Undone (30 page)

Soon, he had her impatient and yearning. Her fragmented sentences, urging him to hurry, were punctuated by hot, hungry kisses. Quickening his pace, he gripped her bottom, lifting her hips into his every deep, driving thrust.

She cried out her release; the glorious spasms rippling along his thrusting cock sent him over the edge. He withdrew just in the nick of time. Clenching his teeth, he drained his cock outside her body in a pulsating rush that went on and on. Each shuddering eruption pure euphoria.

The sun shone warmly on his back. His muscles were lax. A sense of peace, the likes of which he’d never known, settled over him.

He gazed down into her eyes. Gently, she brushed back a lock of his hair from his forehead and gave him a tender smile. Perhaps he’d postpone his trip back to France, prolong their time together just a little more, and hold on to his moonlight angel just a little longer.

“Angelica,” he murmured, her name slipping past his lips, full of emotion that came directly from his heart.

Pounding drums shattered the bliss.

Simon jerked his head up. His stomach dropped.

“What is that?” she asked.

He was already standing, pulling her to her feet. Taking her hand, he began making his way through the water toward the shore, his heart pounding along with the drums.

“They’re a warning.” He tried to keep the anxiety from his voice. “A ship is on the horizon.”

“A ship? What kind of ship?”

“I don’t know yet.”

They reached the shoreline and their clothing.

“Simon, are we being attacked?”

He grabbed his fallen shirt and tossed it over her head. Knowing his men would be coming for him soon, he began pulling on his breeches.

“I don’t know. But if we are, we’re prepared. My men are highly trained.” His mind raced as he considered the possible identity and intentions of the ship. Hell, there could be more than one. The drums continued to pound. A cold sensation slid down Simon’s spine. He had a terrible feeling inside. A feeling he couldn’t shake. A feeling that all dreams were over.

Reality had come to call.

Chapter Twenty-One

“Seven ships in all, Captain, all bearing our flags,”
the man at the northeast lookout had advised. Simon had felt some relief. At least they weren’t being attacked. But why were all seven of his warships returning? What could it mean? It took hours for his commanders to reach the shore and make their way to Simon’s dining room before he knew the answer.

“Captain, the war between France and Spain is over,” stated one of the warship commanders. A roar of astonishment swept around the table in Simon’s dining room.

His heart missed a beat.

He looked around at all fourteen of his ships’ commanders. His shock was mirrored in the faces of half the men around the table as the other half relayed the astounding news from France.

“Over?” Domenico exclaimed.

“Yes, over. The king has signed the peace treaty. But that is not all. Mazarin is dead.”

Simon sat upright. “The First Minister?
Dead?
”

Armand shook his head. “Unbelievable. I thought the devil was immortal.”

“Fouquet still lives,” advised another recently returned commander. “If ever a devil there was, it would be Fouquet.”

“What does the king do now?” Jules asked. “Mazarin has ruled for Louis since he was a child and inherited the throne—”

“Who will be the next First Minister?” Simon interjected. Silently, he prayed the next words he heard were not
Nicolas Fouquet
. Mazarin had been no less power-hungry than Fouquet; however, Fouquet, as far as Simon was concerned, was more ruthless than the widely despised Cardinal Mazarin.

“That is the most incredible thing, Captain,” explained the commander. “Louis has announced he will rule France
without
a First Minister of any kind.”

A murmur of disbelief erupted.

Simon leaned forward, still grappling with the words that were too unbelievable to accept. “And what of Fouquet? Surely he must have believed that he would have been the natural replacement.”

“Captain, he still believes it. Raoul and Vilain have provided invaluable information.”

“Go on,” Simon said. Raoul and Vilain were the two spies he’d planted as servants within Fouquet’s household. And he was eager to hear every detail.

“They inform us that Fouquet thinks the king will grow bored of ruling and hand over the responsibilities to him. Fouquet believes Louis cannot rule the realm without him. He thinks he’s indispensable. What makes matters worse is that Fouquet has the support of the majority of the nobles. They call him the true king of France. Those who don’t support him are indebted to him financially. He has been quite shrewd.”

“Captain,” began another. “I have a letter from the former commodore, Robert d’Arles, Marquis de Névelon.” He handed Simon the parchment with Robert’s family seal on it.

Simon opened and read the note. “The marquis believes that the king grows increasingly displeased with Fouquet and his extravagant ways,” he relayed.

Jules shook his head. “And yet Fouquet still thinks he’ll be the next First Minister.”

The commander nodded. “His ambitions and arrogance seem to have no limits. And his excesses are extreme. It seems every day Fouquet spends funds on his new château, making it more and more opulent. He is quite unconcerned about what Louis thinks of Château Vaux-le-Vicomte.”

Simon drained the brandy in his goblet, desperate for the fiery liquid to counter the ache he felt inside. The news was bittersweet. And monumental.

In his note, Robert wanted Simon’s immediate return and advised that Fouquet had given up his post as a Member of Parliament at Louis’s request. Though he was still the Superintendent of Finance, this left Fouquet vulnerable. Could it be that their young king had truly opened his eyes and seen the threat Fouquet was to his throne? Could he be planning Fouquet’s downfall, drawing him out of the security of his parliamentary protection?

Between the war ending, Mazarin’s death, and the king’s request of Fouquet, Simon reeled. The very idea of peace seemed unreal. The war with Spain had been ongoing since ’48, and before that, there had been the Thirty Years War.

Would the peace last? He hoped so. He was sick of war. Yet now that it was over, so was the opportunity to become an officer. To become ennobled. It was no longer a matter of choice—whether he wanted to chase the dream or not. The door to betterment had just slammed shut in his face, leaving Simon trapped on the outside. Leaving him a commoner forevermore.

He knew he couldn’t delay his return now. He wouldn’t be given the extra time with Angelica he’d hoped for. This was an opportunity to get out from under Fouquet’s hold with his life and the lives of his men intact, and even aid in his downfall, but Simon knew he would walk away with a life devoid of recognition for his naval successes.

And without Angelica.

That thought left him feeling cold. And empty.

She waited for him in his chambers. He had to go upstairs and tell her that he had to leave. That she had to go too. The king was beginning to rule. This was the perfect time for her to return and reclaim her estate. And her life.

What choice did he have but to take her back? She deserved to return to the upper class—to all the benefit and privilege that came with it. To all the things he’d never have. France held promise for her, though it held nothing for him. He might have failed to elevate himself, but he wouldn’t fail her. She deserved more than he had to offer. She was born into privilege. She deserved a husband who could provide her and her children with a name that carried with it esteem. A name that would grant them the prerogatives that came with it.

He stood, dismissed the men, and walked out of the dining room to the stairs, both his legs and his heart leaden.

*****

Angelica paced.

She’d been advised that the ships were friends, not foes, but that didn’t seem to give her ease. Something was happening. She feared Simon would need to leave sooner than expected.

Would she be denied her chance before it had even begun?

The chamber door opened. She turned.

Simon gave her a lopsided smile and closed the door quietly. Her heart leaped to her throat. She hadn’t missed the way his eyes flashed regret.
Dear God, no. Not this soon.

“You have to leave, don’t you?” The words rushed past her lips. His smile disappeared.

“Yes.” The soft word roared in her ears.

She battled back her devastating disappointment. “When?”

He looked as though it pained him to say, “A few days. A week at most. As soon as the ships are prepared for the voyage back.”

She sank down onto the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry that you have to leave so soon.” She hoped she didn’t sound as shaken as she felt.

“So am I.”

He walked over and sat down beside her. Taking one of her cold hands in his, he said, “There are great changes that have occurred in France.” Lightly, he caressed her hand with his thumb. “France is finally at peace, and our king has for the first time indicated a desire to rule. These are positive changes. The realm will be a much better place for it.”

She remained silent, sensing there was more he wanted to say, yet he seemed to be struggling to find his words. He looked heavy-hearted.

“This affair between us has been…beautiful.” He gave her a rueful smile. Her heart pounded. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was about to hear something worse than his departure.

His gaze caressed her face. “Dear God, you are so fine. Everything a man could want and more. You deserve the finest life has to offer. You are one of the few nobles who truly belong in the exalted class.”

“What are you trying to say, Simon?”

“You don’t belong here.”

Her heart lurched. “
Pardon?
”

“You must go back.”

She jumped to her feet. “Go back,
where
?”

“France.”

Horrified, she took a step back. “Surely you jest?”

“I would not jest about this.” He cleared his throat. “I’m taking you back to France.”

Dear God, he was serious! “
Why?
Why must I leave?”

He rose slowly. “Because you were born to walk among royalty, the aristocracy. Not peasants. This is no place for you.”

A laugh erupted from her, void of mirth. “Who are you to decide where I should be and what is best for me!”

He looked down and softly responded, “I am in charge here. I decide who remains and who leaves.” He met her gaze, his look determined. “You cannot remain here and teach children of commoners—”

“I refuse to go!”

“Your life is elsewhere. You need to return to the life you were meant to live.”

“What about the life I wish to live? I wish to stay here, with my friends, with…
you
.”

He closed his eyes briefly, and shook his head.

She could not believe this! How could she make him understand? “I’ve told you that my nobility means nothing to me!”

“It should.” Maddeningly, he kept his tone soft but firm. “Once you return to France, you’ll see all the privileges it grants you. Privileges and honor denied to the rest of us.”

“Privileges? Honor? What possible difference can any of that make? By forcing me to return to France, you place me in peril. You know what my stepfather did to me. How can you suggest such a thing?”

“No! He will never touch you again.
This I swear
. I and every man in my command will protect you with our lives. He will relinquish all that is yours, and he will pay for what he has done.”

Stricken, she reeled.

“
Mon ange
, don’t look at me that way. I will not abandon you there. Before we part company, I will make certain you are safe and that the advantages of your birth have been restored to you. The matter will be handled with discretion, for your sake.”

He took a step toward her. She took a step back.

“What then, Simon? After my ‘advantages’ are restored, do I live out my days alone at Beaulieu?”

“No. Once your wealth is restored, you can”—he looked away—“marry.”

“
Marry?
I am not a virgin. What man would want me?”

“Every man in France,” he murmured. A little louder he said, “There are men in the noble class who would be willing to overlook the lack of a maidenhead. Especially if a sufficient dowry is provided and”—she saw him swallow and look down—“they see you.”

“I will not go back to…that place. I refuse to tell you my stepfather’s name!”

He nodded. “I know how upsetting it is for you to discuss him. I don’t wish to cause you further distress by demanding his name or any details about him. It isn’t necessary. Once in France, it won’t be difficult to ascertain the identity of the Lord of Beaulieu.”

She felt sick inside. Heartsick. He was adamant and determined to take her with him. Tears stung her eyes. “Don’t do this, Simon.”

“It’s the right thing to do. To keep you here when you could have so much more is purely selfish. I’ve told you before, anything permanent between us is impossible.”

She swiped away an errant tear from her cheek. “Because I’m a
noble
.” Her final word dripped with disdain.

“Because if a man in my class were to marry a woman in your class, she would be stripped of her status and made insignificant in society. A commoner. A man should bring the woman he marries honor. Not shame.”

“Dear God!” she exclaimed, feeling utterly defeated and completely heartbroken. “I see no shame in it. I cannot understand why you hold nobility in such esteem!”

“It is not just I who hold it in esteem, but society. I’ve chased it all my life. If I cannot have mine, I will not let you lose yours.”

The look in his eyes told her he couldn’t be dissuaded. He was taking her back. She thought he had some feelings for her, but his intentions coupled with his words indicated differently.

She was to have had a chance—four weeks with him—to build something permanent, but she didn’t get four days. She had to leave the room—
right now
—before she made an utter fool of herself by making declarations of love or crumbling to the floor weeping and pleading.