Juliette was silent. She could not confess how many nights she had stayed awake thinking of him.
“I believe you did.” He smiled crookedly. He was silent again, simply looking at her. “I have a victory for you.”
“A victory?”
“I found myself thinking not only how much I’d like to be between your thighs but also how much I would enjoy your company.” He reached out and gently touched her cheek. “At times, I thought just being near you would be satisfaction enough. Do you not find that peculiar?”
She should move away from the bittersweet pleasure of his touch. She stood there, savoring it. “Only at times?”
“Be satisfied with a minor victory. I’ll not give you more.”
“I don’t regard it as a victory at all.” She turned back to the canvas and picked up her brush again. “I told you I wasn’t doing battle with you. Now, go to bed before you collapse where you stand.”
“Robert says you’ve been spending a good deal of time in your room. Have you been unwell?”
She went still. “Perfectly well. Am I not entitled to spend my time where I wish?”
“Bon Dieu, I only asked. Did it never occur to you that I might worry about you?”
Such a rush of warmth surged through her, she was afraid to look at him. “No, it never occurred to me. I…thank you.”
She could feel his gaze on her back and she wanted desperately to turn around again.
“Juliette…” His voice was thick. “I missed you.”
She couldn’t answer him. If she spoke, her voice would tremble and he would know.
He stood silent another moment and then she heard his footsteps moving heavily away from her down the path.
She drew a deep breath and whirled to face him. She couldn’t let him go like this.
“Jean Marc!”
He turned to look at her. “Yes.”
She sought wildly for something to say that would not betray her. “I was looking at my painting of the Wind Dancer the other day and it’s really not worthy to be in the salon. I intend to paint you another one. Where did you put the statue when we arrived in Paris?”
He stiffened. “The chest is in the cellar but I don’t want it disturbed. It’s hardly safe to bring the statue out to the garden to paint it.” He smiled faintly. “Besides, I’m very fond of that painting in the salon. It brings back certain memories. I wish no other.”
The painting brought back memories to her also—Versailles, the inn, the abbey, Jean Marc. “Very well.”
He stood waiting, his gaze on her face. “Was that all?”
He was weary and discouraged and in need. She could not turn him away to protect herself. She could not yield but she must give him something.
“No.” She turned back to her canvas and said huskily, “I’m glad you’re home. I…missed you too.”
On July 3 François sent word to Nana from the Temple that the little king had been separated from his mother by order of the Commune and mother and son must now be rescued separately.
Two days later Juliette received a message from François that the queen had requested Juliette come to see her at the Temple as soon as possible. Her Majesty would understand if Juliette found it too dangerous.…
The haggardness of the queen’s face didn’t surprise Juliette, but the strength and maturity of her bearing did.
Marie Antoinette moved into the shadows of the Tower and leaned wearily back against the stone wall. “It was good of you to come, Juliette. I won’t keep you long.” Her soft voice was anguished. “You know they’ve taken my little boy from me?”
“Yes.” Juliette took a step closer to her. “Perhaps it’s only temporary. Perhaps they’ll let him come back to you.”
“No.” The queen’s hands trembled as she drew her cloak closer about her. “They’ve given him to that cobbler Simon to teach him how to be a good republican. They want him to forget me, forget he’s the true king of France.”
