Dupree’s delicate hand motioning to the man with the red bonnet.
Juliette firmly banished the memory and smiled down at Catherine. “Of course they didn’t hurt me. Do you think I’d be so easy to catch?”
Catherine relaxed. “No, I didn’t think so. You wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. You’re too strong.”
Blood.
Juliette’s hand tightened around Catherine’s. “You’re strong too, Catherine. You’ll get over this.”
“That’s what he said.” Catherine’s words were nearly inaudible.
“Who?”
“That man. François.”
Juliette hid a start of surprise. Etchelet had not impressed her as a man who would pass words of comfort. He would expect everyone to respond to adversity with the same toughness that seemed inherent in his own character. “Then he has more sense than I thought.”
“He was angry. I don’t know why…”
“Don’t worry about it.” Juliette released Catherine’s hand and stood up. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll sit in the chair across the room and—”
“It’s gone.” Catherine’s hand was fumbling at the high neck of her nightgown. “My locket. It’s gone!”
Juliette stiffened in sudden fear. Why hadn’t she noticed the previous night that the locket was no longer around Catherine’s neck? If Dupree found the locket next to the corpse in the tomb, he would have Catherine’s likeness in the palm of his hand! She mustn’t panic. The locket could have been lost anywhere and, even if found, the miniature might never be discovered. The catch of the locket was hard to find and the opening almost seamless.
“I love my locket. I wanted to wear it forever and now it’s gone.”
Catherine had obviously not made the dangerous connection of the loss and the body in the tomb and Juliette was certainly not going to bring it to her attention. “I’ll paint you another miniature.”
“It won’t be the same.” Catherine closed her eyes and turned her face away. “Nothing will ever be the same.”
Juliette sat down in the chair and leaned her head wearily against the high back. Catherine’s words were almost identical to the ones Juliette had uttered in the salon the previous night. She wished she could argue with her, but how, when Catherine only spoke the truth.
The flame of the candle burned above her bed, hanging like a shimmering topaz teardrop on the velvet of the darkness. She should really concentrate on learning to paint fire, Juliette thought drowsily. She had tried once or twice but the elements were terribly difficult to master. Fire kept changing from gold to emerald, to amber to ruby red. People were much easier once you got beyond their surface and…
“Are you well?”
A deep masculine voice, taut with tension, issued from somewhere beyond the flame.
Juliette’s gaze jerked from the flame to the face behind the candle. High intriguing planes, bold black eyes, and that beautifully cynical mouth.
Jean Marc!
He was here. Wild joy—as instinctive as it was bewildering—soared through her. After all the years of waiting, he was here.
“Answer me!”
She sat bolt upright in bed, jarred wide awake and into anger by the sharpness of his tone. “Why did you not come for her? She’s your responsibility and it wasn’t right of you to—”
“Hush.” Jean Marc’s fingers were shaking as they pressed her lips. “For God’s sake, don’t rail at me. I’ve just come from the abbey and I thought you both dead. I rushed here and—Philippe came in time then?”
“Philippe?”
“I sent Philippe to—” He broke off as he saw her bewildered expression. “My God, hedidn’tcome for you.”
“I told you, no one came for Catherine.” She gazed at him fiercely. “You let thosecanaillesrape her. And if they had killed her too, it would have been your fault. For weeks the carriages came and took the students away, but none came for Catherine.”
Jean Marc was rigid with shock. “Raped?” His rich olive complexion looked suddenly muddy in the candlelight. “My God, that…child.”
