Free Scandal's Child by Sherrill Bodine Page B

and a more comfortable arrangement of furniture could do a lot to make this seem more a home.
    The carved four-poster bed in Kat’s chamber was beautiful; the rich patina of the old wood making her run her fingers over its smoothness. Here, as in the other rooms she had seen, the brocade draperies were faded and she could see where the bedcovers and hangings had been carefully mended.
    All along their journey they had seen the marks of war; in the countryside and in the people. The château also bore its scars.
    Hurriedly pouring water in a porcelain bowl, Kat freshened herself. Just a few tugs on a hairbrush brought her unruly mop into order among the ribbons. She changed quickly from her traveling dress to a simple at-home muslin in a sea green she knew enhanced her natural coloring. Now she was ready to meet the others. She knew she was early, but she hoped she might find Jules in the small salon where they were to gather before supper. She wished a word in private to assess whether or not he would object if she and the others stayed on for a while.
    It was clear the small salon was the one room in which Madame Bernair had placed the treasures she had been able to save. On the mantel an antique French clock ticked—it looked like pictures she’d seen. Vaguely she remembered there’d been a French king who’d delighted in making clocks—a Louis, she thought—and wondered if this could be one of his. On the tables were placed fawn leatherbound books, and at the windows the deep green brocade draperies still retained their rich color. But the most outstanding treasure was the huge oil painting over the fireplace.
    She now knew exactly what Jules would be like without his patch and scar. The man staring down at her had expressive, large, dark eyes, heavily rimmed with lashes; the high cheekbones gave his face strength and character, as did the mouth, although it was curved in such an appealing smile that it exposed an underlying sweetness. It was not a beautiful face such as Jacko’s, instead it mesmerized and compelled, making one wish to know what lurked behind that dark gaze and to experience the delights that smile promised.
    The woman was breathtakingly beautiful, but her perfection of face and figure made her appear unreal. But not so the baby she held in her arms. Jules had probably been about a year old when this was done. His soft baby face was alight with joy and curiosity, his expressive eyes bright above his rosy chubby cheeks.
    “It was done shortly before my father died.”
    Kat whirled around. He was standing in the open doorway, staring up at the painting. -
    With lightning clarity Kat realized the patch and scar made not a whit of difference; Jules himself, as he was, stirred within her all the emotions she had felt while studying the painting. She wanted to know him better. It was a slightly frightening realization.
    Taking a calming breath to still her suddenly racing pulse, she smiled. “It is a wonderful painting. You were an adorable baby.”
    The unpatched brow lifted questioningly and the wonderful smile which, obviously, was a legacy from his father, curved his mouth. “I look as if I might have been a troublemaker.”
    “Yes, that, too.” Kat laughed, glancing again at the painting. “Your mother was beautiful.” Looking back, Kat’s breath caught in her throat. Jules’s smile had disappeared. In its place was such cold anguish that a chill shook her.
    “Yes, she was,” he said in a flat voice, before turning away. “Good evening, Miss Hamilton. Miss Strange … Ah, Jacko, you are just in time. I believe our meal is ready.”
    The dining hall was just that, a large lofty room, its wall hung with priceless tapestries that, miraculously, Madame had saved during the terror and its aftermath of senseless plundering. One exceptional piece depicted classical gods lying about on a grassy meadow playing music to one another.
    Jules was pleased with the supper. It seemed he had a staff to be