“Jules,” he finally spoke up. “I will learn this man’s name, and I will get her back. This I swear. Whoever he is, his days with her are numbered.”
Armand burst into the room. “Robert is here!” he announced with an urgent whisper. “He’ll meet us at the back of the building. He’s most anxious to talk to you, Simon.”
Within minutes, the three men stood behind the Palais-Royal, shrouded by the night. Rain began to fall. Robert approached on horseback, alone. He stopped before them, not attempting to climb down.
“Simon, where have you been? Fouquet has been to my home looking for you. Until we know exactly what he wants from you, you must stay away from him.”
“He can go to hell,” Simon growled.
“Be that as it may, we must talk. Come to Névelon. Make certain no one follows you. Use the cellar entrance. I’ll see that your usual room is ready, along with rooms for Jules and Armand. Early on the morrow, we’ll talk.”
Simon nodded. “There is much that I must discuss with you.”
*****
The next morning, Simon sat down to break fast with Robert, his eyes raw, his head aching. When he’d entered through the cellar last eve, he’d taken as much wine as he could carry up to his room. And drank it all.
At times, during the long hours of the night, he could swear he smelled her fragrance, proving that either he was going mad or that the copious amounts of wine he’d consumed had taunting powers never before realized.
He slept less than an hour before a somber-faced servant woke him to join the marquis. It had been a hellish night as images of Angelica in another man’s arms tortured him.
Their kiss last eve tormented him as well. He’d thought about it all night long, the soft feel of her mouth. And how she’d returned his kiss. She’d welcomed his touch, his embrace. The same intense emotions between them were still there. Of this he was certain. She did still love him. She’d married simply out of desperation. No, all was not lost. There was hope. As long as there was love, there was hope. He would hold on to that thought.
He’d heard her say she would return for another performance in a fortnight. If Robert was unable to help him with information about Angelica and her new husband, then he would return to the theater and learn all that he could between now and then. Somehow, he would undo this mess. He wouldn’t relent until she was his. First, he had to get her to admit her love for him—win her trust and belief in him again.
Then he would deal with the issue of her husband.
“You look terrible,” Robert said.
“Thank you,” he retorted dryly, feeling irritable.
“There are matters to discuss, Simon, but first I wish to tell you some good news.”
“Oh? I could definitely use some good news.”
A large grin appeared on Robert’s face. “I have married, and I am most anxious for you to meet her.”
Simon’s brows shot up. “Married?” Merde. Was everyone running to the altar suddenly? He offered what he hoped was a semblance of a pleasant smile. “Congratulations.” Despite his own misery, he was truly happy to learn that Robert, a renowned bachelor, a man who for decades had enjoyed the sexual favors of countless beauties, had finally found one he wanted to marry. And had. Simon forced back the envy. “I look forward to meeting this extraordinary woman who has managed to get you to the altar when so many others failed.”
Robert continued to smile. “She’s a rare beauty. I’ve asked her to join us. But first, I must tell you that Louis has asked to see Fouquet’s accounting ledgers and has handed them over to Jean-Baptiste Colbert for review. You will remember that Colbert worked under Mazarin. He has great skill with accounts and knows of Fouquet’s excessive expenditures and outrageous profits.”
“Really?” He couldn’t have cared less. He wanted to discuss Angelica.
“Since Mazarin’s death, I think Louis has finally seen that Fouquet is a threat to his throne. With all his arrogance, Fouquet doesn’t see that he’s doomed. He reassures himself, no doubt, by the fact that he has more nobles on his side than the young king. But Louis is not a fool. Change is coming, and with our king’s new attitude, I believe he will finally recognize your achievements for France, peacetime or not. In the meantime, however, you must be cautious. Fouquet is up to something.”
Simon would see what his spies had to say about Fouquet’s plans. Until he knew more, he was resourceful enough to avoid him. Right now, he couldn’t think about Fouquet, delivering the silver from La Estella Blanco to the king, or even Angelica’s stepfather. His priority was Angelica.
“There is something I should tell you about my wife before she arrives,” Robert said.
“Oh?”
“She is Fouquet’s stepdaughter.”
“What?”
“I know. It is a shock. But I assure you, there is no affection in her heart for the man, and he is a sensitive subject for her. When he came here looking for you, his presence quite upset her—”
Just then, Jules and Armand entered the room. Robert ended his conversation and invited them to join the meal.
Fouquet’s stepdaughter? Who knew he had one? Fouquet’s present wife, Marie-Madeleine, had been only fifteen when Fouquet had married her ten years ago. Fouquet was twenty-one years her senior. Robert’s wife must be the child of Fouquet’s first wife. Yet, Simon knew nothing about her except that she’d died years before Fouquet became Superintendent of Finance.
A servant entered and whispered in Robert’s ear. He grinned and nodded.
“Gentlemen, I have been advised that my wife will be here shortly. She apologizes for her delay this morning.”
Jules and Armand were instantly on their feet, congratulating him on his marriage.
Despite his shock over the news about Robert’s wife, Simon suppressed a smile. Apparently, not even a leg injury of this magnitude could keep Robert from his husbandly duties. The poor woman was no doubt exhausted by his infamous stamina.
Simon was looking forward to meeting the new Marquise de Névelon.
Chapter Twenty-Six
As Angelica approached the dining room, muffled male voices drifted to her. She’d tarried in her room long enough, hoping that by now all telling signs of her night of tears were no longer apparent.
She couldn’t believe Simon had found her last night.
She couldn’t forget his words, his kiss, or the fact that they had come far too late.
She could never be with him. Not now. She was married, and though it was a marriage that had never been consummated, she’d nonetheless made a commitment. She could never betray Robert in any way. His kindness and love would not be met with abandonment on her part. Last night, she’d raged, she’d wept, and now she was simply numb.
Stopping at the door, Angelica drew in a breath and let it out slowly.
Being with company was the last thing she wanted, yet Robert was eager for her to meet the men within, stating, with affection in his voice, that he’d taken one of these men under his wing when he was just a boy and practically raised him, educated him. It was important to Robert for her to attend the morning meal, and therefore she had to make an effort to play the role of the cordial hostess. This was a small sacrifice to make for dear Robert.
A round of male laughter erupted just as she opened the door.
“Ah, there you are, my darling.” Robert struggled but managed to stand. She offered him a smile.
Her gaze fell upon Simon.
Her heart jumped, lodging in her throat.
Simon turned to her. The smile on his beautiful mouth dissolved the moment their gazes locked. His blue eyes turned from shock to horror.
Dear…God…
She’d spent the night trying to come to terms with the fact that he loved her and she would never see him again.
Now he was here. He knew Robert. Her pulse doubled.
She was trapped within those familiar blue eyes. Eyes that had often gazed at her with tenderness or passion now stared a
t her with astonishment, heart-shattered. Last eve, that very look had torn her heart asunder.
She couldn’t stand to have him stare at her that way. Not again.
“Angelica.” Robert’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “Darling, I asked you if you are all right.” Robert’s eyes were full of concern.
She clasped her hands tightly and forced a smile. “I’m fine.”
She could feel Simon’s gaze on her. She fought back the compulsion to run to him, throw her arms around him, never to let go again.
Instead, she forced her shaky limbs forward and approached her husband’s three guests, as any lady of the château would. Her mind spun, unsure what to do now. The room was far too warm. The walls were closing in on her. What would Simon do now that he knew the identity of her husband? Would he tell Robert the truth? What would be the point? What good would it do to inform Robert that the man she loved was the very man seated at his table?
“Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce to you my wife…” Robert’s tone was full of pride, his voice drifting in and out of her mind as she tried to sort through her whirling thoughts, to decide how best to handle the situation at hand. Jules approached her first. He took her hand. Bowing before her, he placed a light kiss to it.
“Enchanté.” Jules’s gaze held hers for a moment. He was clearly dumbfounded but thankfully hadn’t given her away.
Armand did the same.
“Darling, this is Simon Boulenger, the man I was telling you about. He’s the captain of a fleet of privateer ships for France. Very successful. I, of course, taught him everything he knows.” Robert chuckled.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Simon rise and walk toward her. Unable to meet his gaze, afraid of what it would do to either one of them if they looked into each other’s eyes, she stared at his perfect left ear. She forced herself not to think about how many times she’d kissed that ear, focusing instead on keeping her pounding heart from puncturing through her chest.
He stopped before her. His familiar scent surrounded her, devastating her.
He took her hand, a hand she had neglected to offer. Was his hand trembling as well? Or was it only hers? He stiffly bowed and murmured an appropriate greeting.
At the touch of his lips to her knuckle, her pulse surged. Briefly, she closed her eyes. Locking her knees, she tried to steady herself on her wobbly legs.
He released her hand immediately, not dallying a moment longer than was necessary—a painful reminder of the reality of the situation. A new dimension to her pain.
She wasn’t his to touch.
Simon stepped away from her.
“Angelica, you look quite pale. Are you certain you are all right?” Robert asked.
Somehow, she found her voice. “I’m just a little tired after last night’s performance, Robert.”
Robert shook his head in dismay. “I took you to the Palais-Royale thinking you would find it enjoyable. I should have anticipated Louis’s roving eye would focus on you.” Robert turned to the men in the room and explained, “The king learned that my wife can sing. She has quite an exceptional voice, in fact. I never expected him to insist that my wife return to perform in one of Molière’s comedies for him. This is my fault.” Robert sat down slowly, wincing, looking very much vexed at himself. “Simon, my leg is quite stiff today. Will you kindly escort my wife back to her chambers so that she may rest?”
“No!” she exclaimed. “I mean to say…I’m quite capable of returning to my chambers alone. Do not put Monsieur Boulenger to the task unnecessarily.” She smiled for her husband, though she could scarcely breathe.
“Nonsense. He does not mind. Do you, Simon?”
Simon, beset by grief, faced the greatest challenge in his life as he attempted to remain composed before Robert.
Angelica… His moonlight angel… Fouquet’s stepdaughter. Robert’s wife.
Dieu… What malevolent force could bring about such a cruel twist of fate? He was in agony, certain his soul had torn the moment he laid eyes on her standing in Robert’s dining room.
He could never, not ever, come between Robert and his wife. A dagger through the gullet would be less painful and more welcome than knowing that she was now lost to him forever.
He had never known pain like this—a slicing sensation tearing him apart from the inside in slow, excruciating degrees. Since she’d entered the room, his mind screamed one word repeatedly. NO! NO! NO-O-O-O!
“No,” he managed to croak out.
With her hand in the crook of his arm, Simon escorted her from the room. Silently, they walked toward the stairs at the opposite side of the large foyer. Though they touched, she was now beyond his grasp.
Lost to him.
“Simon…?”
He didn’t respond, keeping his gaze straight ahead. He felt vacant inside, his eyes probably no different than the sightless eyes he’d seen on dead men in battle.
“Please, say something to me. I welcome anything over your silence.”
Fouquet was her stepfather. Robert was her husband.
He could find no words to express what he felt.
He stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Madame la Marquise, what is there to say?” He didn’t look at her as he offered his words. They began to climb the stairs, his muscles beneath her fingers stiff and tense.
Fouquet… Robert… Dieu…
“Simon, please don’t.” He heard the pain in her voice. He wasn’t trying to hurt her. He simply had to get away from her before he completely humiliated himself. In this moment, when he’d lost everything that mattered, pride, albeit a small thing, was all he had left to hold on to.
He stopped at the top of the stairs and removed her hand from his arm. “You’ve made your choice and a wise one at that. The daughter of a comte should marry a marquis.” He gave her a curt bow. “I trust that you are able to make your way from this point without me.”
*****
There wasn’t enough wine in the entire realm to douse the hell that burned inside him, though Simon made an earnest effort to try. Lying on the bed in his chambers in Robert’s home, he swore. Where was the servant with more wine?
The wine he’d consumed thus far had barely taken the edge off the stabbing emotional pain that pierced through every inch of his being.
The day could not have ticked away more slowly. Both the marquis and marquise had retired to their chambers, remaining there until dinner.
Thankfully, Simon’s men from the various search parties and the group he’d sent to Beaulieu had arrived that afternoon. He’d locked himself in Robert’s study, trying to concentrate on Fouquet and his duty to his men, desperate to divert his attention away from the ache in his heart, and the sizzling rage in his gut. Now at least he had a face to the man who’d committed the foul deeds against Angelica. Fouquet. The man was truly a monster.
Needing information from his spies in Fouquet’s château and to inform the men still out searching for Angelica to cease, he had spent his time writing communiqués, sending them out with his most trusted soldiers, refusing all the while to permit Jules or Armand to speak of Angelica.
He was calling in his men, even many of the ones on the seven warships waiting near Le Havre, just in case they would be needed. Fouquet was going to be unseated. Dieu, he was going to see to it. There were few pleasures left for him, but the downfall of Fouquet was definitely going to be sweet.
Eager to drink himself into oblivion, Simon opted to retire to his chamber rather than dine below.
Flashes of childhood memories of Robert’s multitude of sexual conquests filled Simon’s intoxicated mind, their excited laughter echoing in his ears. Visions of Robert’s hands on their heated bodies, Robert’s hands on his angel, tore through his brain. Simon covered his face and let out a groan into his hands.
There was a rap at his door.
His hands fell away as he lifted his head from the bed. That had to be the servant with more wine. Any numbing substance would do.
He snatched open the door, startling Angelica. His heart jumped.
Beautiful green eyes stared back at him. He tried not to notice the outline of her sweet form in the gown she wore or how soft her hair looked. Merde! What was she trying to do to him? Where was the servant with the wine!
“What are you doing here?” he growled, and clenched his fists, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her.
“I must ask you a question.”
She had a single question for him? He had a million for her.
“What question?” he demanded through gritted teeth.
“May I come in first?”
He hesitated a moment. Yet his wine-soaked mind didn’t alert him to the folly of such an action strongly enough. He stepped aside and permitted her entrance.
“What do you want?”
“I want to ask you if it is your intention to tell Robert about us?”
“There is no us. You’re married. There’s nothing to tell.”
He saw how his cold manner wounded her, and it cut him.
She nodded ruefully. “I wouldn’t want to see Robert hurt. He has been so kind…”
“Your devotion to your husband is touching,” he replied caustically. “Pray tell, Madame la Marquise, how is it that you came to know Robert?”
“Please don’t call me Madame la Marquise.”
“Why not? It’s your title. It’s unthinkable for a commoner to address a noble lady any other way.”
“Stop it, Simon! I know you are hurt. I’m hurt too.”
“You don’t know what I feel.”
“Yes, I do. Last night was the first time you were honest about your feelings.”
He laughed without mirth and turned away. The wine dulled his mind. He couldn’t think of a sharp reply to her statement.
She stepped around to face him. “Robert was my father’s friend. He was the only one I had to turn to. Robert offered marriage to protect me. I had no other options. Can you not see that?”
“Protect you from your stepfather, Nicolas Fouquet.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “How long have you known?”
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