French Passion by Jacqueline; Briskin Read Free Book Online Page B

are necessary. He could still imprison your brother.”
    â€œBut how?”
    â€œA lettre de cachet .”
    â€œA what?”
    â€œSurely even buried in the country you’ve heard of a lettre de cachet? Any powerful noble can obtain such a letter from King Louis’ secretary. A lettre de cachet puts one in prison. A lettre de cachet keeps one in prison.”
    â€œIf I repay—”
    â€œNo crime is necessary with a lettre de cachet .”
    â€œHe—the Comte—wouldn’t do that,” I said, wrapping the blanket closer around me.
    Monsieur Sancerre’s face remained somber. “Mademoiselle d’Epinay, listen to me. The Comte is well known as a dangerous adversary. A jeweler who cheated the first Comtesse was bankrupted. A bailiff who mismanaged his estate in Provence has been in a dungeon for years. And as for me, I would be burned at the stake. One nod from the Comte and—” He pointed to the fire.
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œAnything that offends him. You see, I’m already guilty. Preferring men to women is a crime for which one pays at the stake.” He spoke with simple dignity.
    I had no doubt the Comte would destroy anyone who helped me. The pain in his dark eyes as I’d run from the brilliantly lit mansion was my proof.
    I stood, saying humbly, “Monsieur Sancerre, I never should have come to you. Compromising is a poor way to repay friendship.”
    â€œSit down,” he said, and with both hands pressed gently on my shoulders until I was once more seated on the fire stool. “As you say, I’m a friend. And you, Mademoiselle d’Epinay, need a friend badly.”
    â€œI must go back,” I said in a beaten voice.
    â€œIt’s not the end of the world,” he said. He was back to his effusive tone. “The Comte is witty, cultured, with great breeding. And wealth. Look at it this way, Mademoiselle d’Epinay. As the Comtesse, you would have been a lovely bird trapped in that huge, oppressive palace. As his mistress, you’ll have a charming home—ah, I promise to help you make it charming. Better, you’ll be a free agent. A beautiful young girl with an elderly protector! What a merry chase you’ll lead the Comte! Everything the heart below those exquisite little breasts desires will be yours.”
    â€œThe only thing I want is love.”
    A few minutes earlier I’d told him love was what I felt for the highwayman I knew only as André.
    Monsieur Sancerre looked down at me. “Forget that episode,” he said in a different voice. Strong. Serious. And for once, yes, manly. “If you can’t forget it, bury it someplace deep. Believe me, believe me, Paris is an icy prison for the poor. A glittering wonderland for the rich.”
    I sighed. “In any case there’s no choice. Jean-Pierre can’t go to prison, not even for a day. His chest is so weak, it’ll kill him.” I paused. “Do you have a comb?”
    He clapped his hands together. “I have better. We’ll make you like new again!”
    And in a minute there I was, in my petticoats. One apprentice sat cross-legged on a table whipping the lace trim of my sleeves while another sponged at the skirt. The third scraped mud from my shoes. Monsieur Sancerre heated the curling iron on the fire. In a corner I untied the stocking with my jewelry. They must have glimpsed my legs, one bare, one in white silk.
    I heard a whisper. “Such legs! It’s enough to turn one to women!”
    A new belt was found, my hair curled, my gown adjusted and fastened—the skirt was clean but damp, as were my shoes. The lackey was dispatched to hire a cabriolet. Monsieur Sancerre insisted on escorting me. He directed the driver to the real trade entrance, by the coach house.
    As the cabriolet stopped, I said, “Monsieur Sancerre, there’s no way to thank you. You’ve been a true