Undone Page 27

  Robert’s mind raced as a deep sense of unease seeped into his marrow. Simon was back in France? Why hadn’t he contacted him? What the hell was Fouquet up to?

  “Tell him yourself. I haven’t seen him for many months.” He kept his voice bland.

  Overwhelmed, Angelica couldn’t hear a word they were saying over her thundering heart. She saw Fouquet lift a brow, step back, and bow to Robert. With an arrogant strut, he walked across the large foyer toward her. A sick memory rose before her eyes, causing her stomach to heave and twist. Quaking, she forced herself not to step back. Nor lunge at his throat.

  Fouquet stopped before her, an indulgent smile on his lips. “Daughter, you have caused me concern over the years. Where have you been all this time?”

  She wanted to slap the smile from his face. Or perhaps sink a dagger into his black, shriveled heart. Instead, she shot back, “I am certain you have fretted little about me.”

  “Ah, but you are wrong. I thought you were dead. Imagine my newfound delight to know you are alive and well.” A terrifying coldness entered his eyes, despite that wicked smile. That same look that had destroyed her mother and had haunted Angelica many nights. In a low growl, he said, “You will keep silent about our past, and you will encourage the marquis to do the same, unless you wish to become a widow soon after you become a bride. Also, you will go along with whatever explanation I give to people regarding your sudden return.” He glanced at Robert. “It would seem that you are getting a husband. The marquis is known for his reputation with women, preferring, no doubt, something more passionate in bed than the corpse your mother was.”

  Her palm stung. His expression turned to shock. She realized that she’d just cracked her hand across his cheek. Yet she didn’t feel enough satisfaction from the deed.

  “Do not speak of her with your vile tongue,” Angelica hissed out between clenched teeth, shaking with rage.

  His cruel eyes narrowed. “How dare you…”

  “I dare,” she tossed out, challenging him, her hands fisted at her sides.

  “Enough!” Robert bellowed.

  Fouquet formed another smile, regaining his composure, showing another of his many false faces. “It would seem she has grown impudent as well as beautiful, Névelon. You’ll have your hands full. Enjoy.” Fouquet stepped back. “You’ll both forgive me if I don’t attend the wedding?” His bow was mocking. He spun and snatched his cape from Pellisson. Pellisson quickly followed his master out.

  She slumped against the wall. She had no more tears left. She felt only bone-chilling dread. Now her stepfather knew she was alive.

  He knew where to find her.

  Wasn’t it bad enough that she missed Simon terribly—that he came to her each night in her bittersweet dreams, only to wake up to the cruel reality, with years of loneliness and emptiness yawning before her? Did she have to have an encounter with her stepfather too?

  She was furious with herself. She should’ve done more. Said more. Made him somehow pay for all the pain he’d inflicted on her. On her mother. But she’d done nothing but deliver a pathetic slap to his face. It wasn’t enough. By simply walking into the room, he’d humiliatingly caused her to regress to a fourteen-year-old girl, forcing her to battle that child’s fears.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and heard Robert approach. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I know that was most difficult for you. Are you all right?”

  She nodded. Then shook her head.

  “I understand. I think you handled yourself well, under the extreme circumstances.”

  She looked into his concerned eyes. “Robert, what is all this about marriage?”

  “Your father was a friend and a good man. I wish to help you as best I can. Protecting you from Fouquet is not easy. He’s far too powerful—power he’ll exert to your detriment without a husband’s protection. Angelica, you cannot run and hide indefinitely. And you need funds to survive. Though I was planning to ask your thoughts on marriage before ever discussing it with him, please know I had your best interest at heart.”

  Dear God, he was serious about this.

  “If you marry me, you’ll be financially secure and protected. In the event of my death, you’ll have wealth, influence, as well as a widow’s independence. You’ll be safe from Fouquet.”

  He caressed her cheek. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, dipping into a reserve she hadn’t known existed. She’d wanted to hear a marriage proposal, but only from Simon. No one else. Not even from this dear, sweet man before her.

  “I must confess,” he continued, “that my motives are not entirely gallant. I have never married. I made my career my bride. However, I’ve reached a point in my life that I wish for a wife to share the rest of my days with. Even one who loves another.”

  She stiffened.

  He smiled. “I know the signs of a woman suffering from a broken heart. Whoever he is, he’s a fool.” He paused, the look on his distinguished face soft. “I’m willing to consent to a mariage de convenance, as they say,” he added. “I would be honored to have you for a wife. It would certainly make me the envy of every man in the realm. Tell me you will marry me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Under the mantle of night, Simon raced on horseback, maneuvering through the narrow streets of Paris. Jules and Armand fought to keep up. Given the hour, the streets were mostly deserted. Passing darkened homes and shops, the only sounds Simon heard were the clattering of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestone road and his thundering heart. Only the king’s private guard was permitted to race through the streets, but at the moment, Simon didn’t care.

  He’d wasted considerable time going back and forth with his ships. Each day, no, each hour that Angelica was alone only increased his anxiety. Sick with worry, he couldn’t eat. Sleep came only when he was consumed by fatigue—his fitful slumber plagued by nightmares of her lying lifeless by the side of the road. He had to speak to Robert. Without further delay. Negotiating another turn, he urged his horse onward.

  He’d already organized search parties, searching villages, towns, and, more frighteningly, Paris itself—with all of its iniquities. With a population of more than one hundred thousand, thieves and murderers weren’t difficult to find in certain areas of the city, especially at night.

  He slowed his horse as he approached the Palais-Royale, the new court theater, located near the Louvre. Molière and his troupe had recently moved here after the former theater had been demolished. With any luck, Robert might be attending one of Molière’s comedies. Knowing how much Louis enjoyed the theater, it was like Robert to try to seize opportunities to gain the king’s ear. If Robert was here, it would save Simon the trip out to Château Névelon.

  He needed to gain any information he could about the late Comte de Beaulieu—any acquaintances he may have had or friends Angelica might have turned to, praying she’d found someone trustworthy to help her.

  He dismounted. His every muscle taut, Simon marched to the gilded doors of Richelieu’s former Palais and entered. People were enjoying, according to the painted sign, The School for Husbands. Laughter echoed in the grand corridor, emanating from within the theater.

  Jules caught up to him. “Wait.” He grabbed Simon’s arm, looking around. “You cannot just charge in there. We haven’t had time to attain adequate information about what we’re facing in France. Furthermore, you’re not in the best frame of mind. Let me go. I’ll see if I can spot Robert.”

  “No!” He yanked his arm free. “I’ll go.” As Simon took a step, Armand placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Listen to Jules, Simon. You’re exhausted. We all are. We should not be hasty in our actions… You’ve taught us that. We cannot risk—”

  “Not hasty? Jésus-Christ, Armand! How can you say that when—” Simon’s words died in his throat the moment a haunting melody rose from the theater. Though slightly muffled, it was distinct, beautiful. And familiar. He couldn’t move. His ears strained, eagerly trying to draw in the angelic singer
’s voice.

  By God. Was he so far gone that his ears were playing him false? Simon fisted Jules’s doublet. “Do you hear that?”

  Jules nodded, his stunned gaze traveling to the closed doors of the theater.

  The divine voice swirled around Simon. He was afraid to do anything that would shatter the hope swelling in his heart.

  He remained fixed to the spot, the magnificent performance quieting his tumultuous emotions. There could be no other who had the same enchanting voice. No other had this effect on him.

  It had to be Angelica.

  He charged forward.

  “Simon!” Jules exclaimed as both Jules and Armand halted Simon’s advance.

  He drew his sword. “Stand aside. That is Angelica,” he insisted. “I’m going to her. I’ll not debate this.”

  Jules stepped back, pulling Armand with him. “I never argue with a man holding a sword. Good luck.”

  Simon had never drawn his sword on friends, yet now wasn’t the time to reflect on his actions. He sheathed his rapier, pulled open the door, and slipped inside.

  Filled to capacity, the theater held hundreds of people. The balconies that ran along the sides all had spectators in them. As the singing continued, Simon edged his way through the crowd, unable to see the stage. By the time he found a spot that offered an unobstructed view, the angelic voice had stopped.

  There were a number of actors in colorful costumes, moving about enthusiastically to the music, singing in chorus. He began discounting them one by one until he was left with a woman wearing a purple gown and a hat with large, silver-colored plumes. Her back was to the audience. The others sang around her while she stood in the center, silent and still.

  Simon could hear his own breathing, quick and shallow, waiting for the woman to turn around, praying it was her. At the crescendo, the woman with the silver plumes spun around. Spreading her arms, she sang out, filling every ear with the full power of her enchanting voice. Angelica…

  Simon’s knees gave way as he slumped back against the wall he hadn’t known was there. An urge to weep with relief almost discomposed him there and then. She’s alive.

  A sudden cheer and vigorous applause exploded around him.

  Angelica, smiling, curtsied. The other actors moved aside as Louis stepped onto the stage and kissed her hand.

  Knowing Louis’s reputation for womanizing, Simon’s heart leaped into his throat.

  Realizing the performance was over, he made his way through the masses, keeping his head down but his eyes on Angelica. Immersing himself in as much shadow as he could find, he kept to the perimeter of the long room. Fouquet could be here, and until he had up-to-date information from his spies in Fouquet’s household, he didn’t wish to be spotted by him.

  Clenching his teeth, Simon watched as the king helped her down from the stage and kissed her hand again. She curtsied once more and made her way to the doors behind the stage.

  Simon reached the doors shortly afterward and walked surreptitiously down a narrow corridor filled with actors retreating into small dressing rooms. It didn’t take long for him to spot the hat with the silver plumes in the distance.

  Maneuvering his way through the crowd, his eyes never left her.

  He saw Angelica stop and exchange a few brief words with a female before she entered one of the rooms and closed the door. Simon pressed forward, her door coming closer and closer. His heart hammered louder and harder.

  When at last he reached it, he gave a quick look around. The crowd had diminished significantly. He saw Jules and Armand moving toward him quickly, yet not so fast as to draw attention.

  Simon placed his hand on the door latch and paused. He hadn’t seen her in far too many tortured weeks.

  Jules touched his shoulder. Sotto voce, he said, “Have you found her?”

  “Yes. It’s Angelica.”

  Jules smiled. “Go on, Simon, get your lady. We’ll watch your back.”

  Simon took a breath and let it out slowly, then opened the door and stepped inside.

  His eyes scanned the small room. A dressing table. A chair. A mirror. Costumes strewn about. But no Angelica.

  Panicked, he closed the door and spun around. A rustling sound came from behind the tall dressing screen.

  “Is that you, Brigitte?” her unmistakable voice called out. “I told you, I will return for another performance. Perhaps in a fortnight?”

  His throat constricted.

  “Brigitte, are you playing with me?” she inquired as she stepped out from behind the screen, smoothing her gown.

  Angelica’s breath froze in her throat. There was Simon, standing before her. His dark hair was tousled, and his heart-melting eyes stared at her intently. Just like the many dreams she’d had of him. When she’d eventually awaken without him.

  He’d never looked more beautiful. Her chest tightened as her eyes drank their fill. He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. His mouth came down on hers. His kiss was lush and tender, as if he wanted to draw all the emptiness and sadness from her.

  Her heart soared.

  Her soul swelled back to life.

  She melted into him, trembling and aching with a need so fierce it shook every fiber of her being.

  “Angelica,” he murmured. She delighted at the sound of his voice in her ears. “I’ve been so worried. Dieu, I’ve missed you so…”

  This was no dream. His lips, his arms, his words were real. She felt a surge of anguish. She was dangerously close to losing the fragile hold she had on her strength to resist.

  He was potent. Addictive.

  And she was vulnerable to him.

  He’d completely destroy her this time if she allowed him in even a tiny bit. How easy it would be to give herself over to the feelings he stirred.

  She couldn’t do it. Especially now. God help her…

  His hands moved down her back, and he pulled her more tightly against him as if he never wanted to let her go.

  “Angelica… I found you,” he whispered between kisses. “I cannot believe I found you.”

  He drew back and cupped her face, staring at her with joy on his handsome visage. His face blurred behind her hot tears.

  “Don’t weep.” He kissed each one that slipped down her cheeks. “I never want to make you cry. Everything will be all right. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it so.” He kissed her again.

  She had no idea how she managed it, but she pulled away. “Please, Simon, we cannot—” Words failed her. Her hands were on his strong arms. His body trembled too. She looked around, searching for strength.

  He turned her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. They weren’t guarded but open, his heart reflecting therein. “You’re right. This is not the place for this. Come with me. I know an inn outside of Paris.”

  She shook her head. Another large tear slipped down her cheek.

  “To talk!” he quickly added. “There’s much to say that has not been said. Give me the chance to make matters right between us.” His blue eyes were soft and pleading.

  “I cannot come with you, Simon.” She took in a ragged breath. “You must go.”

  “Go? No, I cannot.” He pulled her back into his arms, and buried his face in her hair. “I love you. Angelica, I love you…”

  She choked on a sob before she swallowed hard, unable to restrain the tears that poured from her eyes. How cruel those words sounded in her ears now—those three words she’d longed to hear from him for so long. He was offering them freely—when she was unable to cherish them.

  “It’s too late, Simon.” She was barely capable of speaking as she tottered under the weight of her pain. “I’m…married.”

  He staggered back. “What…?” It was the barest whisper. In his eyes was the desperate hope that he’d heard incorrectly.

  With her heart in her throat, she repeated, “I’m married.” She couldn’t stand his look of devastation. Devastation she shared. He’d had plenty of chances to tell her this before! Why did he have
to do this to her now? Her heart fragmented a little more with every moment she lingered in his presence. “I must go.” She tried to bolt, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him.

  “To whom!”

  His look gave her pause. It was dark with the promise of violence. The last thing she wanted was for Simon to go after Robert.

  “I’m married, Simon. What difference does it make who my husband is? It is done. You must…go on with your life.” Speechless, he stared at her with horrified disbelief. She easily pulled her arm out of his slackening grasp. “I wish you happiness in your life and a woman worthy enough to share it with you.” Vision blurred by tears, she rushed from the room, not stopping to acknowledge Jules or Armand, desperate to flee while she still possessed the ability to do so. Leaving Simon for a second, and final, time was inexpressible torture.

  Simon placed his hands on his hips, dragging his breaths up and down his throat, a cold, almost numbing sensation flooding his body.

  Jules and Armand rushed in.

  “Simon?” Jules inquired.

  The word “married” had stabbed through him, slicing cleanly through the heart. The pain was unmercifully keen. Grabbing a nearby chair, he slammed it against the mirror. The force of the impact shattered it, sending shards of glass spraying out.

  “Dieu!” Armand exclaimed.

  Simon spun around to face his friends. “She’s married.” He forced the words out from between clenched teeth.

  “Merde. I’m so sorry,” Jules said. “Come, we must leave here. There are too many nobles about, and we don’t know who is friend or foe. Armand, go outside. See if Robert is here. If not, we’ll go to Névelon straightaway. If Angelica has married an Aristo, then surely Robert would know who this man is. He’ll know more about the situation.”

  Armand gave a nod and ran out.

  A silence fell upon the room. Simon was lost in his thoughts, fighting to think clearly through the misery and staggering sense of loss, unable to just walk away. To give her up.