“Who is she?”
“Charlotte.” Jean Marc’s gaze never left the painting. “It was painted by one of her lovers, a man named Pierre Kevoir.”
“No wonder he flattered her.”
“It was no flattery. She was far more beautiful than this.”
“Truly?” She moved forward to stand before the painting. “Then she was even more lovely than my mother. Your father didn’t know this artist was her lover?”
“He knew. He knew about all of them. She made little attempt to hide her affairs.” Jean Marc finally tore his gaze away from the painting and walked to the desk across the room. “The journals are in this drawer…”
“Why did he keep the painting here?”
“He loved her. He said she was the most beautiful thing he possessed and wanted to have her likeness before him always. My mother died when I was five and my father met Charlotte d’Abois two years later. He begged her to marry him but she was never like other women. She had no use for the strictures of marriage and enjoyed the freedom of her life as a courtesan.” His lips twisted. “However, she also enjoyed the power money gave her and consented to be his mistress.” Jean Marc’s words became jerky as he drew four large journals from the top drawer of the desk. “He didn’t care that she slept with Kevoir.”
“Most peculiar,” Juliette said. “He must not have been at all like you. I think you’d care very much if a woman you loved cuckolded you.”
“How perceptive.” His voice was without intonation as he went to the bookshelves and took down two volumes. He carried them back to the desk. “But, since that circumstance is not likely to occur, we need not consider it. I have no intention of either sharing you or falling into the trap of loving you, Juliette.”
Juliette felt a sudden pang and she quickly nodded.“Of course, it was only an observation.” She gazed back at the painting. “She has no expression. Was she a cold woman?”
“Not in bed. She cuckolded my father with half the men in Marseilles.”
“But other than in bed?”
“Yes.” Jean Marc went to the pedestal by the window, brought the crystal swan to the desk, and set it carefully with the journals. “Very cold.”
“What happened when you returned from Jamaica?”
“Why are you asking these questions?” He smiled crookedly. “You have no sketchbook and pen in your hands.”
“I want to know.”
He suddenly slammed the drawer of the desk. “When I returned I found that two months before she had run away to Greece with her current lover, Jacques Leton. She’d been stealing funds from the company for some time and giving them to Leton. Everyone knew but my father. That was the reason she’d arranged for me to go with Basteau on the slaver.” His voice harshened. “She made my father look the fool. I went after them.”
Juliette’s gaze remained riveted to his face. “To Greece?”
“Yes. I challenged and killed Leton. But Charlotte hadn’t grown tired of him yet and felt cheated. She decided to punish me.”
“How?”
“She returned to my father and begged his forgiveness.”
Juliette gazed at him incredulously. “And he took her back?”
“Without even a harsh word.” He smiled bitterly. “I told you she ruled my father. Four months after she returned here, she married him. She tried to make him disinherit me, but he consented only to sending me away. He told me I didn’t understand Charlotte and we’d all be happier if I went to Italy to the University of Padua. She died two years later and I returned home.”He looked at Juliette. “Satisfied? You’ve finally stripped me of all my secrets. Does it please you?”
“No.” She wanted to reach out and comfort him but he had once again retreated behind his glittering barrier. “Did you…have affection for her?”
“When I was a child I thought she was a magical being just as my father did. I learned quickly, however.”
He had learned pain and betrayal and the knowledge that he was helpless in the wake of the power wielded by Charlotte d’Abois. Even now, after all these years, she could see those emotions burning still within him.
“I can’t understand how he could take her back.”
“I can. He was a dreamer. He saw her only as he wanted to see her.” Jean Marc drew a deep breath. “My father always said I couldn’t understand him because I was too practical to dream. Well, God save me from the dreamers of this world.”
“He didn’t understand you,” Juliette said quietly. “I think you, too, have dreams, but you rule them instead of letting them rule you.”
