Undone (18 page)

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?”

“I didn’t make any such plan. Nor did I give it perhaps the consideration I should have. I just wanted…to be with you.”

“Lovely answer.” His voice was bland. “Too bad I no longer have any confidence in your sincerity. I no longer know when you are being true or false. I’d love to know, however, if I have sufficiently amused you with this game you choose to play with me.”

“I derive no amusement from any of this.”

“You must gain some benefit from it,
chère
. Why else would you do it?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Really.”

He placed his strong hands on the arms of her chair and dragged it closer to him. Surprised, she stiffened.

“I have no problem with anonymous sex, Angelica, since that seems to be your preference. What I do have a problem with, is being made a fool of.”

“Simon,” she began.

“Before you attempt to tell me that I have withheld information about myself as well, I wish to remind you that you know a good deal more about me than I know about you. Now then, if you have something to tell me—
anything at all
—this would be an
excellent
time to say it.”

She looked into his eyes, hating his sarcastic tone.
Tell him
, a voice inside her urged.
Let him know. Perhaps he’ll understand.

He waited. Time stretched.

She swallowed and to tried break the barrier of silence; she tried to select the words to say, but they all sounded sordid. Ugly. Faced with the moment of truth, she came to the defeating realization that she couldn’t do it. There was still the chance that whenever he’d look at her, all he’d see was her soiling. And she couldn’t stand that. She would rather deal with his anger, for anger fades, but disgust and pity linger on indefinitely.

“I wasn’t trying to make a fool of you. I never said I was a virgin. I’ve told you, all personal information about me is irrelevant. I’m willing to wager that the women you have been with in the past haven’t been virgins either. No?”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“If the others were not virgins, then what difference can it make if I wasn’t one too? Why must it be important?”

He rose abruptly, startling her. Placing a hand on the arm of her chair and another under her chin, he said, “You are correct. None of this is important.” He straightened. “I suppose all that is left to say, mademoiselle, is thank you for the tumble.”

*****

Standing in front of the window of his library, Simon stared outside as he braced his hands on the frame. He wrestled to get hold of his fury, resentful of the emotions clashing inside of him. As a matter of pride, he’d refused to ask Angelica about her former lovers.

Since when had he ever cared about any woman’s past?

He couldn’t believe that on the day he’d had to tell Marie that Thomas was dead, he was wasting a moment’s thought on a woman who toyed with him. He’d reviewed every detail of last night, every detail of every conversation they’d ever had, trying to understand how he could have been so mistaken about her, every time.

Was there anything else he’d bloody well missed that he should have noted?

He’d thought of every possible scenario to explain why she had not been a virgin—from rape to whoredom, and everything in between. Each scenario churned his stomach. He had no idea who she was. Where she was born. Or when she’d lost her virginity.

Absolutely nothing!

She’d had him entangled in her game of mystery from the start. And he’d played along, panting after her all the while, devoting far more time and effort to her than he ever had to any other woman.

If all she was willing to offer him was her body for a night—fine. He had gladly accepted it and enjoyed it. The luscious memory conjured in his mind, and sure enough, predictably, he was stiff as a spike.

He was sick of the effect she had on him.

Turning away from the window, he walked over to the decanter of brandy, poured himself some, and drank it down.

Now was the time to move on.

He was glad to be home. Marguerite was special to him. It was his. The only place he could call his own. It was scenic and balmy. And there were women on Marguerite willing to indulge in sex without the mental torment.

He was here for rest and to make key decisions about Fouquet’s downfall, not to mention what he was going to do with the rest of his life, if he survived.

Simon poured himself another goblet of brandy.

So fucking Angelica had been even better than he’d anticipated. So she had the sweetest sex he’d ever known—all that snug heat squeezing him so tightly she’d made him throb. He’d wanted Angelica since he’d laid eyes on her. Last night, he’d had her. She wasn’t a virgin. So what? He should be rejoicing. He didn’t have to add dishonoring innocents to his lengthy list of sins.

What did he care if she lied to him in or out of bed?

He turned and whipped his goblet against the wall.
Merde!

This was eating him up inside. And he hated it that it bothered him at all. Worse, he loathed the idea that she saw him as a man unworthy of her trust.

“Would it not be better to
drink
the brandy?”

Simon spun around and saw his friend, Jules de Moutier, standing at the entrance of the library, his brow cocked.

Simon shook his head, embarrassed at his display. “Jules.” He forced a smile.

“
Dieu
, it’s good to see you.” Jules approached with a broad grin. The two men of similar age and build exchanged greetings with a manly embrace.

Jules nodded at the mess on the floor. “Does this have to do with Thomas? I saw Armand. He told me the news.”

It had to do with everything, including Thomas. His world was a snarled web, and somehow he’d allowed a woman to play him and turn him inside out. “Let us say that I have had better days.”

Jules nodded. Then a slight smile tugged at his lips. “What is this I hear about you finding women in a convent and bringing them to the island?”

Simon sat down behind his desk. “Armand doesn’t waste any time in filling your ears, does he?”

Jules chuckled. “Is it true Domenico has decided to marry one of them?”

“Yes, it’s true. And no, I don’t intend to discuss the women today. We will talk tomorrow. You can fill me in on the details of Marguerite and our sugar profits then.”

Angelica was the very last subject he wanted to discuss at the moment. He hadn’t seen his friend in almost two years. He and Jules had much to catch up on. In his absence, Simon had left the island in Jules’s capable hands.

“Absolutely. I must confess, I’m looking forward to the convent story. What about the other woman? Are you keeping her for yourself?”

“Jules…” His exasperation was mounting.

Jules grinned. “That beautiful, eh? Is she the reason you christened the floor with brandy?”

“How is your wife?”

Jules laughed, shaking his head. “Changing the subject, I see. Sabine is absolutely perfect. We have a daughter, Isabelle, born over a year ago. She is a raving beauty, like her mother.”

Jules and Sabine had married in France almost two years ago. “Congratulations,” he offered sincerely.

“Thank you,” Jules said, still grinning. “
Dieu
, Simon, I could not have imagined I would find marriage so agreeable. I’m so happy my feet scarcely touch the ground. It saves me a great deal on my footwear.”

Simon laughed, despite himself.

“I tell you it is something you should try.”

Simon lifted a brow. “Marriage? Fatherhood? No, thank you. I have no desire for either.” First, a good night’s sleep, then days of sexual oblivion were all that were on his list.

The delectable memory of Angelica standing naked in front of him whispered through his thoughts. He forced it back, but not before he felt a fresh wave of lust rush straight to his groin and along his prick. He would have uttered every expletive he’d ever learned if Jules hadn’t been there. His friend would derive great amusement from Simon’s predicament. Women had never wreaked havoc with Simon’s mind and body. In fact, he rarely had any thoughts of them once he left their bed.

“And the convent woman? Do you have desire for her?” Jules asked with mischief in his dark eyes.

“I am not going to discuss Angelica.”

“Angelica? Lovely name. Different.” Jules walked over to him. “I am only trying to leaven the moment. Thomas would have wanted that.” He patted his shoulder. “I’m happy you’ve returned. I am glad to turn the reins back over to you. And I won’t press for details about
Angelica
. Yet.” The beginnings of another smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Welcome back. It has been a long time. You’ve earned your rest.”

Rest. How the hell was he to accomplish that when Fouquet and Thomas tormented his soul, and a little sorceress had blinded and beguiled him and all but reduced him to a single-minded fool?

Chapter Thirteen

“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti…”

Simon tried to concentrate on the old priest’s Latin drone. The church was filled to capacity for Domenico and Gabriella’s wedding ceremony.

Angelica stood on Gabriella’s left-hand side as one of the two witnesses she’d chosen. And he refused to look at Angelica.
Again.

Only a short distance from her, he, along with Jules and Armand, were to the right of Domenico.

Simon seldom entered churches. Having seen every kind of suffering imaginable, he'd often question if there were any kind of higher power in all this. As a boy, he’d lost his family, one by one. Orphaned, he’d been left to face a slow, agonizing death—starvation—alone.

For as long as he lived, he’d never forget the hunger pains he’d known within his once malnourished body.

It had been that hunger inside him—a hunger to escape his baseborn existence and attain nobility—that had saved his life. And driven him to the financial success he’d attained. It had been his reason for rising every morning.

And it had taken Thomas’s death and the death of all those Fouquet had preyed upon to make him see he couldn’t chase his ambitions without paying a price.

Now that his dream to have an elevated station in life was not to be, how did he live his life without it? It would take self-discipline and strength to relinquish the need that had burned inside him most of his life.

He’d had both in great reserve until he met the green-eyed woman standing only a few feet from him. A month ago, he’d weakened so badly that he had forged ahead and done something he’d never been willing to do before—compromise a woman’s virtue. But there had been no virtue to compromise, and he was left reeling from the sting of her deceit.

Had he been so desperate to believe she was uncorrupted and true, he’d convinced himself she was something she was not?

“Dominum Deum Nostrum…”
Père Crotteau began to give the nuptial blessing. Thankfully, the ceremony would be over soon, and Simon could leave.

Trying to keep his eyes focused anywhere other than on Angelica, he looked out at the crowded church. Claudine Renaud gave him a saucy wink, then blew him a kiss. He turned away, irritated. A widow of thirty-two, she was the niece of his island’s architect, Xavier Beloit.

Wanting to erase Angelica from his mind and body, he’d made the mistake of visiting Claudine. But, no matter how hard he’d fought it, with every touch of Claudine’s body, he felt Angelica’s, and worse, he heard those arousing sounds she’d made in the back of her throat that he’d been convinced were completely unpracticed.

He couldn’t even muster the desire to kiss Claudine with Angelica’s taste still haunting him. Never had he been with a woman without finishing what he started, but he lost all interest and left.

He glanced at Angelica just as the sun broke through a cloud. A streak of sunlight shone through the small windowpanes fifteen feet up directly onto her chestnut hair, giving it a warm glow, making her look divine, as if a finger from heaven pointed down on her alone.

Tightening his jaw, he dragged his gaze back to Père Crotteau.

Since his return, Simon had immersed himself in the daily responsibilities of running the island. However, at night, in his bed, knowing Angelica was under the same roof, he couldn’t force away memories of her lush mouth or the glorious feeling of being inside her as she came.
That
, at least, had been genuine. Her passion and the pleasure were real.