Perhaps you should fight her only on important matters.” She frowned. “But you must not let her bind you again.”

“I shouldn’t have been so vain. I’m sure she didn’t mean to cause me distress.”

“No?” Juliette tried to keep the skepticism from her voice. Perhaps this Claire wasn’t a gargoyle like Marguerite but she was obviously not overly intelligent. “Then you must make sure she knows when you’re in distress. Do you understand?”

“I’m not a fool,” Catherine said with dignity. “I know I should have told Jean Marc the corset was too tight.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

Bright scarlet flowed once again under Catherine’s fair skin. “Philippe …”

Juliette started to laugh. “You’re besotted with that handsome peacock.”

Catherine rounded on her fiercely. “He’s not a peacock. He’s kind and manly and—”

Juliette held up her hand to stop the passionate flow. “I meant no disrespect. It’s just my way. Tell me, have you lain with him yet?”

Catherine frowned in puzzlement. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Juliette gestured impatiently. “Has he tried to bed you?”

Catherine stiffened in shock. “Do you mean fornication?”

She was truly horrified, Juliette realized. “He’s not attempted you, then?”

“No, of course not. He’d never …” She swallowed hard before she could continue. “He’s a gentleman, and gentlemen do not do those things. Even if I were a woman grown, he would not—”

“You jest.”

Catherine shook her head emphatically and then asked curiously, “Have you ever—” She stopped, obviously shocked at the question she had been about to broach. “Of course, you haven’t.”

Juliette nodded. “You’re right. I’ve never fornicated with any man. Nor shall I.” She smiled fiercely. “The Duc de Gramont slipped beneath the covers of my bed and tried to caress me one night a few months ago, but I kicked him in his private parts and then ran away and hid in the garden.”

“Perhaps he was just being affectionate.”

Juliette gazed at her incredulously. “All the court knows he’s fond of young girls.”

“Well, there you are,” Catherine said triumphantly. “He was merely being kind.”

“You don’t understand. He has a taste for …” Juliette smiled in genuine amusement even as she felt a surge of pity that the girl was so ignorant.

“If you were frightened, you should have called your nurse and she would have explained there was nothing to fear.”

“Marguerite wouldn’t have come.”

“Why not?”

“Because the duke is one of my mother’s protectors and she wouldn’t dare offend him.”

“Your mother’s protector?”

“Her lover,” Juliette said in exasperation. “She lets him fornicate with her and then he gives her jewels and money. Don’t you know anything?”

Catherine straightened, her chin rising. “I think you must be mistaken. People of honor do not behave in that fashion, and I’m sure noblemen and ladies would not. You’re very lucky to have a mother alive and well and you shouldn’t malign her.”

“Malign her? My mother
sent
His Grace to my bed. He told me so.”

“Then I was correct. His Grace was merely being—”

“Kindly?” Juliette finished, gazing dazedly at Catherine’s stubbornly set lips and stern frown. Then she began to chuckle. “I like you.”

Catherine appeared surprised at the abrupt change of subject. “You do?”

Juliette nodded. “You may be blind, but you’re not stupid and you don’t back down.”

“Thank you,” Catherine said doubtfully. “I find you very interesting also.”

“But you don’t like me.” Juliette made a face. “I’m used to that. I know I’m not a likable person.” She glanced away. “I suppose you have a great many friends on the Ile du Lion?”

“Claire won’t let me consort with the servants’ children and there’s no one else.”

“I have no friends at the palace either. Not that I care. They’re all very stupid.” Juliette turned to look at Catherine. “Will you be staying at Versailles long?”

Catherine shook her head. “We leave for Jean Marc’s house in Paris directly after he has his audience with Her Majesty.”

Juliette tried to ignore the sharp thrust of disappointment she felt. She had no need for friends as long as she had her painting, she told herself. And she certainly had no need for a friend who couldn’t see the ugly truths behind the veil of feigned honor and pretended virtue. She would no doubt be constantly arguing with the ninny if she stayed around.

“Do you know Her Majesty?” Catherine asked. “Is she as beautiful as everyone says?”

“She’s not unattractive and she has a lovely laugh.”

“You have affection for her?”

Juliette’s expression softened. “Yes, she gave me my paints and had me taught by a fine teacher. She even hung one of my paintings of the lake in the billiard room at Petit Trianon.”

Catherine was impressed. “You must be pleased. That’s a great honor.”

“Not really. It wasn’t a particularly good painting. I painted the lake at sundown and it looked …” Juliette grimaced as she finished. “Pretty.”

Catherine giggled. “You don’t like pretty things?”

“Pretty is … it has no depth. Beauty has meaning, even ugliness has meaning, but pretty is …” She scowled. “Why are you laughing?”

Catherine sobered. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I find you a trifle peculiar. You’re so serious about everything.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Not like you. I’m not at all like you. I like pretty things and I hate ugly ones.”

“You’re wrong. You shouldn’t hate ugliness. It can be very interesting if you look at it the right way. For instance, I once painted an old, fat count who had a face as ugly as a frog, but every line told a story of its own. I tried to—” She broke off as she heard the sound of footsteps in the hall. “The servants must be bringing your trunks. I’ll see.” She frowned as she got off the bed and moved toward the door. “I suppose you’ll wish me to leave you to rest?”

Catherine shook her head. “I’m not tired.”

Juliette’s expression brightened. “Then perhaps you’d like to go for a walk with me before it gets dark and I could show you what I mean. There’s a sway-backed horse in the field beyond the inn that’s as ugly as sin itself but he’s far more interesting than the more handsome ones.” She opened the door. “Change your gown and meet me in the common room as soon as you
can.” She looked back over her shoulder, suddenly uncertain. “If you want to come with me?”

A radiant smile lit Catherine’s face as she rose to her feet. “Oh, yes, please. I do want to come with you.”

M
ay I speak to you, Jean Marc?” Catherine stood in the doorway, her hand nervously fiddling with the knob. “I know you’re working and I promise I’ll take only a moment. I have something to ask of you.”

Jean Marc carefully smothered his impatience and pushed the papers in front of him aside. “You wish to know when we’re going to Versailles? I should be well enough to travel within a few days. Have you been bored here at the inn?”

“No, I’ve been very happy here.” Catherine closed the door and came forward to perch on the edge of the chair beside his bed, clasping her hands together on her lap. “It’s … different being with Juliette.”

Jean Marc chuckled. “I’d say
different
is an apt word to describe Juliette. You’ve certainly spent enough time with her in the past two days to judge.”

“I
like
her, Jean Marc.” Catherine’s hands twisted together. “She does not deserve—” She broke off. “Have you ever noticed she always wears gowns with sleeves down to her wrists?”

Jean Marc’s smile faded. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“Marguerite.” Catherine met Jean Marc’s gaze. “Why would she want to hurt Juliette? I haven’t been punished by Claire since I was a small child.” She paused and then said in a rush, “Juliette’s arms are covered with bruises.”

Jean Marc went still. “You’re sure of this?”

“I’ve seen her arms. They have terrible bruises. I felt ill.…” Catherine shook her head. “I asked her what happened and she shrugged and said Marguerite had been bad-tempered since she had been forced to leave the palace and stay at the inn.”

The intensity of the anger searing through Jean Marc astonished him. Christ, Juliette had said Marguerite was not pleased to be here, but he had paid no attention. He had joked and dismissed the subject. Why in thunderation hadn’t she told him what the black-hearted bitch was doing to her?

“I didn’t know what was for the best,” Catherine whispered. “She told me I could do nothing and to forget it. But it isn’t right Can you help her, Jean Marc?”

“Yes.” What he’d like to do was break that harridan’s scrawny neck, he thought grimly, a solution that was clearly impossible under the circumstances. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

“Soon?”

“Tonight.”

“Thank you, Jean Marc.” Catherine stood up and moved hurriedly toward the door. “I’m sorry to have troubled you. I’ll leave you to your work now. I only thought …”

The door closed behind her.

It had not been easy for Catherine to come to him, Jean Marc thought as he stared absently at the panels of the door. She had always been a shy, gentle child and, for some reason, particularly intimidated by him. Perhaps
some of Juliette’s boldness had rubbed off on her during their association of the last few days.

Or perhaps she had been so horrified by Juliette’s mistreatment she could not bear the thought of not doing something to help her.

Think of something beautiful
.

No wonder Juliette knew so well how to combat pain. She had obviously experienced it for the major part of her life.

His grip tightened on the coverlet as he remembered Catherine’s words.

“Terrible bruises.”

“I felt ill.”

“The wound’s healing very well.” Juliette tied the fresh bandage, helped Jean Marc into his linen shirt, and began to fasten the buttons. “You should be able to travel soon.”

“Day after the morrow, I believe,” Jean Marc said without expression. “I’ve arranged for a carriage to send you and Marguerite to Versailles tomorrow morning.”

Juliette’s fingers froze on the button she was fastening. “Tomorrow?” She shook her head. “Next week, perhaps. You’re not well enough to—”

“You leave tomorrow.” Jean Marc’s lips thinned. “And your kindly Marguerite can toddle happily back to your mother instead of devoting her questionable attentions to you.”

Juliette frowned. “Catherine told you? She shouldn’t have done that. Bruises are nothing—”

“Not to me.” Jean Marc cut fiercely through her words. “I’ll not have you suffer for my sake. What do you think—” He broke off. “You leave tomorrow.”

Juliette’s fingers fell away from his shirt as she gazed in wonder at him. “Why are you so angry? There’s nothing to be upset about.”

Jean Marc was silent for a moment, his expression shuttered. “Good night, Juliette. I’ll not say good-bye because I trust we’ll see each other at Versailles.”

“Yes,” Juliette said dully. It was over. The days of
companionship with Catherine, the hours of exhilarating conversation with Jean Marc. She tried to smile. “I cannot persuade you how foolish it is to rush your recovery in this fashion?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll not waste my time.” She started to turn away.

He caught her hand. “Not yet.” His usually mocking expression was surprisingly grave. “Not before I express my appreciation.”

She determinedly blinked her eyes. “That’s unnecessary. I didn’t do it for you. I owed you a debt and I paid it. Why should I—” She broke off as he pushed up the loose sleeve of her gown. He stared at the deep purple-yellow marks marring her smooth flesh. “Only bruises. I’ve had much worse. I bruise very easily.” She pointed to a faint yellow mark on her wrist. “You see? You did that yourself when you held on to me when the physician was removing the dagger.”

He looked sick. “
I
did that?”

“You didn’t mean to do it. I told you, one has only to touch me to leave a bruise.” She tried to keep the desperation from her voice. “So there’s no reason for you to press on to Versailles until you’re entirely well.”

“No reason at all,” he said thickly, his gaze never leaving her arm. “Except that I’ve always thought you had the most exquisite skin I have ever seen. Roses on cream … glowing with life. I find I can’t bear this atrocity. I can’t stand seeing …” He trailed off as he turned her arm over and stared at the marks on the more delicate flesh of her inner arm. Then, slowly, he lifted her arm and pressed his lips onto one of the most livid bruises.

She stiffened in shock, staring down at the dark hair of his head bent over her arm. She was suddenly acutely aware of the scent of tallow of the candles on the table by the bed, the play of light and shadow on the planes of his cheekbones, the sound of her own breathing in the silence of the room. His lips felt warm, firm, gentle on her flesh, and yet they caused an odd tingling to spread up her arm and through her body.

He looked up and smiled crookedly as he saw her expression. “You see? Who knows? If you stay, there may come a time when I’d be more dangerous to you than your dragon, Marguerite.” He released her arm and leaned back against the headboard.
“Bonne nuit, ma petite.”

She didn’t want to leave him. She wanted him to touch her again with those strong, graceful hands. She wanted to tell him …

Merde
, she did not know what she wanted to tell him. It was clear he wished to be rid of her and she would not beg him to let her remain.

She turned on her heel, the skirts of her black gown flying. “I didn’t really want to stay. You’ve been nothing but trouble to me and Catherine is only a stupid girl who knows nothing. Nothing!” She grabbed her painting from the easel and strode toward the door. “Marguerite said the queen is at Le Hameau now. She can be at ease there with few of the strictures of the main palace and will probably receive you at the queen’s cottage.” She opened the door and glanced at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. “But it will do you little good to see her. She will never give you the Wind Dancer.”