“We suffered each other.” Catherine chuckled. “Good God, why I ever let you make me chase after you to that tomb—” Her laughter faded and then she determinedly smiled, blocking out the other memories and keeping only the ones to cherish. “You were perfectly abominable to me on occasion.”
Juliette had noticed the hesitation and reached out to take Catherine’s hand with careful casualness. “It was good for your character. Now François will seem a saint to you in comparison.”
François. Catherine leaned back in the carriage, excitement and fear equally mixed within her. How did she know François even wanted her any longer? Juliette said he did but she could be mistaken. Six months was a long time. Perhaps there was even someone else.
Well, if it was too late, she would face it without shirking.
She could no longer hide in Eden.
“Mademoiselle Catherine, it’s good to see you looking so well.” Robert smiled warmly as he held open the front door. His gaze went beyond Catherine’s shoulder to the street where Juliette was supervising the unloading of her paints and canvas. She suddenly turned and ran up the steps.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle.” Robert beamed at her. “Monsieur Andreas will be very happy you’ve returned. The house has seemed very empty since you’ve been gone.”
She made a face. “I’m sure it’s been a good deal quieter anyway.” She untied the ribbons of her bonnet. “But why are you opening the door? Where are the servants?”
“Gone. All the servants are gone except Marie and me. Monsieur Andreas dismissed them a few days after you left Paris.”
“How peculiar.” Juliette frowned. “I’ll speak to him about it. Where is he?”
“He’s not yet arisen.”
“Good Lord, it’s almost noon. He always rises early.” Her eyes widened in alarm. “Is he ill?” She started across the foyer toward the stairs at a run. “I must go see, Catherine. Make sure they don’t damage my portrait of Michel when they unload it.”
She burst into Jean Marc’s darkened chamber a moment later. “What’s wrong? Are you ill? I knew I should never have gone away.” She saw a stirring in the bed and hurried over to the window and ripped back the drapes to let in the light. “Look what happened. There are no servants in the house and you’ve become ill and—”
“Juliette.” Jean Marc’s voice was husky with sleep and surprise as he sat up in bed. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“It’s time I came back.” She ran over to the bed and threw herself into his arms. Before he could move she had covered his face with kisses. “Oh, Jean Marc, I’ve missed you. Please don’t be ill. All the time I was running up the stairs I was thinking. ‘What if he’s truly ill? What if he dies?’ I can’t bear it if you’re—”
“Hush!” His arms went around her and held her close. “I’m not at all ill.”
“Then why are you still in bed?”
“For the very good reason that I didn’t get to bed until nearly dawn.”
His heart throbbed strongly beneath her ear and she cuddled contentedly closer, nestling her cheek in the dark hair that thatched his chest. Life. “Well, it was most unkind of you to frighten me like that.”
“May I call it to your attention that I didn’t knowyou were returning? Why didn’t you send a message and—Never mind.” He tugged her head back and his lips covered hers with sudden passion.
Her arms tightened about him as joy soared through her. He was well and strong and they were together again.
Jean Marc lifted his head. His breath had quickened. “One of us is overdressed, and I believe it’s you. Take off your clothes, Juliette.Dieu, I’ve missed you.”
“Have you? I wanted you to miss me.” She looked up at him wistfully. “Truly, Jean Marc?”
“Truly.” He sent her bonnet sailing across the room. “As I mean to demonstrate immediately if you’ll please remove—”
“I can’t.” She reluctantly pushed him away and stood up. “If you’re not ill, then you must dress and come downstairs. Catherine is here.”
“Catherine.” Jean Marc frowned. “Why has she come to Paris? She shouldn’t have left Vasaro. Neither of you should have come back.”
“You knew I’d come back,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t leave you here alone, and I have something I must do.”
Jean Marc threw back the covers and got out of bed, reaching for his brocade robe on the chair.“Merde, haven’t you heard what’s going on here? The Jacobins have gone mad. They’re arresting and killing everyone in sight. They’ve executed every Girondin and aristocrat they can lay hands on and anyone else they have a quarrel against. The guillotine’s been working day and night since the queen’s death. Dammit, it’s not safe for you here.”
“The guillotine.” She shuddered as she remembered that day at the Place de la Révolution. The queen in her pretty red prunella slippers…“More deaths?”
Jean Marc buttoned his robe as he turned to face her. “Go back to Vasaro. When there’s so many deaths, it becomes commonplace. I’d have little chance of saving you if you went before the tribunal.”
