“Prostitution and treason.”
“Flimsy. However, the war hysteria is high enough in Paris for them to accept anything Marat tells them—which means your ladies in distress will likely be condemned as enemies of the revolution.” He shrugged. “I’ll drive to make sure you get through Dupree’s sentries. My ugly face is known well enough so they probably won’t stop the coach. If they do, I’ll let you deal with them.”
“It will be my pleasure.”
“I’m sure it will.” Danton smiled sardonically. “I can see your temper is not of the best.” He started walking to the bend in the road. “I think you’d better ride in the coach with your highborn waifs, my young firebrand. I want no more deaths unless I deem them necessary.”
“They’re not ‘my waifs.’ After we get them to Paris, they can take their own risks. I’m done with them.”
“We shall see.” Danton shot François a speculative glance as he climbed up onto the driver’s seat. “Beforenow I would never have believed you’d have turned knight for any aristo. It’s clearly an evening for surprises.”
François had scarcely seated himself opposite Juliette and Catherine when the coach started with an abruptness that sent him lurching back against the cushions.
Juliette waited for him to speak.
He said nothing.
Juliette gazed at him in exasperation. The hard, stormy intensity François Etchelet radiated would ordinarily have intrigued her artist’s eye, but at the moment it served only to annoy her. “Well?”
He gave her a glance. “Georges Jacques will get us through the sentries.” He did not elaborate.
“How can you be sure?”
“He is Danton.”
Juliette tried to restrain her irritation. “And what does that mean?”
“He’s the hero of the revolution.”
She gazed at him scornfully. “Heroes don’t participate in massacres.”
“He’s the Minister of Justice, the head of the Executive Council, and a very great man. Today he spoke before the entire assembly and saved the revolution. The representatives were like frightened sheep because the Prussians had taken Verdun and might march on Paris. They would have disbanded the assembly and surrendered. He wouldn’t let them.”
“I don’t care about your revolution.” Her arm tightened around Catherine’s shoulders. “I care only about her…and about myself and the Reverend Mother and all those—”
“You don’t understand.”
“Do you?”
“Most of the time I do.” He shook his head wearily. “Not tonight. Why were you even at the abbey? You should have taken warning when they forbade the nunsto teach you. To be an aristocrat in France today is to be in peril. You should not—”
“Catherine is no aristocrat.” Juliette cut through his words. “Her family is in the perfume trade in Grasse, but your fine patriots didn’t question her heritage before they raped her.”
François’s gaze shifted to Catherine. “She’s not of the nobility?”
Juliette shook her head. “It scarcely matters now.”
“No, it doesn’t matter.” He looked at Catherine with a curious intentness that bewildered Juliette. Catherinewasa sight to stir sympathy in the hardest breast—sitting so still, pale as the moonlight streaming through the windows of the coach. She reminded Juliette of Sister Bernadette’s effigy.
However, Juliette somehow doubted if François Etchelet could be easily moved by any woman. Still, she sensed he was no immediate threat to Catherine. Lethargy was attacking Juliette’s body and she forced herself to sit up straighter in the seat. She mustn’t give in to it. There were still threats to be faced and decisions to be made.
And this François Etchelet could very well be one of the greatest dangers of all. Whatever had motivated him to save them, it certainly wasn’t gallantry, and it was clear he resented being thrown into the role of rescuer. “Where are you taking us?”
Etchelet’s gaze was still on Catherine’s face as he answered Juliette’s question with one of his own. “Do you have a family in Paris?”
“Only my mother. The Marquise Celeste de Clement.”
“A marquise? Well, she should be able to find a safe place for you to hide. We’ll take you both to her.”
