“You’re fortunate that I play with you at all. You’ve grown very spoiled in recent days. But then, I think you were already spoiled before you became ill.”
“Spoiled?” Jean Marc levered himself upright against the headboard. “I’mnot the queen’s favorite. How could a poor bourgeois man of business become spoiled?”
“I’m not the queen’s favorite either. She’s kind to me but it’s my mother who has her affection,” Juliette said. “And Monsieur Guilleme says there are few noblemen in France who are as rich as you are.”
“You shouldn’t listen to gossip.”
“Why not? You will tell me nothing of yourself. You’re like the glass in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles. You reflect but reveal nothing of yourself.”
“And it’s your duty as an artist to uncover my hidden soul?”
“You’re laughing at me again.” She turned back to the painting. “But it’s quite true. I’ve already learned some things about you.”
“Indeed?” His smile faded. “I’d be curious as to the nature of your discoveries.”
“You’re spoiled.”
“I beg to differ.”
“You hate anyone to see you weak and helpless.”
“Is that extraordinary?”
“No, I feel much the same. And you’re not nearly as hard as you appear.”
“You said that once before.” His lips twisted. “I assure you it’s not a safe assumption to make about me.”
She shook her head. “You asked Monsieur Guilleme yesterday about the plight of the peasants in the area and gave him a purse of gold to distribute among those in need.”
He shrugged. “Some of those poor clods attacking the carriage were walking skeletons. It was little wonder they let themselves be whipped into a frenzy.”
She continued to enumerate. “And you bear pain much better than boredom.”
“Now, that truth I will own. Come and play cards with me.”
His smile was coaxing, banishing all hardness and lighting his face with rare beauty. Juliette dragged her gaze from his face and back to her canvas. “Why should I play with you when I could be painting?”
“Because I wish it, and you’re all that’s gentle and obliging.”
“I’m not oblig—” She stopped as she saw the wicked arch of his black brow. “The physician said you could get up for a little while tomorrow. Soon you’ll be able to do without me entirely.”
“And you’ll go back to Versailles?”
She nodded vigorously. “And I shall be very glad to see the last of you. You laugh at me. You take me away from my work. You make me amuse you as if I were—”
“It was your decision to stay,” he reminded her. “I told you I’d be a bad patient.”
“And you told God’s truth.”
“I regret you’ve suffered so grievously at my hands. I’m sure every minute has been an interminable strain.”
The devil knew very well it had been no such thing, Juliette thought with exasperation. It was not fair Jean Marc should be able to understand her with such ease when she was able to see only a little beyond the hard, glittering surface he displayed to the world. He knew she enjoyed both the sharp-edged banter and the comforting silences. Being with him stimulated and excited her in some strange fashion. She never knew how he would treat her. At times he teased her as if she were a small child; at other times he seemed to forget thedifference in age between them and talked to her as if she were a woman grown. She looked forward to his company in the same way she looked forward to immersing herself in her painting, knowing she would be swept away but still eager to yield to the force. Now he was treating her with an annoying indulgent amusement, and she had a sudden desire to shock him. “I haven’t finished telling all I know of you.” She paused and then said in a rush, “I believe you’ve fornicated with that tavern maid who serves our meals.”
His smile vanished. “Germaine?”
“Is that her name? The one with breasts like Juno.”
Jean Marc was silent for a moment. “Women of quality don’t speak of fornication, Juliette, and certainly not to gentlemen.”
