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  Gabriella jerked up. Angelica looked into her watery eyes and silently commanded her to cease her tears. Gabriella faced Simon with great trepidation.

  “Yes, I’m…ha-happy.” She offered him a miserable smile.

  “Dieu.” A dark-haired man walked up behind Simon. “She doesn’t look happy,” he murmured in French. Then to Gabriella he said in Italian, “Gabriella, your friend is correct. There’s no need for tears. We discussed her recovery yesterday, during our walk in the gardens, remember?” Clearly, this was the man Domenico, whom Gabriella had talked about.

  At the mention of the walk in the gardens, Gabriella was back to sobbing into her hands. More men began exiting the dining hall, making the corridor feel smaller. They circled like predators. Angelica felt as though she and Gabriella were the prey.

  Her smile still frozen on her face, Angelica slid a protective arm around Gabriella’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. We seem to have disturbed you. We’ll return to our chambers now.”

  She turned and escorted Gabriella down the hall, praying they couldn’t hear her heart thundering.

  “Angelica?” She tensed at the sound of her name, every muscle in her body poised for flight. It was Simon.

  Leader of sea-bandits.

  Hearing her name from him this time didn’t have the same tantalizing effect. Swallowing down her terror, she turned to face him. He strode past her and opened the door to the library. “Please, come in.”

  Angelica lowered her arm and exchanged looks with Gabriella. Her friend’s eyes were big and full of fear. Filled with her own dread, Angelica clasped her friend’s hand and led her into the room.

  Simon and Domenico entered after them.

  Simon stopped before her. His size and muscled form had never been more intimidating. She desperately hoped he couldn’t read in her eyes the horror she felt inside.

  “I don’t believe you’ve met Domenico Dragani. He is a commander of one of my ships,” he said.

  She exchanged polite greetings with the man; all the while, her mind raced. How were they going to get out of here?

  “Are you certain nothing is amiss?” Simon asked.

  How could his concern appear so sincere? How could he be so proficient at duplicity? Because he is a criminal.

  She looked away briefly, needing to break the connection with his gaze, when she noticed a small, blank parchment on the desk.

  An idea came to her.

  “Actually”—she glanced at both men—“there is something amiss. Gabriella isn’t feeling well.”

  Gabriella gasped. Angelica squeezed her hand to silence her.

  “She isn’t?” Domenico stepped forward, studying Gabriella closely.

  Gabriella looked down at her feet, unable to meet his eyes.

  “Yes,” Angelica answered for her. “It seems she’s been having stomach pains. They come and go.” She squeezed her hand harder. Gabriella’s attention shot back up to her. Upon making eye contact with her friend, Angelica said, “When the pain hits, it’s quite terrible. Even worse than the time she was to go to the village with Madre Paola.”

  Thankfully, comprehension dawned on Gabriella’s face. Clearly, her dear friend remembered the time she’d fabricated a stomach ailment to avoid spending the day with Madre Paola. Unfortunately, afterward, she’d been forced to down considerable amounts of nutmeg oil to combat her “malady.”

  Gabriella looked unsure for a moment, and Angelica was afraid she might be too frightened to go through with the ruse.

  “I-I think the pain is returning…” Gabriella said.

  Relieved, Angelica watched her friend begin an impromptu performance, clutching at her stomach with a moan. Then a moan louder still.

  “You should sit down,” Angelica ordered and grabbed the parchment off the desk.

  By the time she returned to her side, Gabriella was not only sitting but doubled over and moaning repeatedly.

  “Gabriella… What the devil…?” Domenico dropped to one knee beside her.

  Angelica fanned her with the parchment. Gabriella continued to moan as if in dire pain.

  Angelica forced herself to meet Simon’s gaze. “She needs a physician. I’ve never seen her quite like this.”

  “Simon.” Domenico looked concerned as he slipped an arm around Gabriella. “I think it’s wise. Perhaps we can get a physician from one of the ships—”

  “No!” Angelica blurted out. “I mean…Bernard Toussaint was so skilled and so kind. Gabriella would highly benefit from his competence and gentle manner.” They needed Toussaint, not one of their physicians.

  Gabriella wailed out.

  “My friend is very sensitive,” Angelica added, squeezing Gabriella’s shoulder, fearing her performance was a tad overmuch. With her other hand, she surreptitiously concealed the parchment in her sleeve.

  Simon frowned. Gabriella’s moans grew softer. Angelica held her breath.

  “Domenico, carry her upstairs. I’ll order a man to ride to the town to find Bernard Toussaint.”

  Angelica almost collapsed from relief.

  Domenico swept Gabriella up in his arms and stalked out of the room. Angelica turned to follow.

  “Angelica?” Simon caught her arm.

  She jumped back from the contact, and saw the immediate surprise on his face. She mentally chastised herself. Relax! You will give yourself away.

  “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m somewhat jittery.” She rubbed her arm, willing away the feel of his fingers. “I’m worried about Gabriella.”

  “Yes, of course. However, you’re quite flushed. Is your head hurting again?”

  She wanted to scream at him to stop acting as though he was decent. She was all too aware of the sword against his left hip. Thoughts of what the cutthroat was capable of doing with it, had done with it, tortured her aching brain.

  “I’m fine. I must get upstairs. Gabriella needs me.”

  *****

  In Gabriella’s chamber, Gabriella lay on her side in the middle of the bed with her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, moaning with dramatic persuasion.

  Domenico leaned over to feel her forehead for fever. “Water…” she rasped at him.

  He turned around, scanning the room for a water pitcher. There was none to be found.

  “I’ll be back shortly with some water.” He turned on a heel and left with purposeful strides.

  As soon as Domenico was gone, Gabriella sat bolt upright. Angelica ran to the hearth and selected a piece of kindling that had burnt only halfway. She used it on the small parchment she’d stolen from the library and quickly scribed a note to Toussaint.

  “We’re going to need assistance to get out here, and out of the realm. We’ve no money. No transportation to go back home,” Angelica said, returning to the bed. They were going to have to trust someone. And trusting strangers was the last thing she was comfortable doing. “Our choices are rather slim. I have written a note to the physician asking for help. I think we can meet him outside the servants’ entrance once everyone is asleep. I will slip him the note—”

  “I will give the note to him,” Gabriella stated. Her eyes no longer held any fear. “It is my fault we are in this terrible predicament. I helped Simon de Villette take you out of the convent. I am not asking you, Angelica. I’m demanding it! I will give the note to the physician.”

  Seeing a determination in her friend she’d never seen before, she didn’t argue with her and handed the note over. Tucking it into her sleeve, Gabriella lay on the bed once more.

  As soon as they heard footsteps approach, she began the second act of her performance. In the next agonizing hour and a half, Domenico paced about the room while Angelica held Gabriella's hand as her moaning friend continued her seemingly tireless act of intermittent attacks. Finally, the door opened and the physician entered with Simon.

  “Signorina, it is so good to see you,” Toussaint said in his usual friendly manner, “but you should be in bed, resting.”

  Angelica rose. “I’
m feeling much better, really. You have my deepest gratitude, for your talents in medicine afforded me a speedy recovery. I pray that you will be equally effective in treating my friend.”

  Bernard Toussaint approached the bed. Gabriella moaned softly. “Of course. If I may be permitted some privacy to allow me to examine the young woman…”

  Outside in the hallway, Angelica’s heart pounded away the moments as she waited with Simon and Domenico. Domenico’s continued pacing only made her more nervous.

  With Gabriella alone with the physician, she could further explain the predicament they were in.

  Domenico stopped abruptly. “I can’t understand what could be the matter with her. She was perfectly fine yesterday in the gardens,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t stand the wait any longer.” Domenico threw open the door to reveal Toussaint standing near the bed, holding the folded parchment.

  Angelica’s heart dropped to her stomach.

  Domenico entered and snatched the note from Toussaint’s hand. Reading its contents quickly, he glanced at a panic-stricken Gabriella and then at Angelica. He walked over and handed the note to Simon. “I believe you should read this.”

  Her limbs went numb.

  Simon’s gaze moved over her words. His jaw tightened. “Merde,” he muttered, then crunched the parchment in his fist. Without a word, he grasped her wrist and stalked down the hall, with Angelica all but running to keep up with his long strides.

  He pulled her into her chamber and slammed the door shut behind him. Yanking her arm free from his grasp, she ran to the middle of the room and turned to face him. He’d removed his sword, yet he was still very much a threat.

  She clenched her fists. Whatever he was about to do, she would not surrender without a fight.

  Chapter Seven

  “So, mademoiselle, you speak French,” Simon said in his native tongue, no longer intending to speak to her in any other language. “Do enlighten me on everything else you’re keeping from me. And do not attempt to lie, pretending you don’t understand me when I hold in my hand the proof that you do.”

  He threw the crumpled parchment into the fireplace. Fuck. This predicament was entirely his fault. A moment of carnal fog outside a convent had resulted in this situation.

  A situation that had just turned very serious.

  He’d failed to learn anything about her. He’d erred in his assumptions concerning her—she speaks French—and as a result of his mistakes, she’d overheard his conversation with his men.

  The last thing he wanted was to have her entangled in his circumstances.

  Now she was caught in the web.

  “Monsieur, I’ve told you all you need to know about me.”

  She momentarily unbalanced him by speaking for the first time in his language of birth. Each perfect word sounded heavenly.

  This was no daughter of a peasant who’d been tutored in a convent. Her manner of speaking and conduct were too refined. Her education had been obtained in France, or perhaps from French tutors in the Republic of Genoa. In short, her family was, at least at one time, notable. What happened? Why had they left her in a convent for so long? She was certainly of marriageable age.

  Were they all dead?

  “You are mistaken, mademoiselle. You have much to tell me. However, first allow me to tell you about me.” By the note she had written and the look in her eyes, narrow, accusatory, and full of disdain, he knew she condemned him as a scourge on society. A pirate. It bothered him that she thought so little of him. And he had no idea why it mattered what she thought.

  “My name is Simon Boulenger. I am, in fact, the captain of a fleet of privateer ships for France. It is my…duty”—he forced the word off his tongue—“to attack Spanish ships and forward proceeds to the Crown. And for your information, Toussaint works for me.”

  She flinched, but her gaze remained locked on his. He found himself admiring her courage. Under the circumstances, any other woman would have succumbed to tears by now.

  “I don’t require any explanations or details about you. All I’m interested in is returning to the convent.”

  He crossed his arms. “I don’t think you understand. Matters have just become very complicated. You’ve been made privy to…sensitive information. As a result, I can’t risk the lives of my men to take you anywhere now.”

  She paled. “You can’t be serious! We are to be prisoners?”

  “You will be treated no different than you have been.”

  “Except we are not permitted to leave!”

  “That is correct. I’m sorry.”

  “Why? What possible harm could Gabriella and I cause you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know how long you were listening, the extent of what you heard. I don’t know who you are. Or who you know. These are dangerous times. There are enemies everywhere, including in the Republic of Genoa. I cannot take any risks. This is not a permanent situation. It’s only until…certain matters are attended to.”

  Until his situation with Fouquet was rectified.

  Until Fouquet was ruined.

  “I heard nothing, really…”

  Raising his brow, he gave her a skeptical look.

  “Very little, I swear! And any personal information about me is irrelevant, I assure you.”

  He approached her. She stiffened, her fists still at her sides. Once again he found himself tantalized by her proximity. The sweet, fresh scent drifting from her chestnut tresses seductively swirled through his system. His hungry cock hardened by the second.

  Simon gazed at her upturned face. For the first time, he noticed an adorable freckle on her earlobe and another on her neck. He had to fight back the urge to press his lips to her soft skin. Dieu. He wanted to coax her into his arms and onto the bed, to turn the fiery look in her eyes into carnal hunger. If she had any idea how badly he wanted to sink himself inside her, knowing she would be deliciously tight and hot, she’d bolt for the door.

  He couldn’t believe he was lusting after a virgin in convent garb.

  A woman who, at the moment, clearly despised him.

  He’d never been hated by a woman. And he didn’t like being hated by this one.

  “It is your game of secrecy that makes me mistrust you as much as you mistrust me,” he said.

  “You cannot do this. I demand you take us home! You have no right to hold us here against our will!”

  “We won’t be staying here. We will be sailing for the West Indies in a few days.”

  Her mouth fell open. She stepped back. There was horror in her eyes, a crack in her brave façade.

  “No! We will not go with you!” she countered. “You wear finery and have influential friends”—she indicated the chamber with a sweep of her arm—“but you are not the noble or officer you pretended to be. You are not part of the King’s Navy. You are clearly deceitful and no doubt corrupt. I want no part of whatever criminal endeavor you are embarking on!”

  Her words gored him to the core.

  Furious, he stepped forward. She took another step back, bumping into the tall bedpost at the foot of her bed with a gasp.

  “You accuse me of deceit? Of hiding who I am? You hide more than you reveal! Who the hell are you to judge me?” Merde. The day had been long. He was both physically and emotionally depleted. And he was sick and tired of this game. It was no longer intriguing. He wanted answers. Needed answers. “I’m tired of this nonsense. I demand to know who you are, and what truths you conceal. Right now!”

  She glared at him, her body rigid. In a low voice simmering with ire, she said, “I have told you all you will ever know about me.”

  He was stunned. He was accustomed to compliance to his every order. Always. How was it that he could command hundreds of men, yet he couldn’t get this one woman to tell him her full name?

  *****

  Angelica saw his eyes darken and braced herself. She’d faced a man who was pure evil when she was younger. Weaker. She would not break her silence. She
knew the hell that awaited her if she did.

  “Is that so, mademoiselle? Well then, let me tell you this. I know you are running away from something or someone.” The accuracy of his words sent a streak of cold terror down her spine.

  “I know something more about you,” he said. “You don’t wish to embrace a life of religious devotion. Or a cloistered existence. You speak of needing to return—but never of wanting to return. You say it is where you belong, but you have never said that you wish to belong there. Last night you showed me that at least part of you wants more out of life than what you get living in that convent.” He cupped her cheek in his warm, strong palm.

  Her senses jumped to life, startling her. Her hand flew to his forearm, intending to push him away, to break contact with his evocative touch. He covered her hand with his other, trapping it there. Beneath her fingers, through the fabric of his shirt, she was all too aware of his hard muscles and the appealing heat of his skin.

  “Angelica…” he murmured, the seductive quality of his voice so naturally a part of him. It shimmered over her nerve endings. And quickened her heart. “You may despise me, but I am still the man who came to your rescue in that chapel. The man whose arms you were in last night. And last night, you very much wanted me to kiss you.” He leaned toward her ear, his soft, dark hair lightly brushing her cheek. “Admit it,” he whispered.

  Briefly, she closed her eyes and swallowed. She would cut out her own tongue before admitting to that. To the kiss she’d craved. To the desire to feel his perfect lips against hers.

  “A life cloistered in a convent is not what you wholeheartedly want. It limits and denies, and it demands a chaste existence. Do you really want to live out your entire life never having known what it’s like to make love?”

  Make love…

  His words rippled through her body, down to her feminine core.

  He lifted his head, his vibrant blue eyes gazing into hers once more. “Don’t you wish to know the pleasure of being kissed…caressed…” He stroked his thumb across her bottom lip, sending sensations lancing to the tips of her breasts. She lost her breath. “Don’t you want to know how incredible sex can feel? Being taken to ecstasy and back. Do you not want to experience that? That exquisite feeling of being locked in this most intimate joining, your body yearning, until the rushing release…until the ultimate fulfillment?”