“He’s nominally Danton’s agent and clerk, but that’s not his primary duty.”
“I’m not surprised. He didn’t impress me as a clerk.”
“He gathers information for Danton.”
“A spy?”
“He also intimidates. He’s fought five duels in the past two years, all with men Danton found convenient to have out of the way. Needless to say, he was not content merely to inflict token wounds to have honor satisfied.”
That information didn’t surprise her either. “He’ll not challenge me to a duel. Nor do I have any important information he can steal.”
“Two of those duels concerned women. Etchelet presumably seduced the women in order to prod his prey into challenging him so that he would have the choice of weapons.” Philippe shook his head. “None of it was honorably done.”
“That he used the women to get what he wanted?” Juliette could not see Etchelet in the role of seducer. In spite of his physical attractiveness, he radiated a blunt honesty that seemed at odds with the deceit needed for such schemes. “But did you not do the same? How else did you get those gowns Robert brought to my chamber.”
“That was different,” Philippe protested. “I merely explained my need to the ladies in the shop.”
He believed what he was saying, Juliette realized with amazement. Philippe had merely charmed and cajoled and smiled sweetly and the deed was done. “At which shop did you purchase them?”
“Julie Lamartine’s. I remembered Jean Marc uses her to clothe his—” Philippe stopped and then continued lamely. “She’ll begin fitting you both with a complete wardrobe as soon as I provide her with your present measurements.”
He had gone to the shop where Jean Marc sent his mistresses. Juliette felt a sudden jab of pain. No, it couldn’t have been pain. She was tired and confused. All rich men had mistresses, and most courtesans had better taste in fashion than wives. The dressmaker would do very well to outfit Catherine before she left Paris. “I’ll have Catherine’s measurements for you tomorrow.”
Philippe nodded. “And yours.”
“I can make do with one of Marie’s gowns.”
“My sisters would not be ill dressed.”
Juliette’s gaze traveled over his impeccable attire, and she was forced to smile, albeit faintly. “I can see how you would be filled with shame at such ignominy.” She started up the stairs. “Very well, you’ll have my measurements too.”
She had almost reached the landing when she heard Jean Marc’s voice behind her. “Juliette.”
She glanced down to see Jean Marc standing in the doorway of the salon and unconsciously tensed. “Yes?”
His dark eyes narrowed on her face. “Why Citizeness Justice?” he asked softly.
Juliette quickly glanced away. “I told you it wasn’t important.”
“No? I’m beginning to wonder just what you do consider important.”
“My painting. Catherine.”
“And nothing else?”
“Nothing else.”
Jean Marc’s lips were lifted in a faint smile, and there was something in his expression that was both intimate and challenging. She became suddenly aware of the physical presence he exuded, the wideness of his shoulders beneath the smooth fit of his gray coat, the sinewy muscles of his thighs outlined by the clinging doeskin of his trousers, the flatness of his belly. She found herself gazing at him in helpless fascination unable to look away.
His intent gaze held hers for another moment. “How interesting. And challenging. We really must attempt to widen your horizons.” He turned and strode back into the salon.
Her breath expelled in a little rush as if his departure had forced its release.
“Did you ask if she’d see me?”
To her amazement, she had forgotten Philippe was there the moment Jean Marc had appeared in the foyer. The knowledge sent a tingle of uneasiness through her. Jean Marc had been there only one day and he was already overshadowing everyone and everything around her.
Philippe took a step forward. “I’d still like to express my shame for my—”
