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  How was it possible that she was not a virgin? How could it be? She’d been with another man? Other men? No, he was mistaken. Somehow, he was wrong.

  He rolled off her and onto his back. Keenly aware of her warm body next to his, he stared at the ceiling with his one arm resting on his forehead and his other hand on his chest, waiting for his heart and breathing to calm, knowing that his pulse now raced for an entirely new reason having nothing to do with his devastating orgasm.

  He knew his instincts were not sharp of late. He knew he had been wrong in his assumptions about her thus far… But this? He couldn’t be wrong about her innocence. Could he? She wouldn’t have given him her body and not this information. Would she? Questions whirled in his head. He didn’t know what to believe. He wasn’t sure of anything right now except the need to know the truth.

  But he didn’t want to look.

  Slowly, he sat up. Gripping the base of his cock, he saw a mixture of semen and her own juices. No blood. His stomach clenched.

  He forced himself to stand and face her.

  She sat up, her long, dark curly hair hanging so beautifully covering most of her torso. She smiled at him, but her smile faded when she noticed the look on his face. He gazed down at her silky thighs and then to the sheet below her. More semen.

  No blood.

  The missing evidence of her virginity tore through him. All this time he’d kept himself from her, enduring weeks of agony, fighting against the staggering attraction between them, because of her innocence. And she wasn’t?

  How the hell had she fooled him? Twice!

  Did she think he wouldn’t realize she wasn’t a virgin? Was this the way she’d wanted him to learn of it all along?

  Why wouldn’t she tell him? She’d finally said she trusted him. Dieu. What a fool! People said a lot of things in bed they didn’t mean. Heartfelt declarations didn’t mix with casual sex. She had, after all, asked for just one night. Nothing more. Jésus-Christ. She was a woman from a convent. It occurred to him then that the night they’d met, she’d been out of the convent. And she had never told him why. Had she sneaked out to see another man? Was he the reason she wanted to return so badly?

  The entire situation was almost laughable if it wasn’t so gut-wrenching.

  “Simon…?”

  He felt duped. Lied to. And he loathed the fact that any of this should matter to him at all. Fury scorched through his veins. He had to leave. Now.

  He yanked at his breeches, closing them with quick, angry tugs, and left the room, slamming the door shut with the intensity of a thunderclap.

  Chapter Twelve

  He knew.

  Angelica had seen it in his eyes. He’d discovered that she wasn’t a virgin. And he was furious with her. Heaven knew what he was thinking.

  Fully dressed and sitting at the table near her trunk of beloved books, she impatiently swiped the tears from her cheeks. She hadn’t allowed herself to cry for years. She hated to cry. It made her feel pathetic and weak, and she was neither.

  She’d survived rape. She’d escaped her stepfather’s clutches and successfully eluded him for ten years. It had taken strength and courage to do both. And it had taken courage to give herself over to the desire she felt for Simon. How she wished he could know this.

  But she didn’t know how to tell him.

  The only real courage she lacked was voicing the ugly truth.

  She’d never told a single soul about the events of the night that had left her tainted and dishonored and changed her life forever.

  It had to be almost morning. The sea was gentle, its rocking of the vessel slight.

  She knew she’d have to face him sooner or later.

  But what would she say?

  At least a half dozen times over the last excruciating hours, she’d intended to seek him out and explain. To tell him what her stepfather had done to her. But she’d faltered every time. How did one voice such shame? What were the right words to say so he wouldn’t look at her as demeaned? With pity? Or worse—repugnance?

  She rose from the table and felt a twinge of tenderness between her legs. Proof that things were very different this morning.

  She didn’t regret what she’d done last night with Simon.

  She’d needed his touch and the way he’d made her feel. And he had touched her in places she would never have let any other man touch her. He’d helped her to overcome her fear of this act, and had replaced the foul image she’d had with a glorious memory she’d quietly cherish the rest of her days.

  Ten years ago, her maid Audrey had told her that a man could be fooled into believing her virtue was still intact but had never told her how one would execute such deceit. How was it possible to tell? Angelica had been young and had fled before ever learning the answer. At the convent, the answer no longer mattered. She knew she’d been disgraced. Sullied. No man would ever want her. And she would never want a man to touch her.

  Until she met Simon.

  A beautiful experience with a beautiful man had been tainted because of her past. Hadn’t her past caused her enough suffering already?

  An urgent knock startled her. “Yes?”

  Suzette entered in a terrible hurry.

  “We are home!” she exclaimed. Rushing to her, she gave Angelica a hug.

  “Home?” She pulled away, surprised.

  “Yes!” Suzette beamed. “Marguerite. The island. We’ve arrived!”

  Last eve, she’d seized a moment for herself, something special to hold on to—with a man like none she’d ever known. But now, having tasted heaven, she wanted more.

  With him.

  It was an unrealistic longing. Simon wasn’t likely to want to have anything more to do with her. She had no explanation to offer to fix matters between them. And to tell him the truth, to allow him to know her repulsive secret, wasn’t something she could bring herself to do.

  “We will be on land shortly,” Suzette said, so full of enthusiasm.

  What was to become of her now? For so long, her life had been laid out. She was going to live out her days in the convent, safe from the world that had devastated her—from a stepfather who had destroyed everything, and stripped her of her innocence.

  The convent was no longer a part of her future. She simply couldn’t return there now that she felt so different.

  But what would replace it?

  Suzette squeezed her hand. “A new beginning lies on the horizon. You’ll see! Things will look different on our beautiful island.”

  Things looked very different now.

  *****

  Their tender reached the shore.

  Angelica was helped out of the boat by Paul and Lucio. Crowds of people pressed past her—people of all ages in presentable clothing of varying degrees of quality and expense.

  This was not at all what she’d expected.

  She couldn’t believe the number of people on the beach.

  Cheers went up as each tender containing the men from the ships touched the shore. Gestures of affection ranging from a pat on the back to heartwarming embraces were all around her.

  In the excited crowd, she was pushed and shoved along until Lucio grabbed hold of her arm. “This way,” he said, leading her out of the mass.

  “Is this island part of France?” she asked over the din.

  “No, mademoiselle. The French government gave up on the islands here. Lots of problems. Pirates, Caribs, civil wars. They wanted no part of it any longer. The islands were sold to their governors.”

  “Pirates and Caribs?”

  Lucio smiled. “No need to worry. We know how to combat the local pirates. Or anyone else interested in Marguerite. We are heavily fortified. The captain made sure of it. A fortress wall surrounds the island up to the cliffs. The cliffs are treacherous and impossible to scale without being detected or killed. You need not fear.”

  “So this island belongs to…?”

  “The captain and all of us. There are many islands here. Many have come to cl
aim them—the pirates, the Spanish… That is the way here. You fight. You take. The island is yours.”

  He escorted her up to the road where open, empty carriages were parked in a row and assisted her into one before excusing himself and returning to the crowd. Little by little, the carriages filled with the people from the ships.

  Angelica caught sight of Gabriella and Domenico just as they reached the shore. A cheer immediately rose up from the enthusiastic crowd at Domenico’s arrival. Smiles were on both his and Gabriella’s faces as he escorted her through the throng.

  Within a short time, Gabriella was seated beside her, and they were locked in an enthusiastic hug.

  “I’ve missed you, Angelica!”

  Angelica squeezed her eyes shut, grateful to be with her dear friend again. Not only did Gabriella mean the world to her, but her presence at the moment was ever so comforting.

  A man cleared his throat. She was so overwhelmed to have Gabriella near, she’d completely forgotten that Domenico sat across from them in the carriage.

  “I’m sorry.” Angelica apologized to him with tears in her eyes. She hated how emotional she was today. “Good day, Domenico.”

  “Good day, Angelica.” He smiled and then reached over and took Gabriella’s hand. “Are you going to tell her, my darling?”

  “Of course!” Gabriella grinned. “Angelica, I have wonderful news. Domenico and I are getting married!” The couple stared back at her, their faces clearly aglow over the prospect.

  “Oh! How wonderful!” She hugged Gabriella. “Congratulations to both of you.” Her good wishes came from the heart.

  Clearly, this voyage had changed them both. Gabriella had found happiness, and Angelica had discovered how much she had been missing in her life.

  The crowd suddenly whipped into a frenzy of cheers and shouts, a roar far greater than before.

  Angelica’s gaze darted back to the shoreline.

  Simon stepped out of one of the tenders. The wind caressed his hair and pressed his shirt to his strong chest. He looked absolutely beautiful. She tamped down the emotions that welled inside her.

  She was not like Gabriella. Gabriella was free to love and accept love in return. Gabriella had nothing to hide and wasn’t forced to hold back in any way.

  The people on the beach, hysterical with joy, pressed in on Simon. Hands from every direction reached out to him. A smile was upon his lips, and his dark head turned this way and that, trying to acknowledge as many people as he could as he made his way through the crowd.

  Awed by his reception, all Angelica could do was stare.

  A woman with a little girl of about seven years of age caught Angelica’s eye as they stood holding hands, apart from the commotion. Simon finally exited the large group and walked straight to them.

  Stopping before them, he bent his head and spoke to the woman. Suddenly, she lowered her head and wept into her trembling hand. Not tears of joy. Simon pulled her into his arms, allowing her to bury her face in his chest. He held her while she wept.

  “Who is that woman with the captain?” Angelica heard Gabriella ask Domenico the very same question that was in her mind. Domenico stepped down from the carriage, no longer smiling.

  “That is Marie Jaures and her daughter, Monique. Her husband, Thomas, was killed. He died a hero. Thomas and Simon were good friends. He consoles her for her loss. There are others about to learn of their husbands’ deaths. As commander of one of the ships, I must go offer my condolences. I will speak to Simon and advise him of our marriage plans, and tell him that you have gone with Angelica to his home. He’ll not mind if you stay there until our wedding. The old priest, Père Crotteau, however, will most definitely voice his disapproval if I keep you in my home with me until we are wed. Although, if he’s not willing to forgo the practice of posting the banns to allow us to marry sooner, I may threaten it.” He smiled.

  Gabriella blushed. She leaned down and kissed him. Angelica tried to ignore the tug at her heart. Domenico gave orders to the driver and left.

  Simon continued to hold Marie Jaures, speaking to her in her ear, her sorrow heart-wrenching. He reached down and tenderly stroked Monique’s head while the child wept into her mother’s skirt. A knot formed in Angelica’s throat.

  He was a man with compassion. Perhaps she should tell him about her past. Perhaps she should try.

  *****

  “This is lovely!” Gabriella voiced Angelica’s sentiments.

  Angelica approached the large bed in the middle of the room on the second floor of Simon’s home and gently stroked the diaphanous white drapery that surrounded it. Noticing double doors, she walked over, opened them, and stepped out onto the small balcony, staring out at the lush tropics and distant sea.

  Gabriella stopped beside her. “Have you ever seen any sight more spectacular?”

  Yes, she thought, the sight of Simon’s smile and the way he looked at her with desire in his eyes. She had to stop this. Now.

  “Mademoiselle?” Assunta, the housekeeper, addressed Gabriella. “If you will follow me, I’ll show you to your room next door.”

  “I’d like to stay here awhile with my friend. I can show myself to my room later. Merci.” Gabriella astounded Angelica by speaking to the housekeeper entirely in French.

  Assunta nodded. “As you wish,” she said.

  Gabriella turned to her and smiled. “Domenico has been teaching me French on the voyage. What do you think?”

  “I think you are full of wonderful surprises today, Gabriella.”

  The moment Assunta closed the door, Gabriella spun around with her arms open wide. “I am so happy, I fear I’ll burst!”

  Angelica couldn’t help but smile.

  Gabriella grabbed her hands, pulled her into the room and down with her onto the edge of the bed. Her private area came in quick contact with the mattress. She felt an instant twinge of tenderness.

  “Angelica, I cannot tell you how wonderful Domenico is.” Gabriella flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling dreamy-eyed. Rolling onto her side, she rested her cheek on her palm. Angelica mimicked her pose.

  When they were young, they had often sneaked into each other’s beds, lain just like this, and had lengthy conversations. This felt good. And familiar. She wanted to lose herself in Gabriella’s story of love, hoping it would help her to stave off the feelings of anxiety. Every minute that passed brought her closer to the inevitable confrontation with Simon. She only hoped it would occur much later, for she still had no idea what she’d say.

  The door opened, startling the two women. They sat up.

  Simon stood inside the threshold, his light blue eyes unreadable. It didn’t matter that he masked his anger. Angelica could sense it just the same. Her stomach tightened.

  The time had come.

  Angelica could tell Simon hadn’t expected to find Gabriella in her room.

  “Gabriella,” he said tightly. “I understand that congratulations are in order. Domenico tells me of your upcoming nuptials.”

  “Yes, Captain. Thank you.” Gabriella stood. “I wish to offer my condolences for the loss of your friend, Thomas Jaures.”

  Angelica rose. “Yes, me too, Simon.”

  He glanced at her briefly. “Thank you.” Then he returned his gaze to Gabriella. “Gabriella, I’d like a private word with Angelica.”

  “Of course.” Gabriella gave her a hug. “We shall talk more later,” she whispered in her ear, and then left the room.

  Simon walked over to a small table and pulled out a chair. He turned it around to face her.

  “Sit down.”

  Angelica straightened her spine. Though she didn’t like it when he tried to command her, at the moment, it wasn’t her sole reason for not wishing to comply. The hard surface of the chair didn’t look comfortable, given the delicate state of her lower region.

  “I prefer to stand, thank you.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Sit. Down. Now.” Each word was firmly dealt.

  Given th
e look in his eyes and the sound of his tone, she thought it best to bend. She’d bear the soreness.

  She walked over and sat.

  Her senses were keenly aware of his presence behind her, of his muscled thighs near her back, and of his fingers near her shoulder as his hand rested on the back of her chair. She felt small near his towering form. He was physically overwhelming. Every beautiful part of him was strong, sculpted, and large. She shifted in her chair.

  He walked around and lowered himself onto his haunches before her. Resting his elbows on the arms of her chair, he gazed up at her.

  Her heart pounded. She fought not to fidget.

  “Dieu, look at you,” he breathed. “You are exquisite to behold.”

  She kept her hands tightly folded on her lap and forced herself to return his gaze. His closeness and the velvety sound of his voice made her yearn for him on so many disquieting levels.

  “Such a beautiful face…masks so much deceit. Tell me, what twisted pleasure have you derived from having me believe you were a virgin?”

  She’d known this was coming, but now, in the moment, it felt so much worse than anticipated. His cool manner was far more distressing than if he’d raged at her.

  She could feel the wall she’d always hidden behind becoming higher. More solid. She could feel herself slipping into familiar patterns, her old ways of silence. Her throat tightened, choking off words from her heart she wanted to voice, words about what he meant to her, what last night had meant to her.

  It was just as well. He wasn’t interested in hearing soft sentiment. At the moment, he was only interested in the truth about her past.

  “No answer, chère? What a surprise.” He rose and pulled a chair over. He sat down in front of her, his knees on either side of hers. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his thighs. “You have fooled me at every turn. Shame on me. Good for you.”

  His familiar scent, so appealing, enveloped her. She found herself wishing she could erase his discovery of her lost innocence from his memory. He’d never looked at her so dispassionately. Cold anger was the only way to describe it.

  “Tell me, did you plan for me to discover your lack of innocence last night, or were you simply hoping I wouldn’t realize you were not a virgin?”