“Ilikeher, Jean Marc.” Catherine’s hands twisted together. “She does not deserve—” She broke off. “Have you ever noticed she always wears gowns with sleeves down to her wrists?”
Jean Marc’s smile faded. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“Marguerite.” Catherine met Jean Marc’s gaze. “Why would she want to hurt Juliette? I haven’t been punished by Claire since I was a small child.” She paused and then said in a rush, “Juliette’s arms are covered with bruises.”
Jean Marc went still. “You’re sure of this?”
“I’ve seen her arms. They have terrible bruises. I felt ill.…” Catherine shook her head. “I asked her what happened and she shrugged and said Marguerite had been bad-tempered since she had been forced to leave the palace and stay at the inn.”
The intensity of the anger searing through Jean Marc astonished him. Christ, Juliette had said Marguerite was not pleased to be here, but he had paid no attention. He had joked and dismissed the subject. Why in thunderation hadn’t she told him what the black-hearted bitch was doing to her?
“I didn’t know what was for the best,” Catherine whispered. “She told me I could do nothing and to forget it. But it isn’t right Can you help her, Jean Marc?”
“Yes.” What he’d like to do was break that harridan’s scrawny neck, he thought grimly, a solution that was clearly impossible under the circumstances. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
“Soon?”
“Tonight.”
“Thank you, Jean Marc.” Catherine stood up and moved hurriedly toward the door. “I’m sorry to have troubled you. I’ll leave you to your work now. I only thought…”
The door closed behind her.
It had not been easy for Catherine to come to him, Jean Marc thought as he stared absently at the panels of the door. She had always been a shy, gentle child and, for some reason, particularly intimidated by him. Perhapssome of Juliette’s boldness had rubbed off on her during their association of the last few days.
Or perhaps she had been so horrified by Juliette’s mistreatment she could not bear the thought of not doing something to help her.
Think of something beautiful.
No wonder Juliette knew so well how to combat pain. She had obviously experienced it for the major part of her life.
His grip tightened on the coverlet as he remembered Catherine’s words.
“Terrible bruises.”
“I felt ill.”
“The wound’s healing very well.” Juliette tied the fresh bandage, helped Jean Marc into his linen shirt, and began to fasten the buttons. “You should be able to travel soon.”
“Day after the morrow, I believe,” Jean Marc said without expression. “I’ve arranged for a carriage to send you and Marguerite to Versailles tomorrow morning.”
Juliette’s fingers froze on the button she was fastening. “Tomorrow?” She shook her head. “Next week, perhaps. You’re not well enough to—”
“You leave tomorrow.” Jean Marc’s lips thinned. “And your kindly Marguerite can toddle happily back to your mother instead of devoting her questionable attentions to you.”
Juliette frowned. “Catherine told you? She shouldn’t have done that. Bruises are nothing—”
“Not to me.” Jean Marc cut fiercely through her words. “I’ll not have you suffer for my sake. What do you think—” He broke off. “You leave tomorrow.”
Juliette’s fingers fell away from his shirt as she gazed in wonder at him. “Why are you so angry? There’s nothing to be upset about.”
Jean Marc was silent for a moment, his expression shuttered. “Good night, Juliette. I’ll not say good-bye because I trust we’ll see each other at Versailles.”
“Yes,” Juliette said dully. It was over. The days ofcompanionship with Catherine, the hours of exhilarating conversation with Jean Marc. She tried to smile. “I cannot persuade you how foolish it is to rush your recovery in this fashion?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll not waste my time.” She started to turn away.
