He narrowed his eyes. “It must have been the result of the scuffle when my men pulled them apart. Naturally, I will punish whoever dared to mark her ivory skin.”
Perhaps the words were spoken evenly, without any hesitation, but Mère was no fool. She pressed her lips together, worry swirling in her eyes only when her back was to the duc. They cleared just before she pivoted to face him. “I should hope so. Foolish though her action may have been, one moment of folly is hardly cause for such rough treatment. She is a good girl, my Julienne. I am sure it was a moment of weakness, nothing more. Certainly it will never happen again.”
“Of that I intend to be sure.” Remi strode to the cabinet against the wall and unstopped a decanter, sloshing liquor into a glass. “Julienne will not leave this apartment until we are wed.”
Non. He could not hold her here, a prisoner. Julienne stumbled backward into the chair. He could not—She must convince her mother to leave France. They must rendezvous with Isaac.
Mère stormed after the duc. “Pardonnez-moi, monsieur—but my daughter most certainly will not be residing in your rooms until you are wed!”
Dark amusement lit his eyes as he sipped at the drink. “There will be no harm, as I will not be in them. And you are welcome to stay with her, madame. But I promise you, her lovely feet shall not cross the threshold until my return. I will have every entrance guarded. No one will come in, and she will not go out.”
Her mother fisted her hands against her hips. “Absurd. We have much planning to do for the wedding—”
“Yes, you have, and all of it can be accomplished from here.” His gaze found Julienne again. Hard, unforgiving. Determined to have what he wanted. “Commission your gown, mon amour. Redecorate the rooms if you so wish.”
Mère huffed. “And how are we to commission her gown if no one is allowed in?”
A spark of amused respect flashed through his eyes. “Very well, I shall leave a list of approved visitors. Your father, madame, and those with whom you will need to speak for the wedding. But no friends. Most certainly no male friends.”
Her mother raised her hands in surrender, but not without a huff. “I feel you are overreacting, monsieur, but so be it. Send a servant for our things, if you will, and show us to our room.”
Leave it Mère to dismiss him. Relief sang through Julienne’s veins as she pushed herself up and to her mother’s side.
The duc raised a brow. “Your rooms, you mean. I have enough for you both.”
“I think not, monsieur.” Somehow, her mother’s smile was placating even as it was challenging. “I will indulge your lack of trust in Julienne right now, but you must indulge me in my lack of trust in you, with so beautiful a young woman under your roof.”
Remi bowed, though Julienne did not miss the spark of displeasure in his eye. The chill that clawed up her spine told her Mère may have just spared her more pain this night. “Very well, madame. I cannot fault a mother for guarding her daughter’s virtue. Come this way.”
They followed him down a hall and into a chamber resplendent in its appointments, one whose beauty she might have appreciated had it not been a dungeon in purpose. She walked toward the window and looked out, swallowing back her panic when she saw it was far too high up to attempt an escape from here.
“I will be leaving at first light,” Remi said, his voice cool as granite. “My steward will have instructions on the wedding. I expect you will have all arranged upon my return in a week.”
“Of course, monsieur.”
Julienne dragged in a long breath and turned back to them just in time to see the duc quirk a brow.
“Are you not going to give me a proper farewell, Julienne?”
Seeing no way around it, she went to him and let him pull her far too close and kiss her far too passionately.
Never again would he touch her—that she swore the moment he let her go. She would find a way out of this place, she would find Isaac, she would leave forever. Never, never again would his hands bruise or his words control.
He smirked down at her and brushed his knuckles over her cheek, pressing hard upon her bruise. But though she couldn’t control the wince, she did not give him the satisfaction of another whimper. He tweaked her chin. “One week, Julienne. Use the time to reflect on my generosity in forgiving you.”
She dug up a smile, though surely mockery tainted it. “I will dwell on little else, Remi.”
He left, pulling the door shut behind him. And then she let her shoulders sag.
“Julienne.” Her mother led her over to the bed and sat beside her on its edge, wrapping her arms around her. “He struck you?”
Tears clogged her throat, so she only nodded against her maman’s shoulder.