Undone (32 page)

She crossed her arms. “Was that a marriage proposal?”

“
What?
No!”

“Good, because it wasn’t a very good one, the way you were carrying on about rodents and disgust.”

He glared at her. “This is no joking matter.”

She walked up to him. “As you can tell, I am not laughing. I don’t care what nobles think. Pleasing them does not give me joy. You do. Simon, I love—”

He covered her mouth with his hand in an instant. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against hers. “Please, don’t. Do not say anything more.”

He had to tell her what he’d done. He’d hoped that they could have simply had a few wonderful weeks together, but she had to know before she said any more to him. Perversely, a small part of him wanted her disdain, for it might help him to shore up his resolve and do right by her.

Removing his hand, he kissed her, needing one last kiss from her willing lips before he shattered her image of him. Drawing her against him, feeling her soft form melt into him, he kept his kiss languorous and lush, enjoying the contours of her sweet lips, delighting in her response as she parted them for him, welcoming him into her mouth. But he had to refuse the invitation, knowing the folly in accepting it.

There were things to say. He didn’t want to do this, but she was giving him no choice.

He broke the kiss, took a deep breath, and stepped back, away from her. “When you return to France, you’ll see bodies on the ground, dead peasants, many of them children less than five years old. Gruesome scenes. Some areas far worse than others. When you see this, know that it was I who helped do that to them. Ah, your eyes widen with surprise. Well,
chérie
, there are things you don’t know about me.”

He turned away and rested his hands on his hips. “I’ve spent my life dreaming about being a noble. I’ve been so intent on attaining position, crawling out of the station of my birth, that I chased after betterment without regard for the consequences of my ambitions. I craved the respect given to nobles and recognition for my naval efforts so fiercely that I closed my eyes to the cost of my quest. That price was paid by the deaths of my men and by the helpless peasants of France.

“Over the years, I became better and better at battle and capture. Countless Spaniards died at my command. The king’s share of my captured prizes got a little larger each time. My contributions to the Crown treasury have been substantial. They helped a newly appointed Superintendent of Finance become highly successful, ultimately powerful, and unconscionably corrupt. While my efforts helped to make him stronger, he weakened my own kind, decimating the lower class by taxing them into starvation. I chased a fool’s dream with my eyes firmly shut until Thomas’s death, until I could no longer deny what I had helped do to people who’d already suffered enough. That is when I gave up chasing after betterment.”

He looked down and shook his head. “My quest for betterment cost the life of a good friend, Thomas, who, incidentally, didn’t die in battle and glory as his wife was told. He was captured by the Spanish and died a horrible death by torture and dismemberment.” He wanted to look at her, but he couldn’t.

Instead, he lowered himself onto a chair.

Hearing her approach, he braced himself.

Reluctantly, he met her gaze. She studied him, her brows drawn together. “Are those your darkest secrets, then?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you told me this. It proves to me just what kind of man you are.”

His heart sank. “It does, does it?”

“Yes.” She placed her hand under his chin. “I have seen you at your best and at your worst, and even at your very worst, you have behaved honorably.” Her eyes softened. “The mere fact that you torture yourself shows you are no monster. It is but one of many factors that distinguishes you from those who are. You are distraught because bad things happened, but you are not in control of everything, even if you wish it. You didn’t kill Thomas. You didn’t kill the peasants. Others did. As for your men and the Spanish, there was war. You fought. You did what you had to do to survive, just like everyone else. You are punishing yourself because you wanted a better life, and you shouldn’t, Simon.”

Her words wrapped themselves around his heart when he didn’t want them to.

Slipping onto his lap, she circled her arms around him. In his ear, she said, “If you are looking for my acceptance, you have always had it.”

He was astounded.

He pushed her away to look into her eyes. “I could have done more to stop what happened to those people. I should have helped them rather than those in power.”

“How? You have done more for them than the king, it would seem. The greatest sin in what you have told me is that you didn’t get your dream—nobility. Though it makes no difference to me whether you are a noble or not, because it is your heart’s desire, I wish it for you. You deserve it. But understand this: you have sought to gain nobility, but you are noble. You don’t want to be ordinary, but you never have been. You wish to be exalted, but in the eyes of so many, you are.”

He was speechless.

He couldn’t believe she hadn’t turned away from him. He’d heard similar words from Jules and Robert, but until he heard them from her, they had little effect. Her words seemed to be like a salve to his battered conscience and tormented soul. If this incredible woman could know what he’d done yet still see good in him, perhaps he could forgive himself.

“You are more than man enough for me, just as you are.” She captured his mouth in a long, languid kiss.

He was undone by her. He had no idea how to resist the swelling emotions in his heart any more than he could stop the stiffening of his cock near her soft bottom.

“Don’t let this end,” she whispered, her every kiss growing more urgent. Heated.

Her fingers stroked down his abdomen, the light sensation resonating through his senses. His body was instinctively responding to the arousing effect of the woman he desired. Yet his mind and heart were caught in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings he was no longer certain how to react to.

“I want more than a few weeks, Simon. Open your heart, and tell me you want more too. Tell me before we reach France.”

He needed time to think, to reason this out, but she was already pulling his shirt free, slipping her warm hands beneath it and onto his bare chest.

“Make love to me, Simon.”

At least this was familiar territory for him, yet as usual, there were those softer sentiments swirling around inside him that only she inspired.

Holding her in his arms, he stood without breaking the contact of their mouths and carried her to the bed, all the while returning her kisses with heated hunger. He laid her down, then covered her with his body.

She wanted him to open his heart to her. Completely. Could he do it? What if he got rid of Fouquet and got even with her stepfather? Would that be enough to assuage his guilt? What if he did as Jules suggested and made another attempt to gain his nobility—for her? What if he failed again?

She writhed under him impatiently. Lowering his head, he savored the taste of her skin at the swell of her breast. He would never have his fill of her. He didn’t want to.

“Simon… Hurry.”

He wouldn’t do it. “Slow down. Make it last…”

He wanted nothing more.

Chapter Twenty-Three

France. Southeast of Rouen.

Under the summer sun, horses’ hooves thundered as Simon and his party of twenty men rode toward Robert’s home, Château Névelon.

It had taken all Simon had to walk off his ship and ride away from Angelica. He’d become so accustomed to her presence, he loathed the thought of being without her.

Affections and passions between them had not cooled over the course of the voyage. In fact, the closer they got to France, the closer they became. He knew every endearing dimple, freckle, every sweet part of her. He knew how to make her smile, and he knew what she wanted from him. Forever.

He’d spent weeks vacillating between what was right and what he wanted until the lines began to blur, until he couldn’t deny that what he wanted—
her
—felt so right. However, in the end, he hadn’t committed to her as she’d asked. Not out loud, anyway.

Not just yet.

Though, he had decided he was going make a last attempt to gain nobility—to be with her. But first, he needed to speak to Robert to fully understand the new attitude of their twenty-two-year-old king. How much or how little would it take to convince Louis to grant him letters of nobility? He had the wealth of silver from
La Estella Blanco
, and he had his determination to remove Fouquet from his powerful position. Would Louis be interested in any of this?

Because of so many uncertainties and unknowns, Simon was approaching this guardedly. But with conviction. He had, therefore, not been able to bring himself to tell Angelica how much he wanted her to be a permanent part of his life. Despite her declarations that social status didn’t matter, he knew from experience it did.

With a resolve he hadn’t known since before Thomas’s death, Simon pushed his horse, challenging those who rode with him to keep up.

Whatever it took, Louis would ennoble him so that he could marry Angelica and give her all the honor she deserved. She’d changed him, brought him back to life, and revived his dream. Only this time, he didn’t want it for personal gain but solely, strictly for her. She’d enriched his life, and he wanted in turn to enrich hers. Once he had his Letters, he’d tell her how much he loved her and ask her to marry him. Over the final week, it had all but killed him not to say the words he longed to voice. But he would. In time.

Simon had held back the king’s seven warships, still at sea, north of Le Havre, while his own four ships were at port in Rouen, replenishing supplies. Immediately thereafter, two of his ships would sail to Robert’s Château Arles, in the south of France.

He’d left orders for the four ships, instructions for Angelica’s safety, organized two parties of men, obtained horses, and left all before Jules could disembark from the ship he commanded and confront him, forcing answers Simon couldn’t yet give.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

It would seem he had luck on his side today.

*****

Angelica awoke, reached out, and realized Simon was gone.

This was not new. He always rose before her and went on deck.

Sighing, she stretched. Sounds from outside drifted into the cabin, the men moving about blending with the lapping of water against the hull of the ship. A woman’s shout pierced through the familiar, followed by children’s laughter and nickering horses.

Angelica sat bolt upright.
France
.

She jumped out of bed and dressed at a frantic pace. Once done, she snatched open the cabin door, startling Paul, who was walking past.

“Where is he, Paul?”

“The captain has disembarked.”

Her stomach dropped. “Disembarked?” Without saying anything to her? “Where are we?”

“Rouen.”

Rouen? Simon had kept her in her cabin for the last two days, making love. They had not only reached France, they’d passed Le Havre at the mouth of the Seine and were not far from Paris. “When will he return?” She couldn’t keep the anxiety from her tone.

“I don’t know. Perhaps several days. Maybe longer. He has matters to attend to.”

“What matters?”

“I’m sorry. I cannot say.”

She could feel the slow, hard thuds of her heart.

“Cannot say or will not say?”

The young man shifted his weight, looking uneasy and unsure how to answer.

“Paul, bring me Mathieu Godeau. He’s second in command of this ship, is he not? I demand to speak to him.”

“No need, Paul, I’m here,” Godeau said from behind the younger man. Paul stepped aside, looking relieved as the tall blond man approached. “What can I do for you, mademoiselle?”

“I want to know where your captain has gone.”

“The captain has left with a number of men to meet a friend. He gave me this note to give to you.”

She opened the note quickly and read the words. Brief. To the point. He was gone for two weeks. She was to stay on board. He would speak to her upon his return.

“What friend is he seeing? For what purpose?” She resented this male wall of silence.

“Mademoiselle, the captain will return soon enough. You can ask him the details of his trip then.”

“Is he going to Beaulieu? Before you tell me you cannot say, I assure you, you can. In fact, I insist! I have nowhere to go, so it’s quite safe to tell me. Now, is he going to Beaulieu? Yes or no!”

The commander remained quiet.

“Answer me!”

“Yes.”

The word hit Angelica like a fist.
How could he?
He knew how she felt about returning there. All her hopes, all the dreams of having a lasting loving bond with him were crushed under the weight of that one ugly word.
Beaulieu
.

“Is there anything else?”

She shook her head. Softly, she closed the door and leaned against it. There was nothing more to ask. She crumpled the note in her hand and let it fall to the floor.

She’d asked him to commit to her before they reached France.

And he had not.

He’d had many opportunities to voice words of love and marriage and forever. Yet he’d uttered none. He was carrying on with his original intentions of returning her to Beaulieu and retreating from her life, even after weeks of indescribable bliss.

Any illusions she may have entertained during the voyage, that he would change his mind and not let her go in the end, shattered. How much clearer could he make it?

He was
not
going to stay with her.

He left knowing how she would interpret his departure, and he hadn’t even had the courage to tell her in person that he was leaving the ship. She swiped away a tear off her cheek.

She refused to add to her grief. No matter what was done about her stepfather, she could never,
would never
, step foot in Beaulieu again. Not after what had happened to her there.