“I’ll send her a message that I have Jean Marc Andreas captive and she must come herself to ransom him.”
“What if she ignores the message?”
“She won’t.” Dupree tried to sound confident. “She’ll come. And then I’ll have her.”
“And you’ll use her to make Andreas give you the Wind Dancer?”
Dupree nodded quickly.
“I don’t like it.” She frowned. “It’s a plan based on sentiment.”
She had identified Dupree’s own worst fears, but he had to persuade her he could be successful. “She’s only a foolish girl. Sentiment is common in women of—” He stopped as she turned her cold gray eyes on him. “Not you. But some women don’t realize how stupid it is to let sentiment rule them.”
“And Andreas? From what you’ve told me, I’d say he’s not a man of sentiment.”
“I tell you he has a fondness for her.”
“You have no cunning.” Anne Dupree rose to her feet with a swish of lavender taffeta. “I thought I’d taught you better. Forget this plan and go to Paris and set watch over Andreas. All men have secrets—and there might be something we can learn about this one that will profit us. It’s better than trusting to sentiment. You’ll leave at once.”
“I thought to stay here for a few days and rest,” Dupree stammered. “I’m not well. The bullet is still lodged in my body and at night I get the fever.” It was the truth but not the reason he wished to stay. It had been too long since he had seen her.
“You wish to rest? Certainly.” She smiled at him. “But you cannot expect to sleep in any of my nice clean beds. You’ve been very naughty. You failed me, Raoul. You didn’t bring me the Wind Dancer and you lied to me about the princess. You know the place for naughty little boys.”
“No!” Dupree got up as quickly as possible. “I’ll go at once to Paris. You’re right, I should watch Andreas.”
“I doubt you need worry that anyone will recognize you.” Anne Dupree made a delicate moue. “But be cautious, nevertheless. This is your last chance, Raoul. I shall not be so indulgent again.”
He grabbed his hat from the table. “I’ll not fail you.” He moved awkwardly toward the door, dragging his left leg behind him. “I’ll get it. I’ll give you the Wind Dancer.”
Anne Dupree walked to the mirror and patted the heart-shaped patch at the corner of her mouth. “That’s a good boy,” she said absently. “Oh, and take the locket from the jewel case in my chamber. You might have use for it, if you decide to involve the Vasaro girl in some way.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“The locket has no value now.” She inclined her head to stare at her son. “Because it’s not worthy of me, is it?”
She was not going to forgive him, he thought inpanic. She might never forgive him again unless he brought her the Wind Dancer. The Wind Dancer had the power to give his mother everything she had always wanted. It would make her a queen greater than the Bourbon bitch they’d beheaded last week.
“No, it’s not worthy,” he mumbled as he opened the door. “I’m sorry, Mother. Please…I’ll bring you the Wind Dancer. I’ll bring it…”
He limped from the room, pausing just outside the door to try to suppress waves of nausea. Close. It had been so close. What if she had discarded him? He was nothing without his duty to her.
A sudden thought chilled him. If he gave his mother the Wind Dancer, she would no longer need him. No, he must not let such a thing happen.
The hunger raked at his soul. She had sent him away again. The hunger must be fed.
Camille. He would go to Camille and she would feed the hunger.
“The eyes are difficult.” Juliette added a little more blue to her brush. “He has such expressive eyes, doesn’t he? So much wonder…”
Catherine looked over her shoulder at the portrait of Michel standing in a field of flowers. “But I think you’ve caught it.” She sat down on the grass and linked her arms about her legs as she gazed thoughtfully at the pickers working at the bottom of the hill. “You’ve made good progress on it.”
“It’s truly a wonder. I can’t persuade the little Gypsy to pose for me for more than five minutes at a time.” She tilted her head. “It’s one of the best things I’ve ever done. It’s worthy of a gallery showing.” Her lips twisted. “Not that I’ll ever know that pleasure.”
“Why not?”
“Even in this splendid new republic, women’s artistic efforts aren’t considered worthy of public display.”
Catherine shook her head. “But it’s wonderful.”
