Part 34 (1/2)
Angelica... His moonlight angel... Fouquet's stepdaughter. Robert's wife.
Dieu... What malevolent force could bring about such a cruel twist of fate? He was in agony, certain his soul had torn the moment he laid eyes on her standing in Robert's dining room.
He could never, not ever, come between Robert and his wife. A dagger through the gullet would be less painful and more welcome than knowing that she was now lost to him forever.
He had never known pain like this-a slicing sensation tearing him apart from the inside in slow, excruciating degrees. Since she'd entered the room, his mind screamed one word repeatedly. NO! NO! NO-O-O-O!
”No,” he managed to croak out.
With her hand in the crook of his arm, Simon escorted her from the room. Silently, they walked toward the stairs at the opposite side of the large foyer. Though they touched, she was now beyond his grasp.
Lost to him.
”Simon...?”
He didn't respond, keeping his gaze straight ahead. He felt vacant inside, his eyes probably no different than the sightless eyes he'd seen on dead men in battle.
”Please, say something to me. I welcome anything over your silence.”
Fouquet was her stepfather. Robert was her husband.
He could find no words to express what he felt.
He stopped at the foot of the stairs. ”Madame la Marquise, what is there to say?” He didn't look at her as he offered his words. They began to climb the stairs, his muscles beneath her fingers stiff and tense.
Fouquet... Robert... Dieu...
”Simon, please don't.” He heard the pain in her voice. He wasn't trying to hurt her. He simply had to get away from her before he completely humiliated himself. In this moment, when he'd lost everything that mattered, pride, albeit a small thing, was all he had left to hold on to.
He stopped at the top of the stairs and removed her hand from his arm. ”You've made your choice and a wise one at that. The daughter of a comte should marry a marquis.” He gave her a curt bow. ”I trust that you are able to make your way from this point without me.”
There wasn't enough wine in the entire realm to douse the h.e.l.l that burned inside him, though Simon made an earnest effort to try. Lying on the bed in his chambers in Robert's home, he swore. Where was the servant with more wine?
The wine he'd consumed thus far had barely taken the edge off the stabbing emotional pain that pierced through every inch of his being.
The day could not have ticked away more slowly. Both the marquis and marquise had retired to their chambers, remaining there until dinner.
Thankfully, Simon's men from the various search parties and the group he'd sent to Beaulieu had arrived that afternoon. He'd locked himself in Robert's study, trying to concentrate on Fouquet and his duty to his men, desperate to divert his attention away from the ache in his heart, and the sizzling rage in his gut. Now at least he had a face to the man who'd committed the foul deeds against Angelica. Fouquet. The man was truly a monster.
Needing information from his spies in Fouquet's chateau and to inform the men still out searching for Angelica to cease, he had spent his time writing communiques, sending them out with his most trusted soldiers, refusing all the while to permit Jules or Armand to speak of Angelica.
He was calling in his men, even many of the ones on the seven wars.h.i.+ps waiting near Le Havre, just in case they would be needed. Fouquet was going to be unseated. Dieu, he was going to see to it. There were few pleasures left for him, but the downfall of Fouquet was definitely going to be sweet.
Eager to drink himself into oblivion, Simon opted to retire to his chamber rather than dine below.
Flashes of childhood memories of Robert's mult.i.tude of s.e.xual conquests filled Simon's intoxicated mind, their excited laughter echoing in his ears. Visions of Robert's hands on their heated bodies, Robert's hands on his angel, tore through his brain. Simon covered his face and let out a groan into his hands.
There was a rap at his door.
His hands fell away as he lifted his head from the bed. That had to be the servant with more wine. Any numbing substance would do.
He s.n.a.t.c.hed open the door, startling Angelica. His heart jumped.
Beautiful green eyes stared back at him. He tried not to notice the outline of her sweet form in the gown she wore or how soft her hair looked. Merde! What was she trying to do to him? Where was the servant with the wine!
”What are you doing here?” he growled, and clenched his fists, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her.
”I must ask you a question.”
She had a single question for him? He had a million for her.
”What question?” he demanded through gritted teeth.
”May I come in first?”
He hesitated a moment. Yet his wine-soaked mind didn't alert him to the folly of such an action strongly enough. He stepped aside and permitted her entrance.
”What do you want?”
”I want to ask you if it is your intention to tell Robert about us?”
”There is no us. You're married. There's nothing to tell.”
He saw how his cold manner wounded her, and it cut him.
She nodded ruefully. ”I wouldn't want to see Robert hurt. He has been so kind...”
”Your devotion to your husband is touching,” he replied caustically. ”Pray tell, Madame la Marquise, how is it that you came to know Robert?”
”Please don't call me Madame la Marquise.”
”Why not? It's your t.i.tle. It's unthinkable for a commoner to address a n.o.ble lady any other way.”
”Stop it, Simon! I know you are hurt. I'm hurt too.”
”You don't know what I feel.”
”Yes, I do. Last night was the first time you were honest about your feelings.”
He laughed without mirth and turned away. The wine dulled his mind. He couldn't think of a sharp reply to her statement.
She stepped around to face him. ”Robert was my father's friend. He was the only one I had to turn to. Robert offered marriage to protect me. I had no other options. Can you not see that?”
”Protect you from your stepfather, Nicolas Fouquet.”