“She fled to Spain with my mother the night of the massacre at the abbey.” Juliette turned left at the Basin. “François tried to persuade my mother to take Catherine and me with them, but she wouldn’t agree. He became very annoyed with both of them.”
“I can understand his feelings.”
“I told him it would do no good.” She frowned. “We should go faster. Are you able?”
“Able?”
She carefully avoided looking at him. “Well, you must be over thirty and you get no exercise.”
“I’m thirty-two, which is no great age.” Jean Marc’s tone was icy. “And how do you know I get no exercise?”
The excitement was growing within her. “You take carriages everywhere and you work for hours in your study. You cannot be very fit.”
“I don’t spend all my time with my ledger books. Perhaps I should demonstrate my fitness to you,” he said silkily. “I assure you I’m no aging de Gramont.”
Jean Marc appeared unable to let the subject of de Gramont alone and was obviously sensitive regarding his own age. Juliette thoroughly enjoyed turning the tables, pricking at his aplomb now when usually she was the one on the defensive. “Oh, I know that. The duke was in his fifties.” She pretended to think about it. “But he hunted a great deal and his body was amazingly strong for—”
“Set the pace,” Jean Marc grated between his teeth. “I assure you I’ll keep up.”
She cast a sidewise glance at his grim expression and then thought it best not to answer at all. She increased her speed until she was almost running past the silent fountains and ghostly statues toward the gates of the Petit Trianon.
The Belvedere was an enchanting enclosed pavilion crowning a grassy hillock. The graceful octagonal structure overlooked a small rivulet issuing from a pond behind the Petit Trianon. Four steps surrounded the Belvedere with pairs of sphinxes set at intervals.
“She said it’s under one of the sphinxes on the stairs facing the pond,” Juliette whispered as she strode down the winding walk bordering the lake. “The one on the left.”
“Buried?”
“No, a hidden cache.”
They had reached the four steps of the pavilion and Jean Marc halted beside a sphinx. “It appears—”
“Hush! I hear something.” Juliette glanced over her shoulder across the rivulet toward the palace of the Petit Trianon. Dots of light punctuated the darkness. “Mother of God! Lanterns! Come with me.” She flew up the steps of the pavilion. What if the doors were locked? The knob turned under her hand and she pulled Jean Marc inside and closed the glass-paneled door.
Jean Marc pushed her to the side and peered through the glass. “Soldiers.”
Juliette’s heart skipped a beat. “Searching for us?”
“Possibly.” Jean Marc watched for a moment and then shook his head. “There’s no urgency. Probably a patrol making rounds. We were lucky not to have run into them coming from the palace.”
Being in the pavilion was no real shelter, she thought desperately. Not only were the four doors glass-paneled, but the long windows were almost floor to ceiling and separated by only narrow strips of wall. It was as if they were captured in a crystal box.
“Are they coming here?”
“I don’t kn—yes!” Jean Marc ducked away from the door as a beam of light played on the glass illuminating the interior of the pavilion. He dragged Juliette to the right of the door, pressing her against the wall.
She could hear voices outside, then the crunch of booted feet on the steps. The door beside them was flung open.
Juliette was afraid to breathe. A huge figure appeared in the doorway. Light played on the glittering panes of the door directly across the room. She could see the flame of the lantern reflecting on the glass.
And Jean Marc’s and her own reflection barely discernible in the shadows.
Juliette could feel Jean Marc’s muscles tense as he readied to spring.
“All secure, Corporal?”
“All secure, sir.” The soldier stepped back and shut the door. His boots clattered on the steps as he rejoined the patrol.
Juliette’s heart was beating so hard she marveled the men outside didn’t hear it.
