Part 3 (1/2)
”Marriage?” He led a dangerous existence. And given what he was planning to do, it was in greater peril than usual. ”That is the very last thing on my mind.”
”And what if one day you long for it?”
”Then and only then shall I give it a second thought.”
”Your pardon, my lord,” the old servant Henri said from the entrance of the dining hall. ”Captain, the young lady is awake.”
Chapter Three.
The unknown woman reentered the chamber.
The pain in Angelica's head was excruciating. Nausea roiled her stomach. But she battled through it, determined to learn where she was and how she'd arrived there.
This was like a bad dream. She used to be plagued by them years ago.
But none had ever been like this.
The woman smiled. ”Good morning, Signorina Angelica.” This time, she spoke in Italian, her tone gentle and no doubt meant to be soothing. But it didn't soothe her in the least.
She clutched her forehead, willing the pounding to stop.
Forced to keep her voice low, knowing her throbbing head would worsen otherwise, she closed her eyes and demanded quietly, ”Who are you? How do you know me?”
”My name is Marta. Gabriella told me your name.”
At hearing her friend's name, she snapped her eyes open. ”Gabriella? Where is she? What is this place?” Anxiety, dizziness, and pain all attacked her, torturing her with equal fervor. Reasoning had never been so challenging. The thought of rising from the bed was daunting.
”Where is Madre Paola? The Sisters?”
”Gabriella is fine and sleeping in another room.”
”Where am I?” she asked more forcefully.
”The captain will be here shortly to answer all of your questions.”
Shock and confusion tore through her mind. ”Captain? What captain?”
”You may leave us, Marta.” A rich male voice came from the entrance of the bedchamber.
Dropping her hand from her forehead, Angelica darted her gaze toward the sound. Filling the doorway with his tall, sculpted form was the most striking man she'd ever seen... He had dark hair and riveting light-colored eyes-the light blue doublet he wore a perfect match.
A slight smile on his lips, he approached, moving with confidence and a masculine grace that exuded authority, and stopped at the foot of her bed.
Marta gave a quick curtsy and left, quietly closing the door behind her.
Oh G.o.d, she had no idea where she was, who he was. One thing was certain: she'd never seen this dark-haired stranger before. He wasn't the sort of man someone would forget.
Stay calm!
She struggled up to a sitting position. A fresh wave of dizziness. .h.i.t her squarely between the eyes. Briefly, she squeezed them shut and forced it back, needing to keep her wits sharp.
”I am pleased you're awake. How do you feel?” He spoke in perfect Italian.
She ignored his question, for she had a few of her own. ”Who are you? Where am I?” How many times did she have to ask these questions before someone provided answers? If this was indeed a dream, she truly wished to wake up now.
”I can understand your distress. But there is no reason for alarm, I a.s.sure you. My name is Simon de Villette. You are in a chateau in the south of France.”
Her blood froze. No... She couldn't have heard correctly. He hadn't said... ”France?” The word tumbled from her lips, barely a whisper.
”Yes. You were injured, and I brought you here onboard one of my s.h.i.+ps. I had a physician summoned for you. I'm told he even speaks some Italian,” he said.
Motionless, she simply stared at him in horrified astonishment. Then she looked around the chamber, reeling under the enormity of the situation.
Dear G.o.d... This can't be real. For the first time in ten years, she was no longer within the sanctuary of the convent. Or within the safe borders of the Republic of Genoa. She was back in France. The very place her nightmares had begun. She was at risk. In danger. Vulnerable.
Judging from the clothes he wore and the lavish surroundings, this man was no doubt a French n.o.ble. For that reason alone he couldn't be trusted. Did Madre Paola have something to do with this? Could she have learned her ident.i.ty? No. That's impossible!
And why on earth had he brought Gabriella here too?
”I was in a convent. How did you do this?” she demanded a little too fiercely. The pain made her flinch.
”I was on my way to my s.h.i.+p when we met outside the convent,” he said, still with a smile on his handsome face. ”You make quite a first impression.”
He was the man outside? Heat rushed to her cheeks as the memory of her body on top of his flooded her distressed mind. ”You followed me into the convent? Why?”
At that, he gave a soft chuckle and shook his head. ”If truth be told, I'm not at all certain. It isn't every day a man is knocked off his feet by a woman. Literally,” he gently teased. ”After our rather unorthodox meeting, you had me most intrigued. I wanted to speak to you. Perhaps it was fate that I was at the right place at the right time to be of service to you,” he stated, looking rather pleased with himself.
Service? If by ”service” he meant bringing her to France, then his ”service” had placed her in great peril. ”How dare you!”
His smile died. ”Pardon?”
”You had no right to take me from the convent... I demand you return my friend and me at once!”
He looked completely stunned.
”Signorina,” he said, crossing his arms, ”you were knocked unconscious, sustained welts to your head and a rather large bruise to your cheek, and you wish to return?”
She touched her aching cheek. She knew he was wondering if her injury was affecting her mind, but she didn't care what he thought. She had to leave France. Immediately. Think. Think. Think!
He seemed genuine in his belief that he'd somehow aided her. She was fairly certain he was in no way tied to the man in her past. Yet she wasn't about to trust him. Or anyone. Somehow, she had to convince him to return her to the convent. Without explanation. Now.
”You don't understand... What you have done is...very wrong. We must return straightaway.” Before he found out she was in France.
She scanned the room for her missing headdress and shoes, but the quick movements of her head only made her feel worse, forcing her to stop and rest her forehead in her palm.
By the time she finally looked up again, she found him sitting patiently in the chair Marta had occupied, quietly studying her. Although the pose was casual, his scrutiny was not. She felt as though he could read her every thought-know her every secret. Adding to her distress was his closeness. She could detect the appealing scent of his soap, making her feel further fl.u.s.tered.