Storm Winds by Iris Johansen Read Free Book Online

“I usually have no problem. Most people are easy to read. It’s important that I be able to see beneath the surface.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I’m going to be a great artist,” she said simply.
    He started to laugh, then stopped as he met her clear, steady gaze. “I recall you said something about painting me when I first awoke. You wish to be an artist?”
    “I am an artist. I am
going
to be a great artist. Iintend to study and work until I’m as great as Da Vinci or Del Sarto.”
    “I admire your confidence.”
    A sudden smile lit her face. “You mean you think I have no modesty. Artists can’t have modesty or their talent withers. Men persist in believing women can paint only shallow daubs. I do not—Why are you looking at me in such a peculiar way?”
    “I was wondering how old you are.”
    She frowned. “Four and ten. What does that matter?”
    “It may matter a great deal.” He closed his eyes.
    “What do you mean?”
    “I think I can sleep now. Run along to your own chamber.”
    She did not move.
    He opened his eyes again. “I said for you to go. I think it will be for the best if you leave for the palace tomorrow morning.”
    She felt an odd pang. “You want me to go?”
    “Yes.” His voice was rough. “I have no need of you here.”
    Her jaw set stubbornly. “You
do
need me. Look at you, weak as a babe and still mouthing nonsense. I won’t leave you. Do you think I want to remember I owed you my life and let you die before I could repay you? I’m not my mother. I take nothing without giving something in return.”
    His gaze narrowed on her face. “Your mother?”
    She shook her head impatiently. “I did not mean to mention her. My mother has nothing to do with this.” She raised her chin. “You did me a service. Therefore, I must do one for you in return. I’ve already sent word to the queen that I’ll stay here until you’re well enough to go to Versailles and receive her thanks.”
    “You’ll soon regret staying. I’m not a good patient. I detest being ill.”
    “And I detest bad-tempered patients. I shall be as foul-natured as you, and you’ll get well quickly so that you can rid yourself of my services.”
    A reluctant smile touched his lips. “There’s somethingin what you say.” He suddenly gave in. “Stay if you like. Who am I to refuse the gentle ministrations of a damsel for whom I’ve given my life’s blood?”
    “I have little gentleness, but on no account will I allow you to die.” She straightened briskly in the chair. “Naturally, I can’t have my painting interrupted while I care for you. I think I shall set up my easel in that corner by the window. The light should be very good there.” She smiled. “I’m sure we’ll deal very well together, and I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.”
    “As I told you, I’m a man who seldom denies himself for chivalry’s sake.” He settled more comfortably, wearily closing his eyes. “Someday I may remind you that I tried to send you away.”
    “Someday?” She shook her head. “You’ll be well and hearty in a fortnight or so and we shall part. There will be no someday.”
    “That’s right. I must not be thinking clearly. Perhaps I do have a fever.”
    “Truly?” An anxious frown wrinkled Juliette’s brow as she reached out to touch him. She sighed with relief. “Not yet.”
    “No?” His eyes remained closed, but he smiled, curiously, Juliette thought.
    “Not yet,” he murmured. “Someday …”
    Jean Marc’s temperature began to rise in the late evening.
    Juliette bathed him with cool water and tried desperately to keep him from tossing and spilling out of the bed onto the floor.
    During the middle of the night the fever receded and severe chills took its place. The chills racked him, and his great convulsive shudders worried Juliette more than the fever had.
    “I—have—no liking—for this.” Jean Marc’s teeth were clenched to keep them from chattering. “It should teach me well