“The rains aren’t this gentle. They’re usually hard and bitter and cause torrents to rush down to the valleys.”
“But you liked it there?”
“There’s a beauty and wildness…Yes, I liked the mountains.”
“You like Vasaro better?” she asked quickly.
He smothered a smile. In the past week he had found Catherine passionately jealous of her Vasaro. Everyone must love it as she did. “I like Vasaro much better,” he said gravely.
She nodded with satisfaction. “Anyone would prefer Vasaro to those harsh mountains.” She paused. “Why do you never talk of yourself?”
“I fear to bore you. I’m not at all interesting.”
She didn’t look at him. “I…find you interesting.”
His heart leapt in his breast. She meant nothing by it, he told himself. “You’re very kind.”
She slanted him a suddenly mischievous smile. “I’m not kind, I’m curious.”
“What do you wish to know?”
“If you like the mountains, why did you choose to leave them and go to Paris?”
“The revolution.”
Her smile faded. “I keep forgetting the revolution.”
“I keep forgetting it myself. I think Vasaro must be like the waters of Lethe.”
“You’ve been a great help to me in this past week,” she said haltingly. “But I suppose you must be eager to return to Paris now that your health has improved.”
He should be eager to return. He knew he had already been there too long. The ties were becoming stronger with each passing day and soon would become impossible to sever.
Catherine turned to look at him, clean, glowing, her luminous eyes questioning.
He tore his gaze away from her. “Next week will do as well,” he said gruffly. “If you’ll permit me to stay.”
A brilliant smile lit her face. “Oh, yes, I’ll permit you to stay.”
Andorra
The marquise screamed.
“Don’t do that!” Dupree flinched as he pressed the barrel of the pistol to the woman’s throat. “You hurt my ears. Screams are for later. Get up, we have work to do.”
He set the candlestick on the night table beside her bed and gazed at her appraisingly. Even tousled from sleep Celeste de Clement was amazingly beautiful with her violet eyes wide with fright, the flesh of her shoulders and upper breasts gleaming with the texture of fine Lyon silk.
“Whoareyou?” The marquise’s voice shook withanger and fear. “How dare you break into my house in the middle of the night and threaten me with a pistol. Do you know who I am?”
“I know.” Dupree frowned. “You’re wasting my time, Citizeness. Please get out of bed.”
“Marguerite!” the marquise screamed.
“Is that the woman who looks like a black crow?” Dupree shook his head. “I’m afraid she won’t be coming. I dislike an audience when I work. It robs the situation of a certain intimacy.” He took two steps back away from the bed. “Now, please get up or I’ll have to shoot you. I wouldn’t kill you, but I assure you the wound would be most painful.”
Celeste de Clement hesitated and then slowly swung her bare feet to the floor and stood up. “What is this all about?”
“The Wind Dancer. You failed to fulfill your promise and Citizen Marat is most annoyed with you.”
