“Catherine’s guardian is Jean Marc Andreas. He has a house on the Place Royale but he’s not in residence at present.”
“Not the Place Royale.” François’s brow was creased in thought as he told her absently, “It’s the Place de l’Indivisibilité now.”
“Mother of God, not again? How does anyone find his way around the city? Such stupidity.” Juliette enunciated precisely. “Number Eighteen Place Royale.”
“Are there servants?”
Juliette shrugged. “I don’t know and I can’t ask Catherine.”
“No, you can’t ask her.” François’s gaze went to the carriage and Juliette again noticed that curiously intent expression on his face. “She’s not…well.”
Danton gazed quizzically down at them as they approached. “The marquise was not obliging?”
François shook his head. “The marquise is a bitch.”
“What a pity. I suppose you’ll just have to take these forlorn women to your bosom and care for them yourself.”
“The devil I will.” François opened the door of thecarriage and half lifted, half pushed Juliette onto the seat next to Catherine. For the briefest instant his gaze rested on Catherine’s delicate features before he continued. “I detest spoiling your amusement, Georges Jacques, but when you feel you can bestir yourself, take us to the Place Royale.”
Danton’s lips twitched. “Place Royale? I do believe you’re being corrupted by these aristos.”
“I mean the Place de l’Indivisibilité.” François slammed the door of the carriage shut.
SEVEN
Thirty-six houses surrounded the elegant square. All were similar in architecture with their steeply slanted slate roofs and dormer windows but each possessed unique trimmings…and secrets. Beyond the brick and stone façades lay delightful courtyards and enchanting gardens where graceful fountains sprayed sparkling water and one could sit on marble benches and breathe in the intoxicating fragrance of roses and violets.
How did she know about those gardens? Catherine wondered numbly. Then she realized it was because Jean Marc lived in one of these houses. They were standing before the door of Jean Marc’s house on the Place Royale and someone was pounding on the front door. She hadn’t gone there since Jean Marc had invited her for Christmas three years before. He had surprised her with a splendid blue gown made from measurementsthe seamstress had received from the Mother Superior. She had been so disappointed Philippe had not been there to see her in it. Philippe had once told her he liked her in blue and she had—
Philippe.
Pain spiraled through her and she quickly drew the mist of numbness about her again.
François was forced to knock repeatedly before the door was opened a narrow crack to reveal the frightened face of a man in his twilight years. Wrinkles seamed his thin face and sparse white hair clung in tufts to his shiny pink scalp. As soon as he caught sight of François through the crack, he started to swing the door shut.
François pushed the door open and stepped into the marble foyer. “Make up two bedchambers.” He pulled Juliette and Catherine into the hall. “These ladies will be staying here for the next few days. However, as far as anyone else is concerned, the house is still unoccupied. Do you understand?”
“See here, you can’t walk in here and…” He met François’s gaze and his words trailed off as his glance slid away toward Juliette and Catherine. He stiffened and raised the candelabrum in his hand higher. “Mademoiselle Catherine?”
Juliette stepped forward. “She’s been injured and needs to be nursed. What’s your name?”
“Robert Dameraux. I’m head gardener for Monsieur Andreas and I care for the house when he’s in Marseilles.” His gaze was still fixed on Catherine.“Pauvre petite. So pale…”
“Robert.” Catherine’s vague gaze focused on his deeply lined face. “Violets. You gave me white violets.”
The old man nodded. “When you were a child you loved my flowers.”
“They looked so…clean. Like nothing had touched them since the beginning of time. I thought—” She swayed and would have fallen if the young man had not caught and steadied her. She couldn’t remember who he was. François, yes, that was his name. He and Juliette had been arguing in the coach.…
“A bedchamber,” he repeated curtly as he lifted Catherine in his arms.
Robert nodded and scurried ahead of them across the foyer and up the staircase.
François tightened his grip around Catherine’s body and started across the foyer. Catherine saw their reflections in the gilt-framed mirror affixed to the far wall. She could hardly recognize her own tattered, dirty image while he looked solid, dark, and formidably male. Catherine stiffened as panic soared through her. She mustn’t let him touch her. She mustn’t let any man touch her. Pain. Filth. She’d never be clean again.
“Stop trembling. I won’t hurt you.” His low voice was rough, but there was such raw force in his words, Catherine found herself relaxing. Juliette was right behind them on the stairs and was not objecting. If the man was a threat, Juliette would not have let him carry her. She could trust Juliette, if not the man who held her.
He was very strong, she thought remotely, stronger than he looked, the sinewy muscles hard and inflexible beneath the wool of his coat. His throat was only a few inches away, and she could see the throb of his heart in the hollow. She found herself staring at that rhythmic pulse in fascination. Life. She had never seen anyone so robustly alive. His face was hard, shuttered, and yet those glittering green eyes betrayed a restless male energy beneath the expressionless features.
