He caught her hand. “Not yet.” His usually mocking expression was surprisingly grave. “Not before I express my appreciation.”
She determinedly blinked her eyes. “That’s unnecessary. I didn’t do it for you. I owed you a debt and I paid it. Why should I—” She broke off as he pushed up the loose sleeve of her gown. He stared at the deep purple-yellow marks marring her smooth flesh. “Only bruises. I’ve had much worse. I bruise very easily.” She pointed to a faint yellow mark on her wrist. “You see? You did that yourself when you held on to me when the physician was removing the dagger.”
He looked sick. “Idid that?”
“You didn’t mean to do it. I told you, one has only to touch me to leave a bruise.” She tried to keep the desperation from her voice. “So there’s no reason for you to press on to Versailles until you’re entirely well.”
“No reason at all,” he said thickly, his gaze never leaving her arm. “Except that I’ve always thought you had the most exquisite skin I have ever seen. Roses on cream…glowing with life. I find I can’t bear this atrocity. I can’t stand seeing…” He trailed off as he turned her arm over and stared at the marks on the more delicate flesh of her inner arm. Then, slowly, he lifted her arm and pressed his lips onto one of the most livid bruises.
She stiffened in shock, staring down at the dark hair of his head bent over her arm. She was suddenly acutely aware of the scent of tallow of the candles on the table by the bed, the play of light and shadow on the planes of his cheekbones, the sound of her own breathing in the silence of the room. His lips felt warm, firm, gentle on her flesh, and yet they caused an odd tingling to spread up her arm and through her body.
He looked up and smiled crookedly as he saw her expression. “You see? Who knows? If you stay, there may come a time when I’d be more dangerous to you than your dragon, Marguerite.” He released her arm and leaned back against the headboard.“Bonne nuit, ma petite.”
She didn’t want to leave him. She wanted him to touch her again with those strong, graceful hands. She wanted to tell him…
Merde, she did not know what she wanted to tell him. It was clear he wished to be rid of her and she would not beg him to let her remain.
She turned on her heel, the skirts of her black gown flying. “I didn’t really want to stay. You’ve been nothing but trouble to me and Catherine is only a stupid girl who knows nothing. Nothing!” She grabbed her painting from the easel and strode toward the door. “Marguerite said the queen is at Le Hameau now. She can be at ease there with few of the strictures of the main palace and will probably receive you at the queen’s cottage.” She opened the door and glanced at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. “But it will do you little good to see her. She will never give you the Wind Dancer.”
Juliette stood with spine straight and head high, waiting on the wooden bridge leading to the queen’s cottage as Jean Marc, Catherine, and Philippe strolled into view.
Jean Marc experienced a mixture of sharp pleasure and deep regret as he saw her. He had carefully avoided thinking of the girl since the evening three nights past when he had told her she must leave the inn. Now the sight of her was like a sudden blow.
“Juliette!” Catherine rushed toward her. “I was so afraid I wouldn’t see you again. Why did you leave the inn without a word of farewell?”
“I knew I’d see you here.” Juliette smiled at her. “I couldn’t allow you to see the queen without me being present.” She gazed challengingly at Jean Marc overCatherine’s head. “Jean Marc would probably have managed to get all of you put into chains.”
Philippe chuckled. “You clearly have little respect for his tact. I assure you Jean Marc can be very diplomatic when it serves him.”
“But he likes his own way and so does the queen. I’m not about to let him throw away his life after I’ve worked so hard to save it. Come along. She’s on the terrace.” Juliette turned and walked quickly across the quaint bridge arching over the mirrorlike lake. She led them over carefully tended lawns toward the queen’s cottage.
The cottage actually consisted of two buildings linked by a gallery that could be reached by an external spiral staircase, Jean Marc noticed. He had heard much of this village the queen had built at such extravagant expense a short distance from the small palace of the Petit Trianon. Le Hameau was everything he expected—charming, bucolic, a fairy-tale peasant village where the animals smelled sweet and the containers used to milk the cows were of fine Sèvres china.
A fleecy snow-white lamb wearing a pink bow lay at Marie Antoinette’s slippered feet, and a brown and white milk cow grazed a few yards away from the terrace. Yellow silk cushions occupied the space directly in front of the queen, and sprawled on the cushions was Louis Charles sound asleep.
Jean Marc stopped in surprise, then recovered and moved forward. Le Hameau may have been predictable, but Marie Antoinette definitely wasn’t what he expected. The woman sitting beside the rosewood table appeared almost matronly in her simple white muslin gown with its white silk sash. The only note of fashionable extravagance about her attire was her huge straw hat with its curving white plumes. The queen’s ash-brown hair was unpowdered, but pulled back in the currently fashionable style.
She looked up with a teasing smile when Juliette approached and curtsied. “So you have seen fit to escort your brave rescuer into my presence, Juliette.”
“This is Monsieur Jean Marc Andreas, Your Majesty.”Juliette sank to the terrace beside the heap of pillows, her expression reflecting her disappointment as she looked down at the sleeping child. “Oh, he’s taking his nap. I wanted to play with him.”
The queen shook her head in amusement. “Why are you so fond of babies when you have no use at all for older children?”
“Babies don’t know how to be cruel. I guess they have to learn it. I like babies.” Juliette gently stroked the little boy’s silken hair. “And Louis Charles likes me too.”
The queen gazed over Juliette’s head at Jean Marc.“Bonjour, Monsieur Andreas. You’re most welcome at Versailles. Such a brave man always is. And we are greatly in your debt.”
Jean Marc bowed low. “Your Majesty is very gracious to receive me. I was happy to be of service.”
“But not so happy you do not wish a reward. Juliette tells me you have a boon to ask of me.” Marie Antoinette reached down and patted the head of the pink-ribboned lamb at her feet. “What can I grant you that my husband cannot?”
Jean Marc hesitated and then said in a rush, “The Wind Dancer. I wish to purchase it.”
The queen’s eyes widened. “Surely you jest. The Wind Dancer has belonged to the court of France for almost three hundred years.”
“And it belonged to the Andreas family much longer than that.”
“You’re challenging our right to the statue?”
