“Don’t you ever tire of these convoluted maneuvers to shape the world to suit yourself?”
“On occasion, but the prize is usually worth the game.”
“Not to me.” Philippe made a face. “Which is why you’re busy gobbling up all the wealth of Europe while I labor humbly at your command.”
“At Catherine’s command. Vasaro belongs to her, not to the Andreas family.”
“Does it? I wasn’t sure you knew the difference.”
“It’s tradition for our family to guard the heiress of Vasaro.”
“But you care nothing for tradition,” Philippe said softly. “I wonder what you do care about, Jean Marc.”
“Shall I tell you?” Jean Marc’s tone was mocking. “I care about the French livre, the British pound, and the Italian florin. I’m also rapidly acquiring a passion for the Russian ruble.”
“And nothing else?”
Jean Marc was silent a moment, thinking. “The family. I suppose I care for the well-being of the Andreas family more than I care for anything else.”
“And your father?”
Jean Marc kept his expression guarded. “He’s a member of my family, is he not?” He glanced coolly at Philippe. “Don’t expect cloying sentimentality from me, Philippe. I’m not a sentimental man.”
“Yet, you’re capable of friendship. You call me your friend.”
Jean Marc shrugged, then winced. He had forgotten momentarily that his wound would be long in healing.
“But, of course, I’m an exceptionally charming fellow.” Philippe continued. “How could you restrain yourself from feeling affection, not to say admiration, respect, amusement, and—”
“Enough.” Jean Marc raised his hand to stop the flow of words. “I’ll grant you the amusement, at least. Pour all your charm into the task of cajoling Her Majesty and I’ll be content.”
“I have no intention of exerting myself in such a profitless endeavor. Gentlemen who make cuckolds of royalty often end with their heads on pikes. Tell me, do you think the queen really prefers women to men?”
“Why ask me?”
“Because I know you well. Undoubtedly you’ve made it your business to discover everything about everyone down to the lowest groom in the stable at that splendid palace. You never go into any venture without a full knowledge of your opponent.”
“Opponent?” Jean Marc murmured. “Her Majesty is my sovereign and I her loyal servant.”
Philippe snorted.
“You don’t believe me? I paid no bribe to learn the secrets of the Queen’s bedchamber. It would have reaped me little benefit. However, I did find she’s written several extremely passionate letters and given very lavish gifts to the Princess de Lambelle, Yolande Polignac, and Celeste de Clement.”
“De Clement?” Philippe’s eyes widened as his gaze flew back to the painting. “Then that child is—”
“She’s Celeste de Clement’s daughter. I understand the marquise was the daughter of a wealthy Spanish merchant who became the second wife of an impoverished nobleman. His son and heir was less than well disposed toward the lovely Celeste and her offspring. When his father died, he gave his stepmother a carriage, a wardrobe of fine gowns, and bid her and her child a final adieu.”
“Do you think the little firebrand is being brought up to her mother’s persuasion?” Philippe asked idly. “I hear Sappho’s daughters delight in—”
“No!” The violence of Jean Marc’s rejection surprised him as much as it did Philippe. He felt as if Philippe had besmirched something peculiarly his own. He quickly brought his tone under control. “I didn’t say Celeste de Clement has unnatural tastes. She’s been the mistress of several wealthy and generous gentlemen of the court since she arrived there several years ago. I’d judge her passion is for acquisition and not the pleasures of the flesh.”
“Like Jean Marc Andreas?”
“The Marquise de Clement and I have a similar passion, but I don’t prostitute myself to pursue it. I prefer not to manipulate emotions, but circumstances.”
“Yet, you manipulate both if it suits you.”
“The legal agreements, Philippe.”
