Storm Winds (25 page)

“Catherine, you’re to wed me in two days’ time.” He paused. “If you wish it.”

For a moment the dreaminess vanished from her expression. “I do not wish it, but Juliette and Jean Marc know what’s best for me.” She straightened her shoulders and turned away to point to a spot beneath the high stone wall. “Robert’s going to plant white violets there next spring. He says they generally grow well, but this year the winter was harsh and killed them.” She frowned. “Harshness does kill, doesn’t it?”

“No!” François found his fists were clenched and forced himself to relax them. “Not if you fight it. Then it only makes you grow stronger.”

“The violets died.”

“People aren’t flowers.”

“But weren’t we talking about violets?” Catherine asked, puzzled. “Yes, I’m sure we were speaking of violets. I said Robert was planning—”

“I don’t wish to talk of flowers,” François interrupted. “I want to know if you—” He started again. “Will you trust me to do what’s best for you?”

“Juliette trusts you, so I suppose I must.”

“No, not Juliette. You.” He took her chin in his fingers and turned her face up so that she was forced to look into his eyes.
“You
must trust me.” He could sense her withdrawal at his touch like a cold wind blowing through the autumn-shrouded garden.

“I wish you would leave me now. You … disturb me.”

“But you’ll trust me?”

“You and Juliette. Why do you keep pushing at me? Why won’t you realize I wish only to be left alone? I don’t—” She drew away from his hand. “Oh, very well, I’ll trust you. Now will you go away?”

“And you’ll do as I say?”

She nodded jerkily, not looking at him.

François drew a deep breath and took a step back. “Then I’ll bid you good day, Catherine.”

“Good day.”

François turned on his heel and strode toward the door leading to the house. Before he reached it, Catherine’s gaze was once again fixed dreamily on the last roses of autumn.

Two mornings later at the Hôtel de Ville François Etchelet posted an announcement of his intention to marry Catherine Vasaro late that same afternoon. At shortly after four, as agreed, he and Danton met Jean Marc and Catherine outside the hall.

“It won’t take long.” François didn’t give Catherine more than a passing glance as he took her elbow and threw open the door of the municipal chamber. Shrill laughter, chatter, the scent of perfume, and unwashed humanity assaulted them as they entered the crowded room. “I deliberately chose a time when the officials
would be busy. The municipal authorities don’t like to waste time, so there will be at least forty marriages conducted at one ceremony this afternoon. The official makes a short speech and then asks us all whether we wish to marry. We answer yes and it’s over.”

“Interesting. Impersonal but interesting. A veritable Greek chorus of ‘yeses’ portending marital bliss.” Jean Marc’s lips twitched as his gaze fell on a grim-faced, rifle-bearing soldier of the National Guard standing beside an ornate statue of Hymen bearing flowers and a torch. “And they seem prepared for any eventuality.”

Danton gestured at a long table occupied by several gentlemen busily engaged in perusing and signing documents beneath the upraised pedestal where the municipal official presided. “The contracts, gentlemen. I had them drawn up myself to make sure they’d be in order.”

Jean Marc nodded. “And who would dare question the legality of a document drawn up by the Minister of Justice?”

Danton smiled. “I was sure you’d understand. Shall we get the formalities over with so that we can enjoy seeing these two beautiful children united?”

It took longer for Jean Marc to read and sign the contracts than it did for Catherine and François to be joined in marriage.

Jean Marc kept a careful eye on Catherine during the brief ceremony, but she appeared calm and composed and did not look out of place with the other brides in the crowded hall. Juliette had dressed her in a simple dark blue gown, pulled her hair back in a smooth knot and then tucked it beneath a straw bonnet with a wide brim that shadowed her face.

What was she thinking? Jean Marc wondered. She had been silent from the moment Juliette had brought her downstairs and given her into his keeping. It was difficult to know what she was feeling at any time these days. Juliette was right. Catherine would let no one break through that protective shell to the girl they had once known.

The marriage ceremony was ending and Catherine
gave the required assent in a low tone that held no expression.

The hall exploded into immediate confusion as the couples dispersed and new brides and grooms were ushered into the room.

Danton laughed his big, booming laugh, slapped the municipal official on the shoulder, and made a few ribald remarks before whisking their party from the chamber and out onto the street. His demeanor immediately sobered as they reached the Place de la Grève. “It went well, I think.”

Jean Marc nodded. “If the authorities remember anyone in that melee, it will be you and not Catherine.”

The driver of the carriage Jean Marc had hired hurried to open the door as he saw them approaching.

Jean Marc glanced sardonically at Danton. “I’m surprised you chose to come, Danton. After all, there was a certain risk.”

“Everyone knows François is in my employ, and it would have been regarded as unusual for me to ignore the ceremony,” Danton said. “If it was to be done, it had to be done right.”

Jean Marc took Catherine’s elbow to help her into the coach. “I agree. Let’s hope Catherine and Juliette’s departure from Paris tomorrow goes as well. Have you—” He stopped as François deliberately stepped before him in the street. His gaze narrowed on François’s face. “You’re blocking our way, Etchelet.”

François motioned to the driver of the carriage to mount to the driver’s seat. “That was my intention.” He took Catherine’s hand and pulled her away from Jean Marc. “Catherine won’t be returning to your house tonight.”

“Indeed? And where will she be spending the night?”

“I’m taking her to an inn next door to the café owned by Georges Jacques’s father-in-law.”

Jean Marc stiffened. “You made no mention of this before.”

François glanced at the driver to make sure he was out of hearing range. “We’ve made arrangements for
Dupree’s men who’ll be guarding the barrier tomorrow evening to be brought to the common room of the inn tonight. I want them to see Catherine with me.”

“Is that necessary?”

“Everyone must be made to believe the marriage is a real one.” François’s face was expressionless. “And a bridegroom doesn’t spend his wedding night alone.”

“You could come to my house.”

“No.” François turned away and propelled Catherine toward Danton’s carriage a few yards behind Jean Marc’s. “It will be better my way. I’ll return Catherine to you in the morning.”

“As long as your way is best for Catherine.” Menace layered the softness of Jean Marc’s tone.

François glanced back at Jean Marc and smiled mockingly as he lifted Catherine into Danton’s carriage. “Doesn’t a husband always know what’s best for his wife?”

“We shall see.” Jean Marc watched him climb into the coach, his brow furrowed in thought. François’s move had disconcerted him and he didn’t like to be caught off guard. Yet there was logic in Etchelet’s plan, and there was no doubt the women’s departure from Paris would be made safer if the groundwork was carefully prepared with the guards at the barriers.

Danton paused before joining François and Catherine in the carriage to gaze at Jean Marc in amusement. “You appear disturbed, Citizen. Were you not aware of the character of my friend François? He delights in doing the unexpected. At times it’s a great trial to me.” He climbed into the carriage and the coachman slammed the door shut.

In another moment Danton’s carriage was rumbling over the cobblestones.

Jean Marc stood looking after it, still frowning ruefully. He had an idea this particular action of Etchelet’s was going to prove a trial to him as well.

Because it was Jean Marc who was going to have to tell Juliette that Catherine was not to spend her wedding night safely under the Andreas roof.

“Go after her,” Juliette ordered, glaring at Jean Marc. “I can’t believe you’d be so stupid as to let him—” She stopped and drew a deep breath. “I promised her she’d be safe from harm.”

“I believe she is safe from harm.”

“If you won’t go after her, I’ll do it myself.”

“I think not,” Jean Marc said quietly. “Not unless you want to endanger both Catherine and yourself by your foolishness.”

“She’ll be frightened. What if he—”

“Demands a bridegroom’s rights?” Jean Marc finished. “I don’t think he will. It would be the act of a barbarian to enjoy taking a woman who is no more alive than a statue.”

“Perhaps he is a barbarian. You don’t know what he is. He’s a stranger to you.”

“That sounds familiar. May I remind you that Etchelet was your choice?”

“Because I thought we could control him.”

“Etchelet’s obviously not a man who can be controlled.”

“Then why are you just standing there? Go get Catherine and bring her back.”

“They’re wed. I have no rights and Etchelet does.”

“Rights? What if he rapes her?”

Jean Marc said calmly, “Then I’ll kill him. Very slowly.”

“What good will that do Catherine? You must—”

“Juliette. Catherine stays with Etchelet tonight because I am sure it’s best for both of you. If that wasn’t my belief, I wouldn’t have let Etchelet take her. The discussion is closed.”

“It’s not closed.” Juliette whirled toward the door. “I’ll get Philippe to—”

“No.” Jean Marc’s hand closed on her arm. “Believe me, this is one of those rare times when you are
not
right. Give it up.”

She tried to pull away. “I can’t give it up. I made
her a promise. If something happens to her, I will have failed her. She needs me. I can’t—”

“Shh, it’s all right.” To his surprise, he found she was trembling with emotion. He could feel the tension, the flutter of her pulse on the wrist beneath his thumb, the feverish warmth of her skin. “Etchelet is a risk that had to be taken.”

“Risk? You don’t know what you’re talking about. You weren’t
there
. You don’t know what they …” She broke away from him and turned and ran toward the stairway.

“Juliette!”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “If he hurts her, I won’t forgive you.” Her eyes were blazing in her white face. “I’ll never forgive you for making me guilty again. Do you hear me? I’ll never forgive you for the rest of my life.”

She dashed up the stairs and a moment later he heard the door of her chamber slam.

Jean Marc frowned thoughtfully as he looked up the stairs. Guilty
again?

I
didn’t like those men,” Catherine said suddenly. Those were the first words she had uttered since the maidservant at the inn had brought their supper and left their chamber.

François sipped his wine. “Who?”

“Those men downstairs in the common room. They reminded me of—I didn’t like them.”

“I didn’t expect you to like them.” He met her gaze. “Did they frighten you?”

The intonation in the question was merely polite. He didn’t care if they had frightened her, she thought with resentment. He had deliberately lingered with those horrible men, encouraging their crude jests about brides in general and Catherine in particular until they had progressed from ribald to obscene. At first she’d only been vaguely aware of them in the same way she’d been aware of the other events of the day. Then, as François had not
rushed to protect her from the abuse, she had gradually begun to catch a remark here and there and felt a tiny stirring of indignation and resentment. She repeated, “I didn’t like them.”

“You won’t have to see them again.”

“Thank you.” She looked at her food.

“You’ve not eaten more than a few bites. Eat your beef. The sauce is quite good. Georges Jacques arranged to have the meal sent over from the Café Charpentier next door. One of the reasons he began to frequent the café was the food.” A sudden smile lit his face. “The other reason was the proprietor’s daughter who cooked it. Now he has both.”

She didn’t pick up her fork. “I don’t wish to stay here any longer. May we go now?”

François studied her over the rim of his goblet. “No.”

Her long lashes rose. “I’m not comfortable here. I want to see Juliette.”

“You’ll see her tomorrow.” François set his goblet down. “Did you understand what I told Jean Marc?”

She shook her head.

“I didn’t think so. You’ve been walking around in a daze all day.” François’s hand tightened on the stem of his goblet. “If you didn’t understand, then why the hell did you come with me?”

“Jean Marc and Juliette said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“And how do Jean Marc and Juliette know what I will or will not do?”

Her eyes widened. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“No.” He lifted his goblet to his lips, drained it, and then set it down on the table with a crash. “For God’s sake, stop looking at me like that. I mean you no harm.”