She stiffened. And there was a flare of anger in her eyes. Good. It was only part of what he felt after watching her moving from man to man.
For the life of him, he couldn’t understand her. She was compassionate, gentle, and sometimes shy, yet she was also feisty, strong, and brave. She looked like an innocent, yet she was not. In bed, she’d been passionate, yet virginal in manner. It was driving him mad. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quash this damned fixation he had with her.
“I didn’t tell them anything, Simon, but there is something I have been meaning to tell you.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
She set the goblet down onto the table and stepped close to him. “I wanted to thank you for the tumble.” She turned to go. He caught her arm and marched into the forest beyond the torches, pulling her with him. “Simon, what are you doing?”
He didn’t stop until he reached a small clearing, secluded by trees and shadow.
He released her arm. “I want to know what it is you seek. Are you working up the men because you are looking for a tumble?”
“I am not a whore.”
“I never said you were. And I don’t think ill of women with, shall we say, a healthy sexual appetite. I consider those women to be among my personal favorites.”
“Really? From the looks of it, you have a lot of ‘personal favorites.’ Tell me, Simon, are you working them up? Are you looking for a tumble?”
Her words pulled a smile from him. “Chère, you sound jealous.”
Normally, possessive feelings from a woman, such as jealousy, inspired him to turn and walk, but seeing it in her eyes, hearing it in her tone, oddly pleased him. He’d noticed that since he’d pulled her into the secluded spot, her breathing had hastened a little, and he was willing to wager that if he ran his fingers along her smooth neck, he would find her pulse racing. He was affecting her. And it wasn’t anger that was causing the quickening in her body, but rather hot sexual excitement, the same scorching heat that was rushing through him.
Dieu. There was no debate about it. The desire between them was an undeniable truth.
After all her toying, he should have had enough of her, but he knew down to his marrow he wasn’t even close to sating himself with his moonlight angel.
He would break this mind-bending obsession for good. To that end, he was going to make himself available to her. But on his terms.
He wouldn’t play by her rules any longer
“Jealous?” Angelica scoffed. “That’s ridiculous…”
She was alone with Simon under the stars, in a forest, with the scent of pine and the sounds of music and the ocean in the air. And he had the most seductive look in his eyes. The one she recognized as the usual prelude to her downfall. She tried to ignore how stimulated her senses were, while trying to deny the truth: yes, she was jealous! She hated to see him with other women, or worse, to imagine him giving them the same joy and pleasure he’d given her.
“Is it?” he pressed.
“It is.” She turned to leave, needing to distance herself. His hand closed over her shoulder, halting her. With a sudden sweep, he picked her up in his arms and placed her bottom on a fallen log, her legs coming down on either side of it. Before she could pull her leg over and move into a more modest sitting position, he seated himself behind her, and slipped his arms around her. Holding her in place.
Her senses were already tingling, all too aware of the bulge in his breeches pressing against her lower back. He dipped his head, bringing his mouth near her ear.
“Angelica,” he murmured. “I’m not with those other women. I’m here with you. I want you. Can you not feel how hard you make me?” How in heaven could she miss that? Just the feel of that delicious part of his male anatomy against her, knowing how masterfully he knew how to use it, made her sex clench. “If you want a man, come to me. Day or night… Let me be your lover.”
He cupped her breast. She fisted her skirts. Heat radiated from everywhere his body touched hers. She’d never felt so hot. Her nipples were hard, straining for him, anxious for his touch.
“There are carnal delights yet to explore. The last night of the voyage was but a small sampling. I want you to come to me and only me. Let me be the one to give you pleasure.” He gave her nipple the lightest pinch through her gown. She jerked with a gasp. “I have yet to make love to you.” He continued to tease the tip of her breast with tender twists and tugs, sending scintillating sensations quivering into her core. Moisture pooled between her legs. She couldn’t catch her breath, her breathing now shallower. And sharper.
“We…did that on the ship,” she managed to say. But the rest of her words caught in her throat the moment she felt his other hand slip under her skirts, moving steadily up along her inner thigh. She held her breath, waiting. Anticipating. The bud between her legs pulsating in time with her frenzied heart.
“No, chère, we did not.” He grazed his hot mouth along her neck. “When you offer up your body and nothing else, then it is but an anonymous encounter. Making love is far more intimate, and I know it would be oh so erotic and intense between us.”
He cupped her sex. A soft cry surged up her throat.
“Dieu… You’re not wearing any drawers.” He stroked his fingers along her wet cleft, lightly massaging her sex. Her head fell back against his shoulder. She closed her eyes. She knew full well she lacked the will to stop any of this. Not when it was his hands on her. Not when it was his arms around her. His light caresses had her desperate and aching for more.
“The island…is very hot,” she tried to explain, barely able to form words. She hadn’t expected anyone to learn of her recently acquired practice.
She hadn’t expected anything like this. What he was doing to her breast and her sex was melting her mind.
“Always full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said, his warm breath tickling her ear. She heard the smile in his tone. “I must say, this one is by far my favorite.”
He slid a finger inside her. She whimpered.
“So warm…and soft… and wet…. Christ, you have the sweetest cunt.” He withdrew his finger, maddeningly circled her needy nub, then slid two fingers back into her slick sex. She arched, desperate for any kind of friction against that very bud between her legs he’d just teased, trying to grind up against his hand.
He chuckled softly. “You want your clit rubbed? This sweet little bud right here…” He gave it a gentle pinch. She practically shot up off the log. He tightened his hold, keeping her in place. “We could take this to another level of intimacy, Angelica, but you are going to have to reveal yourself to me. Not just your body. You are going to have to tell me who you are.”
His skillful hand was pumping her, hurling her closer and closer to a powerful release. She tightened around his fingers, so out of control, his thumb occasionally grazing her clit, purposely giving her spikes of heightened sensations. “Your body is hungry for a release, isn’t it, Angelica? You want to come for me, don’t you?”
She was panting now. Delirious with desire. “Yes! Don’t stop…”
“I won’t. Trust me. I know what you want. And I know how to make it better…” Curling his buried fingers, he stroked over an ultrasensitive spot inside her slick walls.
She thrust back against him with a strangled cry, the sensation stunningly sharp. But he held her fast, not allowing her to escape the fierce pleasure from each stroke he gave that oversensitive spot.
“It feels intense, doesn’t it?” He delivered three stronger strokes, snatching a cry from her lungs. She shuddered, the sensations overwhelming. “Just ride through them,” he coaxed in her ear. “The release is going to be so strong…Let go, mon ange. I have you.”
She bit her lip, her orgasm imminent. Straining hard, she dug her fingers into his thighs, barreling toward a shattering release, she could neither contain nor control.
“That’s right. I love how strongly you’re tightening and quivering around my finge
rs. You’re so close. Come for me,” he groaned.
Ecstasy exploded inside her. A cry burst from her lips, her inner muscles clenching and unclenching wildly around his busy fingers, each strong spasm sending waves of pleasure cresting over her.
He didn’t stop until the last spasm faded, until she was boneless and slumped against him.
He eased his fingers from her and held her until her breathing calmed, until she found the strength to pull her leaden leg over the fallen tree so that she could face him. She met his gaze. Desire burned in his beautiful light-colored eyes.
Sliding his arms away from her, he leaned his elbows on his thighs and folded his hands. Unable to stop herself, she cupped his face and kissed him, slowly, softly. He returned her kiss but did not reach for her.
Make love…Those words flitted through her mind. From his lips, they held such appeal. Her heart cried out to him, welling with the desire to tell him all, to connect with him on a deeper level.
She silenced the foolish thing. He wouldn’t offer to make love to her if he knew the truth about her. How could anyone know about the soiling and not feel disgust. He could never see her as a whole woman the way he did now. How could anyone?
She refused to risk lessening herself in his eyes that way. Her feelings for him ran too deep.
Even though he’d been angry with her, he still wanted her. Maybe her happiness would have to be limited to his touch if not his heart. Would that be so bad? Would it be enough?
She broke the kiss. “Simon, if you want to… If you are interested…”
“Yes, I want to. Yes, I am interested. Are you prepared to reveal yourself? Are you going to tell me who you are?”
Her hands fell away from his face. “Why is this so important to you?”
He sighed and shook his head. “It just is, mon ange. It’s best you return to the celebration. You will be missed soon.”
It was the second time he’d called her my angel, and he’d said it so softly, it made her heart ache. “What about you?”
He gave her a rueful smile. “After watching you come, I’m going to need a few minutes.” His smile faded. “I want you to come to me, Angelica. I want you, but I’m going to need to know who you are. The door is open and the invitation has been extended. You decide if you are going to accept it or decline it.”
*****
Two days later, Simon sat in his library. She hadn’t come to him, still. For two nights he’d waited, expectant, hopeful. Nothing. Merde. Enough. He had work to do.
He picked up the drawings for the new sugar mill and reviewed them. While some of the islands in the West Indies were importing slaves from Africa to work on the cane estates, he wanted nothing to do with slavery. Bringing peasants from France and providing them with shelter and fair wages not only fostered self-dignity but also loyalty and a desire to work and remain.
Since his return, he’d made a thorough inspection of the island’s structures. Walls and lookout towers that protected the island from invaders needed attention. There were also construction plans he had in mind that would require further meetings and planning with his architect, Xavier.
He’d hoped by keeping himself occupied, it would take his mind off Angelica. It had not.
There was a knock at the door.
“Enter,” he bid.
Jules entered, sporting his usual smile, and closed the door.
“You brought the ledgers,” Simon stated, eyeing them in Jules’s hand.
“Good morning to you too.” Jules handed them to Simon and seated himself comfortably on the opposite side of the desk. “No need to ask how you are. Tell me, what of the beautiful Angelica? How is she?”
Simon purposely engrossed himself in the ledgers before responding, “How would I know?”
“She lives in your home. By the way, is this going to be a permanent arrangement?”
Without looking up from the ledgers, Simon stated, “You can cease your grinning, Jules. I will find a place for her. Until then, she’s fine staying where she is.” He didn’t add that it was killing him to have her there every night.
He was responsible for her, and Domenico wanted his bride all to himself. Simon wasn’t about to place Angelica in the shared accommodations where the field workers lived. The other islanders had their own homes. In essence, there was nowhere else for her to go.
There is my bed…
“Ah, such a sacrifice,” Jules said with laughter in his voice.
Simon frowned.
“Come now,” his friend said, chuckling. “There isn’t a soul on this island who doesn’t believe you’ve enjoyed her favors, innocent or not. She was on board your ship for weeks and now is under your roof. She is far too lovely not to tempt any man, much less a man with your reputation.”
“I don’t give a damn what people think. Have we become so lax here that everyone has time to sit around and speculate about whom I bed?”
“You are a favorite subject of interest here. And you avoid discussing this woman at every turn.”
Simon sighed. “Merde, Jules. What do you wish to hear?”
He sat back. “For starters, every detail.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
With mirth in his eyes, Jules rose. “Fine. Have it your way. Don’t forget today is the first of the month.”
Simon groaned. “I’d completely forgotten.”
“I have not. This is one duty I’m more than happy to relinquish to you—mediating disputes between the islanders. I swear, if I had to settle one more dispute regarding chickens, I would drown myself in the sea. All parties concerned will be in attendance in the village square this afternoon at two.”
“How many items are on the list to be settled?”
“Thus far, six. It would seem they are eager for your good judgment to settle their differences.”
Simon sighed. “How many are about chickens?”
“No doubt all.”
“You will be there?”
Jules smiled broadly. “Of course, I wouldn’t miss your decisive judgment on the fate of our poultry for anything in the world.”
*****
“I’m sorry, Angelica. This is all my fault,” Gabriella said, breaking the silence on the carriage ride back home. “I didn’t mean to get you into trouble with the old priest. I didn’t think Père Crotteau would object so strongly to you singing your mother’s song inside the church when no one was around. For Heaven’s sake, even horrible Madre Paola would allow it from time to time.” Gabriella patted her hand. “But don’t worry. Domenico will be there in the village square. I will explain everything. All will be well,” she assured.
She wasn’t sorry she’d sung. They’d stopped briefly to light a candle for their dear Madre Caterina while the church was empty, and at Gabriella’s prompting, Angelica had sung Madre’s favorite song. One Angelica’s mother had taught her. The old priest flew into a fit and had told her he was going to report her this afternoon at the village square, where trials and disputes were heard. Wagging a gnarled finger at her, he’d warned her to be there to receive whatever punishment her disrespect warranted. True, the song she’d sung in church wasn’t religious but a lovely love song instead.
It gave her great comfort to sing it again. She hadn’t done so since that night in the chapel with Madre Paola. And Simon.
The man who had inspired her to take risks, to reach for happiness.
This final obstacle to putting her past behind her and revealing her stepfather’s sick act was proving to be insurmountable.
She was about to respond to Gabriella when something caught her eye just past Gabriella’s shoulder. “Gabriella, is that not the school?”
Gabriella turned and gasped. “That is André Grignon, the schoolmaster. He is whipping that child!”
Standing outside the schoolhouse, the schoolmaster viciously lashed a small boy with a switch across his back as the child wailed in agony.
“Stop this carriage!” Angelica shouted to the dr
iver and jumped down the moment it came to an abrupt halt. She ran and snatched the boy to her. Pushing the sobbing child behind her, she turned to confront the schoolmaster, fury burning through her veins.
“What do you think you are doing?” She shook with outrage.
“Stand aside,” the tall, thin man ordered. “I discipline the children as I see fit.”
“No! This is not discipline! This is brutality. What could he possibly have done to deserve a beating of this magnitude?”
The schoolmaster snorted. “I do not answer to you.”
“I’m taking him home.” She turned to the boy when Grignon grabbed her arm. Instinctively, she swung around and struck him with an open palm across his face. “Don’t touch me! I am not one of these helpless children you enjoy mistreating.”
Angelica ignored the man as he held his cheek, stunned. She gently picked up the sobbing boy and briskly carried him to the carriage, Gabriella rushing alongside her.
In short order, they found themselves standing in the Moutier home, having learned en route from the young boy, Tristan, that his mother worked in the Moutier’s household.
Sabine stepped out into the foyer, wearing a welcoming smile.
Her smile died the instant she saw the crying boy in Angelica’s arms and his blood-soaked shirt. Sabine rushed forward, gently lifted the shirt, and saw the open cuts slashed across his back.
“My God, what happened?”
“Grignon did this to him,” Angelica explained, still livid.
“Brute!” Sabine’s single word was rife with disgust. Calling to a male servant, she ordered him to carry the child upstairs.
“This treatment of children cannot be tolerated,” Angelica said.
“Oh, I quite agree!” Sabine looked just as enraged. “First, I must inform Claire about what happened to her son. Then we shall get to the bottom of this. If this is the first time Grignon has done this to a child, it is one time too many. Today is the day disputes are heard in the village square. We’ll attend and advise Simon of the schoolmaster’s practices. I don’t believe Simon or Jules had any idea that Grignon was capable of this!”
Angelica glanced at Gabriella and cleared her throat. “I’m afraid I already have a matter before Simon today. This one involving the schoolmaster will make two.”
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