Excitement banished her weariness as she studied his face. How she wished she had a sketching pad. Shehad given up painting recognizable likenesses of people because she almost always offended her subjects. So she had decided it was not worth the bother to paint faces from life. Yet she knew that here was a man who would not care how cruelly she portrayed him, how brutally honest her brush strokes. He had no need for flattery because he knew exactly what and who he was and cared not a whit what others thought of him.
His bronze face was too long, his cheekbones too high, his lips too well defined, his dark eyes too sharp and determined beneath straight black brows and heavy lids. His features, taken individually, were all wrong, but fit together in perfect harmony to form a whole far more compelling than one that was merely beauty.
What a challenge he would be to paint, to peel off the cynical armor and see what lay beneath, to solve the mysteries beyond those black eyes. He wouldn’t readily reveal those secrets, yet, given a little time, she was sure she’d be able to paint the man, not the mask.
But what if she were not given the time? Any deep wound was a hazard, and he might well be taken from her before—
His lids flicked open to reveal those black eyes, totally alert and wide awake. “What are you thinking?”
She was startled and blurted out, “I was hoping you wouldn’t die before I could paint you.”
“What a truly touching sentiment. Go to bed.”
She stiffened and then forced herself to relax. “Don’t be foolish. The physician said you might run a fever. Do you think I’d go to such great trouble to save you and then let you die for lack of care?”
He smiled weakly. “My apologies. I’ll try to refrain from departing this temporal plane and causing you to waste your time.”
“I didn’t mean—” She bit her lower lip. “I don’t always put things in the correct way. Marguerite says I have the tongue of an asp.”
“Who’s Marguerite?”
“Marguerite Duclos, my nurse. Well, not really my nurse any longer. She serves my mother more than me.”
“And this Marguerite disapproves of your bluntness?”
“Yes.” She frowned. “You should go back to sleep and cease this chatter.”
“I don’t feel like sleeping.” His gaze searched her face. “Why don’t you amuse me?”
She looked at him in astonishment. “Amuse?”
He started to chuckle and then flinched with pain. “Perhaps you’d better not amuse me. Humor appears exceptionally painful at the moment.”
“Since you refuse to sleep, you might as well answer my questions. You said before you fainted that you had learned of the attack. Who told you?”
Jean Marc shifted in the bed to ease his shoulder. “A servant in the palace at Versailles.”
“How could a servant in the palace know there would be a peasant attack so far from Versailles?”
“An interesting question. One might also ask how some of the lads in the mob came to have pistols rather than their pitchforks.” His lips twisted. “And why the poor starving peasant who slipped a dagger into my shoulder appeared exceedingly well fed and wore boots made of finer leather than my own.”
So that had been the reason for those last cryptic words he had uttered before he had collapsed, Juliette thought. “Or why the servant came to you instead of His Majesty with the information.”
“That’s no mystery. Money.” Jean Marc smiled mockingly. “King Louis gives medals and expressions of eternal gratitude for such loyalty. I let it be known I’d give fat bribes for any information of interest regarding the royal family. Money buys comfort and a fast horse to take the informant far away from the swords of the people he’s betrayed.”
“And this servant didn’t tell you who was responsible for the attack?”
“A man in high place. He would say nothing other than that the carriage bearing the prince and Mademoiselle de Clement would be set upon enroute to Versailles. I gathered a company of hirelings and set out like agrand chevalierto the rescue.”
She studied his face. “Are you never serious? You saved the life of the prince.” She paused. “And my life also.”
“Not because of my nobility of soul.” He gazed at her calmly. “I’m a man of business who never takes action without the promise of return. I’ll even admit I was most annoyed with you when you made my task so difficult.”
“And what return do you expect to receive from rescuing the prince?”
“Her Majesty’s profound gratitude and good will. I have a favor to ask of her.”
She gazed at him without speaking for a moment. “I think you’re not so hard as you’d like me to believe. You were truly concerned about Louis Charles though you were nigh out of your head with pain.”
