Part 31 (2/2)

After ten days, Simon and Jules had managed to catch up with the two s.h.i.+ps that were sailing to the south of France. They'd searched the first s.h.i.+p from top to bottom without finding any trace of her.

Armand's s.h.i.+p was his last hope.

As he stood with Jules and Armand, his heart pounded away the time. Four s.h.i.+ps were anch.o.r.ed in the water. Four sets of crewman's orders stayed while the search was carried out. The silence was thick and heavy. Not one man uttered a single comment.

While he waited. And waited. Hoping she would appear with one of his men. Safe.

The s.h.i.+p's lieutenant approached.

”Well?” Armand demanded.

Simon knew the words he was about to hear simply by the look on the man's face.

”She's not on board, Commander. Captain, there's no sign that she was ever on board.”

Simon's heart plummeted. Hearing the words was far worse than antic.i.p.ating them. If she wasn't on board his s.h.i.+ps, she was in the realm.

Alone.

Fear the likes of which he'd never known clutched him in its vise.

Jules placed a hand on Simon's shoulder. ”Simon, we'll find her.”

If ever he believed he knew anything at all of h.e.l.l from his past experiences, then he was mistaken. Nothing felt worse than this hollow sense of loss, this terrifying concern he had for the woman he loved.

He had no idea where she was, how she was, and he had no one to blame but himself for her perilous predicament.

Throughout the voyage, he'd stopped her each time she'd attempted to tell him how she felt about him. He'd withheld his own feelings from her. Then, immediately upon reaching France, he'd left her on the s.h.i.+p to chase down n.o.bility. Dieu!

He couldn't blame her for leaving him. He'd given her no reason to stay. He'd driven her out of his life and into danger. Because of his stubbornness. Because of his beliefs about social status being important. To h.e.l.l with social position.

Jesus-Christ. She loved him. Just as he was.

But he hadn't embraced it! Instead, he'd kept her at arm's length. f.u.c.king fool!

In the strongest voice Simon could muster, he ordered all four s.h.i.+ps to return with him, wanting to have access to as many men as possible. He would tear France apart looking for her.

And he would exhaust every man until she was found. He would find her, and yes, she would be safe. She had to be safe. He'd tell her exactly how he felt about her. If she would still have him, he'd marry her. And spend the rest of his days making it up to her.

Angelica heard the commotion from the top of the staircase-an argument between men. Since her arrival a week ago, she'd found Robert's home to be always peaceful. A sanctuary from the danger that lurked for her outside. She rushed down to see what was amiss.

At the bottom of the stairs, she froze. Caught in her gaze was the one the young girl inside her once called Evil. She'd know that light brown hair, that tall, slender build anywhere.

Nicolas Fouquet stood in the entrance hall of Robert's home with another man he called Pellisson. Pellisson's argument with Robert's majordomo ceased the moment the three men noticed her. Cold terror froze her blood and limbs.

”Well, well.” Fouquet tossed his cape at the servant's face. His dark, soulless eyes raked over her in lewd a.s.sessment, making her feel naked. Violated.

A slimy sense of revulsion slid down her throat to her stomach. Her heart pounded. She prayed somehow he didn't recognize her.

”And here I thought, Pellisson, that the marquis had become a recluse. Yet, it's obvious that he has found a beautiful woman in which-” Fouquet arrested his words as recognition struck.

Her legs almost gave way.

He stepped toward her, all smugness dissipated, replaced by horrified astonishment. She stepped back, the air suddenly becoming thin and difficult to inhale. Years fell away. It was as though she wasn't a grown woman but a girl, feeling trapped and vulnerable. Terrified.

”You?” Fouquet's characteristic haughtiness deflated with the single word, his complexion ashen.

”Please, my lord, as I've told you, the marquis is not accepting visitors today,” the servant said.

Fouquet gave no sign he heard the servant's words as he continued to stare at her, incredulous.

A voice inside her screamed, Flee! Another demanded, Kill him! Yet, she remained stock-still, overcome by shock.

”It's not possible... How can it be... What...are you...?” The fragmented words came out of him as small, breathless sounds. Gone was his insolent self-a.s.suredness.

”May I help you, sir?” The bellow came from the former Commodore of the French Navy, startling her. She turned and saw an uncustomary scowl on Robert's face as he stood erect and tall in the doorway of his study. Despite his cane, he looked strong, well-muscled from years of a physical life at sea-a sharp contrast to most soft-bellied n.o.bles half his age.

A formidable adversary.

Fouquet tore his eyes away from her. ”What is she doing here?”

”Sir, what I do and who I have in my home is none of your concern. Unlike other n.o.bles, I am not financially indebted to you. Nor do I have any family members you can scandalize to bend my will to yours.” Robert's eyes narrowed. ”I don't answer to you.”

Fouquet stiffened. She saw the flash of fury in his eyes, remembering that volatile temper all too well. He turned to face her. ”You will come with me!” He grabbed at her. She jumped back, avoiding physical contact with him.

”You will not touch my future wife!” Robert's voice resonated. She gasped.

Fouquet spun back around to face Robert. ”Your what?”

”Wife.” Robert announced firmly.

Fouquet tossed his head back with a roar of laughter. ”Nevelon, your injury must be to your head. You cannot marry her without my permission.”

”Ah, but you will give your consent, and I shall marry her,” Robert interjected. ”Then she will no longer be of concern to you.”

”Oh? And why would I give my consent for this match? Have you gotten her with child?”

Robert motioned for the servant to leave, ignoring the sting of Fouquet's words. His injury had done more damage than Robert would ever admit. He could never bring himself to tell anyone just how debilitating his condition had become and how it had unmanned him. The servant promptly handed Fouquet's cape to Pellisson and left.

With a finger, Robert indicated to Fouquet to approach. Fouquet's lips twitched with amus.e.m.e.nt. He sauntered over. As soon as he was within arm's reach, Robert seized a fistful of the man's fine doublet and yanked him close, the brim of Fouquet's hat, with its large purple plume, b.u.t.ting against Robert's forehead.

”You will speak of her with the utmost respect, and you will agree to this match unless you wish to be disgraced by having others learn of your incestuous tendencies,” he growled. How he hated Fouquet for what he'd done to the beautiful woman who now lived with him. Over the last week, he'd grown increasingly fond of Angelica and accustomed to her company. She filled his lonely days. He admired her strength, her gentle grace, and found himself often wis.h.i.+ng he could take away the sadness she tried to hide.

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