Undone (34 page)

It was what he wanted anyway.

Now that she knew how powerful Fouquet had become, her stay in France would have to be very brief. Despite the marquis’s kind offer, she had to find some place to go. Some place to live out the rest of her life.

“Forgive me, you must be exhausted. Have you any other clothes?”

“Yes. They’re in my valise. I left it with your majordomo, Monsi—”

“Enough formalities. Call me Robert. I have no less than a hundred questions rushing through my mind, yet I can see how weary you are. I’ll have a room prepared for you and a meal sent to you. Rest. We can talk this evening.”

*****

Simon stood rigid and tense on the deck of the ship captained by Armand while the crew searched it for Angelica.

After ten days, Simon and Jules had managed to catch up with the two ships that were sailing to the south of France. They’d searched the first ship from top to bottom without finding any trace of her.

Armand’s ship was his last hope.

As he stood with Jules and Armand, his heart pounded away the time. Four ships were anchored in the water. Four sets of crewman’s orders stayed while the search was carried out. The silence was thick and heavy. Not one man uttered a single comment.

While he waited. And waited. Hoping she would appear with one of his men. Safe.

The ship’s lieutenant approached.

“Well?” Armand demanded.

Simon knew the words he was about to hear simply by the look on the man’s face.

“She’s not on board, Commander. Captain, there’s no sign that she was ever on board.”

Simon’s heart plummeted. Hearing the words was far worse than anticipating them. If she wasn’t on board his ships, she was in the realm.

Alone.

Fear the likes of which he’d never known clutched him in its vise.

Jules placed a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “Simon, we’ll find her.”

If ever he believed he knew anything at all of hell from his past experiences, then he was mistaken. Nothing felt worse than this hollow sense of loss, this terrifying concern he had for the woman he loved.

He had no idea where she was, how she was, and he had no one to blame but himself for her perilous predicament.

Throughout the voyage, he’d stopped her each time she’d attempted to tell him how she felt about him. He’d withheld his own feelings from her. Then, immediately upon reaching France, he’d left her on the ship to chase down
nobility
.
Dieu!

He couldn’t blame her for leaving him. He’d given her no reason to stay. He’d driven her out of his life and into danger. Because of his stubbornness. Because of his beliefs about social status being important. To hell with social position.

Jésus-Christ
. She loved him. Just as he was.

But he hadn’t embraced it! Instead, he’d kept her at arm’s length. Fucking fool!

In the strongest voice Simon could muster, he ordered all four ships to return with him, wanting to have access to as many men as possible. He would tear France apart looking for her.

And he would exhaust every man until she was found. He
would
find her, and yes, she would be safe. She had to be safe. He’d tell her exactly how he felt about her. If she would still have him, he’d marry her. And spend the rest of his days making it up to her.

*****

Angelica heard the commotion from the top of the staircase—an argument between men. Since her arrival a week ago, she’d found Robert’s home to be always peaceful. A sanctuary from the danger that lurked for her outside. She rushed down to see what was amiss.

At the bottom of the stairs, she froze. Caught in her gaze was the one the young girl inside her once called
Evil
. She’d know that light brown hair, that tall, slender build anywhere.

Nicolas Fouquet stood in the entrance hall of Robert’s home with another man he called Pellisson. Pellisson’s argument with Robert’s majordomo ceased the moment the three men noticed her. Cold terror froze her blood and limbs.

“Well, well.” Fouquet tossed his cape at the servant’s face. His dark, soulless eyes raked over her in lewd assessment, making her feel naked. Violated.

A slimy sense of revulsion slid down her throat to her stomach. Her heart pounded. She prayed somehow he didn’t recognize her.

“And here I thought, Pellisson, that the marquis had become a recluse. Yet, it’s obvious that he has found a beautiful woman in which—” Fouquet arrested his words as recognition struck.

Her legs almost gave way.

He stepped toward her, all smugness dissipated, replaced by horrified astonishment. She stepped back, the air suddenly becoming thin and difficult to inhale. Years fell away. It was as though she wasn’t a grown woman but a girl, feeling trapped and vulnerable. Terrified.

“
You?
” Fouquet’s characteristic haughtiness deflated with the single word, his complexion ashen.

“Please, my lord, as I’ve told you, the marquis is not accepting visitors today,” the servant said.

Fouquet gave no sign he heard the servant’s words as he continued to stare at her, incredulous.

A voice inside her screamed,
Flee!
Another demanded,
Kill him!
Yet, she remained stock-still, overcome by shock.

“It’s not possible… How can it be… What…are you…?” The fragmented words came out of him as small, breathless sounds. Gone was his insolent self-assuredness.

“May I help you, sir?” The bellow came from the former Commodore of the French Navy, startling her. She turned and saw an uncustomary scowl on Robert’s face as he stood erect and tall in the doorway of his study. Despite his cane, he looked strong, well-muscled from years of a physical life at sea—a sharp contrast to most soft-bellied nobles half his age.

A formidable adversary.

Fouquet tore his eyes away from her. “What is she doing here?”

“Sir, what I do and who I have in my home is none of your concern. Unlike other nobles, I am not financially indebted to you. Nor do I have any family members you can scandalize to bend my will to yours.” Robert’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t answer to you.”

Fouquet stiffened. She saw the flash of fury in his eyes, remembering that volatile temper all too well. He turned to face her. “You will come with me!” He grabbed at her. She jumped back, avoiding physical contact with him.

“You will not touch my future wife!” Robert’s voice resonated. She gasped.

Fouquet spun back around to face Robert. “Your
what
?”

“Wife.” Robert announced firmly.

Fouquet tossed his head back with a roar of laughter. “Névelon, your injury must be to your head. You cannot marry her without my permission.”

“Ah, but you will give your consent, and I shall marry her,” Robert interjected. “Then she will no longer be of concern to you.”

“Oh? And why would I give my consent for this match? Have you gotten her with child?”

Robert motioned for the servant to leave, ignoring the sting of Fouquet’s words. His injury had done more damage than Robert would ever admit. He could never bring himself to tell anyone just how debilitating his condition had become and how it had unmanned him. The servant promptly handed Fouquet’s cape to Pellisson and left.

With a finger, Robert indicated to Fouquet to approach. Fouquet’s lips twitched with amusement. He sauntered over. As soon as he was within arm’s reach, Robert seized a fistful of the man’s fine doublet and yanked him close, the brim of Fouquet’s hat, with its large purple plume, butting against Robert’s forehead.

“You will speak of her with the utmost respect, and you will agree to this match unless you wish to be disgraced by having others learn of your
incestuous tendencies
,” he growled. How he hated Fouquet for what he’d done to the beautiful woman who now lived with him. Over the last week, he’d grown increasingly fond of Angelica and accustomed to her company. She filled his lonely days. He admired her strength, her gentle grace, and found himself often wishing he could take away the sadness she tried to hide.

A smirk slowly spread across Fouquet’s mouth. “Would you have her scandalized as well?”

It was Robert’s turn to smile with malevolence. “Thanks to you, she has nothing left to lose. You, on the other hand, have a great distance to fall.”

Fouquet’s smile dissolved.

Robert continued, “I’ve had the papers drawn up. They are on my desk. Your unexpected visit has saved me the trouble of coming to see you. If you are wise, you will sign them. Don’t tempt me to bring shame to your
good
name with our newly inspired king.”

Robert held Fouquet’s gaze with ruthless determination. He knew Fouquet was under heavy scrutiny from Louis of late. It was what Robert was counting on to sway him. He kept his features schooled in an expression that had intimidated men under his command over the years.

“You want her,” Fouquet forced out tightly, “you can have her, but Beaulieu is mine.”

“An appropriate dowry has been indicated on the papers. For appearance’s sake, you will make certain it is provided. Sign the marriage contract. Then get out of my home.” Robert released him abruptly.

Fouquet smoothed his clothing and threw Angelica a glare. She returned his gaze, her regard full of loathing for the devil incarnate before them.

Fouquet walked past Robert and hastily signed the parchments on his desk. Robert waited and watched in the doorway. The pain shooting up his leg was virtually unbearable. Standing still was agony. Yet, he forced himself to do it, relying on his naval discipline to disguise his suffering. To show no weakness.

When Fouquet finished, he approached. “I came here today for an entirely different matter, certainly not expecting you to be harboring my long-lost stepdaughter.”

“State your business,” Robert commanded.

Leaning in, he murmured, “There is a certain man, one you would all but call a son. Simon Boulenger. His ships were spotted in France, but they disappeared as quickly as they came. Do tell him that the Superintendent of Finance wishes a meeting.” He smiled.

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.”