by Darcy Burke
On that night, she saw what the future held for her. And ran.
She’d been away from France a very long time. She’d no idea how many friends her stepfather had or how far-reaching those friendships were.
She had to return to her safe haven.
She knew she could convince Madre Paola to take both her and Gabriella back. Madre Paola’s bad temperament was the lesser of the two evils—by far. In the last six months since Madre Paola had become the new Mother Superior, Angelica had had no serious conflicts with her. As long as she abided by the rules, she’d avoid further discord. And she was going to swear never to break the rules again. How she missed the former Mother Superior, dear, kind Madre Caterina—her tender face. Her gentle ways. Her death had drastically altered Angelica’s world.
Or so she’d thought until yesterday.
Yesterday, her world had turned completely upside-down. All because of one man.
Simon de Villette.
The servant had called him Captain. That meant he had to be an officer in the King’s Navy—as only nobles were granted such commissions in the realm’s official navy. He certainly had a commanding presence.
Not to mention the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
She tossed the covers off, dismayed by her thoughts. Who cares what color his eyes are? Or that he was handsome. None of that mattered.
The only thing that mattered was getting out of France.
Simon de Villette not only could but should return her and Gabriella safely to Genoa. Though her sweet friend had always been easily discomposed, she had to have been significantly overwrought over Angelica’s condition for her to have aided Simon the way she had. She hated having caused Gabriella such distress. She was anxious to find her, reassure her she was all right. That everything was going to be fine.
And return with her to the only real home Gabriella had ever known.
Carefully, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, the ache in her head a manageable discomfort. Her equilibrium passed a second test when she stood on her own two feet. Pleased, she let out a sigh.
She was going to speak to the man responsible for bringing her to France—determined to leave its borders forever before the next sunset.
Just then something yellow on the bed caught her eye—a brocade gown, garnished with gold ribbon and lace. It was beautiful, reminding her of a gown she’d owned long ago. Reaching out to touch the rich fabric, she stopped short.
That way of life is over. A life she wanted no part of, for it came at a terrible price. Her life now belonged elsewhere.
Smoothing her hand down the coarse fabric of her gray garb, she turned away. A search of the chamber yielded neither her wimple nor veil, but at least her shoes were there. She slipped them on, brushed her fingers through her hair, and walked out the door.
***
Angelica reached the great foyer on the main floor without encountering a single soul.
All the doors were closed except one, the partially open portal offering a glimpse of what lay inside.
The compelling sight urged her forward.
She opened the door wider and stared in awe. From floor to ceiling, from wall to wall, shelf upon shelf of glorious books.
Entering the library, she gazed in appreciation at the extensive collection, while the ornately carved hearth and costly furnishings failed to impress. Gently, she ran her fingertips across the spines of the leather-bound volumes as she walked along, her eyes taking in as much as she could. Oh, how she loved to read.
Having access to a library such as this would be absolute heaven.
One of the books caught her attention. She stopped. Pulling the small brown leather volume from the shelf, she read the cover and smiled, caressing her fingertips over the imprinted gold title.
“What are you doing here?” The male voice shattered the silence.
She jumped. The book dropped from her hands onto the floor with a thump. Whirling around, she was startled to see Simon de Villette standing in the doorway, a frown on his handsome face, his devastating blue eyes pinning her to the spot.
Chapter Five
Simon approached her slowly, his brow slightly furrowed.
Unable to stop herself, Angelica took in his male beauty. He, not the books, now dominated the room. How was it possible that he looked even better than before?
A few wayward strands of his dark hair played against his lashes, but it was his mouth that captured her attention.
Such an appealing mouth…
She looked away, horrified by the workings of her mind. It had to be her headache that was distorting her thinking.
He stopped before her, towering over her.
The bookshelves against her back kept her fixed in place. She was keenly aware of the limited space between their bodies, his proximity causing her body to warm.
“I asked you a question.” His voice was quiet but firm.
Gazing up at him, she tried to clear her head by taking in a deep breath, but it only served to draw in his wonderful scent. She couldn’t quite describe it, but it was tantalizing in the extreme.
What was the matter with her? She shouldn’t be reacting to him this way. She’d chosen a cloistered existence, or rather, it had chosen her. Nonetheless, she’d accepted her future long ago.
“You should not be wandering about alone.” He spoke softly, his voice deep and rich in her ears. It reverberated through her belly with wicked appeal. Lightly, he stroked his knuckles along her bruised cheek. “You should be in bed. You are still injured.”
She closed her eyes briefly. Get hold of yourself. This was the second time he’d touched her. Instead of drawing back, as she would have expected, she found herself wanting to draw near. It was a stunning reaction. As stunning as the tiny tingles that sped up her spine at his caress.
“My malady has much improved,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as discomposed as she felt.
He lowered his arm and his gaze.
It took two wild heartbeats before she realized he was staring at something on the floor. She forced her gaze down, her insides still quivering with the residual pleasure of his small caress. The book she had dropped lay on the woven rug.
He was staring at her again, one dark eyebrow slightly cocked, before he retrieved the fallen item.
“You—I’m afraid that you startled me, and the book—I dropped it…” Definitely not your most eloquent response, Angelica. She turned her gaze away to a safer sight than the far too attractive Simon de Villette.
“You can read this?” he asked.
Her eyes darted back to his. The book was in French. She wasn’t about to divulge that she could indeed read every word in the book of love sonnets. In fact, she was gripped with the most powerful urge to devour each and every beautifully romantic line.
She quashed the silly yearning.
“No. It’s written in French, is it not? I couldn’t possibly…” His penetrating gaze made her uneasy. She wished she could read his thoughts behind those disarming light-colored eyes.
“But you can read, Angelica.” Yet again he managed to unbalance her by the way he spoke her name. It was astonishing what it did to her insides every time he said it.
He’d done nothing but show kindness toward her. His manner was gentle, attentive. His words spoke of concern for her welfare. Yet she was forced to stoop to deceit. She simply couldn’t lower her guard. Not for a moment. Not with a single soul. Keeping her secrets had kept her safe. And she wasn’t about to break with precedent.
Besides, this man was dangerous. No one had ever inspired these physical responses from her before. The sooner she left France, the better.
“I learned to read at the convent,” she lied. Again. “I teach there…the children in the orphanage…” At least that was the truth, albeit clumsily told.
He placed the book back on the shelf. “Why?”
“Why?” She knitted her brow in confusion.
“Yes. Of what use is
it to teach the children of commoners?” Despite his words, she had the distinct feeling he was not expressing his personal view of literacy and the lower class. He was trying to draw information from her.
She chose her next words carefully. “At the convent, we believe everyone should have the opportunity of an education, noble or peasant. Male or female.”
“Your pardon, Captain.” The French phrase came from the doorway.
Relief washed over her when she saw the old male servant standing at the threshold of the library.
“Your meal awaits you in the dining hall, sir.”
Simon gave a nod. “Merci, Henri.” He turned to her. “Have you eaten?”
“No…”
He smiled. “Good. Then you will join me this evening for supper.” He tossed out phrases to Henri in French, ordering him to set another place in the dining hall.
Though she’d wanted to speak to him, the thought of dining alone with him was daunting. She seemed to be completely out of sorts in his presence at the moment, struggling to get her mind and mouth to work together.
“Perhaps Gabriella would like to join us?” she said with a polite smile. If he would summon her friend, she was certain she could get through the meal and convince him to return them to the convent.
“She has already eaten. We are the last to dine this evening.” Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Are you nervous to be alone with me, Angelica?”
“No.” Her smile remained frozen on her face. “Of course not.” He didn’t frighten her. Though her reactions to his physical appeal were another matter altogether.
“Do you find my company unpleasant? Would you rather dine alone?”
“Unpleasant? No, absolutely not,” she quickly assured, wishing at the moment he were old, potbellied, and missing some teeth. “I would be pleased to dine with you, if you consider this suitable attire.” She touched her garb.
A slow, gorgeous, knee-weakening smile formed on his appealing face. He leaned in, and in her ear softly he said, “You are beautiful just as you are.”
His unexpected words astounded her. As did the look in his eyes when he pulled back. He actually looked…sincere. No one had offered her a compliment, not for a very long time. And certainly not about how she looked. She touched her plain garment once more, so different from his costly attire. He was being far too kind.
He placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “Let us proceed. This will be an excellent opportunity to learn more about each other.”
Oh God…
***
Simon downed some of the burgundy in his goblet as he marveled at Angelica’s elegant profile, her lovely face illuminated by an orange hue from the candlelight. She was seated immediately to his left in the dining hall. He was permitted but a glimpse of her pretty eyes before she forced her gaze down, her posture as stiff as the long wooden table before him.
She was driving him to distraction. He was so hard, he was practically ready to crawl out of his skin. She had the most incredible effect on his libido. He still couldn’t believe she’d managed to erode his good reasoning and had provoked him into a rare moment of recklessness.
And he was never reckless. Not ever.
Being alone in her company was like playing with fire. But he couldn’t draw away. Not yet. Not until he demystified this mystifying woman.
One thing he was certain of was that she was a little fraud. He’d noted her body’s response to his touch in the library. He knew she felt the mutual carnal heat between them. There might be a compelling reason this sweet enchantress wanted to return to the convent, but neither a religious calling nor a deep devotion to a cloistered existence were it.
However, that didn’t negate that she was still a virgin. And he wasn’t about to let himself forget it—no matter how good his every rakish instinct told him it would be between them. He wanted to believe that years of carnage and chasing ambitious dreams hadn’t stripped away all decency in him. Whatever it took, he’d resist. He didn’t claim maidenheads. And he wasn’t about to start with hers.
The women he bedded were experienced in the carnal arts. Enjoyed sex that was recreational. Raw lust with no emotional involvement was his preference.
He was going to draw out her secrets, shatter her mystique, and break this peculiar libidinous hold she had on him once and for all. All it would require was a bit of patience and finesse.
How difficult could it be?
Shifting in his chair, trying to ease the discomfort of his arousal, Simon picked up his spoon. Neither of them had touched the poached-egg soup before them.
“Does the soup not appeal to you, Angelica?”
“Yes… It smells delicious.” Her manner was pleasant, despite her obvious unease. She was clearly unaccustomed to being alone with a man. He admired her bravado, fully appreciating how unsettling this entire experience was for her.
He covered her hand with his. She started at the touch. “Easy.” He was pleased she didn’t pull away from him, more than he’d ever admit, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze to reassure her. “It is but a meal. Try to relax. Pretend we are old friends.” He smiled. “I would be very pleased if you would call me Simon.”
She took a deep breath and let it out. “Very well…Simon.”
Reluctantly, he removed his hand. The urge to trail his palm inside her sleeve and lightly up her arm was far too strong. “Let us eat.” He tasted his soup, encouraging her to do the same.
She tried the broth. “Your home is lovely,” she said, initiating some polite conversation, her alluring mouth capturing his attention.
He was starved for a taste of that mouth. “This is not my home. It belongs to a friend of mine.”
“Oh? Where is your home?”
“The sea, mostly.” His answer was purposely vague.
“No wife, then? Or children?” she inquired before returning her attention to her soup.
Her response was adorably artless. He waited until finally her gaze was drawn back to him.
“No wife and no children.” There it was. A flicker in those eyes indicated that his answer pleased her. She was treading on dangerous territory. He wanted nothing more than to charm his way under her skirts and into her drawers. Beautiful green-eyed angel, don’t play a game you can’t afford to lose, for I would surely claim more than a kiss from a curious virgin as my prize.
“Have you always loved the sea?”
He drank some burgundy and shrugged. “It is where my responsibilities lie.” Tamping down the rancor that subject stirred, he turned matters on her just as the roasted duck was brought in. “I notice you did not don the gown provided for you. Was it not your size?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t try it on.”
He leaned in and poured some burgundy into her goblet. “Any particular reason for that?”
“I didn’t believe it was suitable attire for me.”
“Really?” Unable to stop himself, his eyes drifted quickly over her form, trying to imagine her in finery. “I think the attire would suit you beautifully.”
He saw her visibly stiffen. He noted she didn’t take compliments as other women did. Could she truly not know how lovely she was? Even dressed like that.
“Gabriella was quite pleased with her dress,” he added.
“She was?”
“Indeed. In fact, she seems content to be out of the convent.”
She shook her head; the candlelight played on her silky locks. “The convent is our home. We’ve been there since we were young girls. We’ve no family, no friends outside of it. We must return.”
“Surely there’s someone…”
“No one,” she stated firmly. “You must take us back.”
“How can you honestly believe that you belong in that mausoleum?”
She frowned. “It is not a mausoleum. A mausoleum is a tomb that houses the dead.”
“Exactly. It is as warm and inviting as a tomb. How alive can you feel living there? Do you not want more out of your li
fe than to spend it cloistered?”
Angelica felt his words strike their intended mark. It stirred her ire. This man was a perfect stranger. He knew nothing of her or her predicament. Who was he to make such comments? “Believe it or not, we serve a purpose there. There are the children that I teach…”
“There are children you can teach outside of the convent.”
“Yes, but they are not as needy. I am not interested in tutoring anyone from the upper class.” To her horror, the disdain in her voice rang clear, even to her own ears.
His chuckle made her flinch. “You’ve had unpleasant experiences with the upper class?” He was smiling, but her face burned, embarrassed and appalled by her own ungracious utterance.
“Forgive me, I meant no insult. It is just…rather…I apologize.” Perfect, Angelica. He’s a noble. And you’ve just insulted his class—a man whose aid you are trying to secure. Over the years, she’d become a master at controlling her words and masking her emotions. Once again she blamed her headache for her blunder and unprecedented poor manners.
He chuckled again. “There is no need for embarrassment. There are very few saints among nobles.”
Relieved he was not insulted, she relaxed a little, until she saw him reach out. He slipped his fingers under her chin. Sensations spiked from his touch. And quivered over every nerve ending in her body.
She went stock-still, caught in those blue eyes.
“Angelica, I can make no sense of it. I fear I can’t fathom how it’s right to hide a perfect flower in a place where the sun never shines and no one may gaze upon it to admire its beauty—left to simply wither away. There is far more you’re not telling me than just your name.”
She pulled away from him, breaking contact, and tried to ignore the tantalizing tingles that remained in the wake of his touch. “Please, do not mock me.” She wasn’t a “perfect flower.” In fact, she was far from perfect. He had no idea the extent.
His brows shot up. “Mock you? I am not mocking you. You don’t belong locked away in that place. Why are you hiding in that convent? What are you afraid of?”