Part 13 (1/2)

She turned to face him. ”So this is what the Black Demon does, then. Those men...must they die?”

No, this isn't all I did or have done. I convinced my closest friend to join my cause-resulting in his slow, tortured death. ”This is war. Return to your cabin, Angelica. This is no place for a woman.” She was only causing him more agony.

And he condemned himself enough.

”Three cheers for the captain!” one crewmember shouted. It was followed immediately by three boisterous cheers.

He turned away from her and walked toward his crew; he heard Marta and Suzette behind him, coaxing her from the rail back to the stairs that led belowdecks.

”Simon Boulenger, le Demon Noir, ruler of the seas!” shouted another crewmember. Resounding approval rang out.

He schooled his features, forcing a smile, feigning a gladness he didn't feel.

One way or another, he'd just captured his last silver treasure. To that he swore.

Simon sat bolt upright and muttered an oath.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and dropped his head in his hands waiting for his heart and breathing to calm.

Another b.l.o.o.d.y nightmare involving Thomas.

Reaching for the brandy decanter he kept in his cabin, he downed several gulps, seeking the amber liquid's numbing appeal. It had taken him far too long to fall asleep, only to be torn out of it all too soon. There was no point staying in his cabin only to toss and turn in bed. He stood.

Yanking on his breeches, then his boots, he ignored the pain in his shoulder where Toussaint had st.i.tched his wound.

One of his men had lost an arm in the battle, others their lives. Soon he would be given the list of casualties from all six s.h.i.+ps.

Merde, at least they had a bounty of silver for Fouquet and France! Won't that be comforting to the women on the island who were waiting for their husbands to return, men whose bodies were now at the bottom of the sea in a watery grave.

s.n.a.t.c.hing a clean s.h.i.+rt off the chair, he clutched it in his fist and marched out of his cabin.

He stopped abruptly the moment he saw Angelica exit her cabin. She looked surprised. Good Lord, not her. Not now. He needed solitude to master his vexation, and his lungs burned for fresh air. He didn't want to discuss today. Or anything at the moment.

Her eyes took in his bare chest.

Just having those gorgeous eyes move over his body was already making his c.o.c.k hard. Jesus-Christ. He didn't need this type of frustration on top of everything else.

”You shouldn't be out here at this hour,” he snapped.

”I couldn't sleep. I was going to see if Suzette was awake.”

”She's helping Toussaint attend to the injured. Go back to your cabin.” He started for the deck.

”Simon?”

He sighed and turned around.

”Are you all right?” she asked, softly.

Dieu, what was he doing? He might be battling his personal demons, but she'd just seen her first glimpse of the horrors of war. You don't need to be a colossal a.s.s when she's only showing concern.

He walked up to her. ”I am fine. Are you all right?”

”Yes.” Her manner was tightly guarded. He couldn't read much into the one word.

”The rest of the voyage should be without incident.” Every fiber of his being wanted nothing more than to pull her into her cabin, take this beautiful, untaught female, and initiate her into s.e.xual pleasures. He knew the experience would be nothing short of mind-melting with her. By G.o.d, he wanted to f.u.c.k her so badly, it hurt. ”Return to your cabin, chere.”

Once on deck, he murmured to the men who greeted him and walked over to the starboard side. Gripping the s.h.i.+p's rail, he breathed in the sea air and let it out slowly. The half-crescent moon cast its silver light. He looked out at the dark sea and took in the tiny stars that punctured the blackened sky.

There was the distinct rustling of skirts behind him. He didn't turn around, hoping he was mistaken. Then Angelica stood next to him.

He swore under his breath. ”Did you not hear my order?”

”I am not one of your men. I don't take orders.”

He turned to face her and rested his hip against the rail. ”On my s.h.i.+ps and on the island, every man, woman, and child obeys me. I am in charge. Keeping order is paramount.”

”Yes, I've noticed you take your responsibilities very seriously.”

”What is that supposed to mean?”

She pulled the s.h.i.+rt out of his hand and touched it lightly to his shoulder. It was then he noticed he was bleeding. She gently blotted the blood, her ministrations taking him by surprise. For a moment, he forgot everything else, luxuriating in her tender touch.

She stopped and looked him in the eye. ”You perform your duty, but it is not what you want to do.”

Her insight shocked him. He glanced around to make certain no one had overheard her words.

”That's absurd. I work for my king and my country. It is an honor. I do it willingly, and I am committed to it.”

”Perhaps once you were, but how things began and how they are now are very different. You must carry on with what is expected of you, but inside you wish to cease.” She took his hand and placed his s.h.i.+rt in it. ”You have no stomach for battle any longer. Admit it.”

No one other than Robert knew of his true feelings about wanting to walk away. Even his men didn't know of his ill intentions toward Fouquet. The fact that she couldn't have overheard this in the conversation he'd had with Robert, for she'd been unconscious then, meant she sensed his feelings of displeasure. Impossible. He was not so plain about his emotions.

Was she guessing? Was she attempting to draw out his secrets?

Keeping his tone even, giving nothing away, he said, ”No man ever has the stomach for battle. To ever develop a tolerance for it would be very bad indeed.”

Angelica drank in the masculine perfection before her. Strong shoulders, a muscled chest, and an abdomen so beautifully sculpted she had an enormous desire to reach out and run her fingers over every gorgeous dip and ripple. To draw near. To feel his touch again, for his touch always felt so wonderful.

He was courageous, capable, and had undoubtedly encountered his share of obstacles in his life, meeting each challenge, hiding from nothing. How she admired that.

She'd questioned his decency and honor. Today proved that this man was no cutthroat. Not once had he boasted about the victory or the killing related to it. Despite his attempts to mask his emotions, she could tell he derived no pleasure from war and the carnage.

There was a profound unrest in him that resonated inside her, one she understood. It was a feeling that had blossomed in her since she'd met him. A desire for change.