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 h.e.l.l 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 chateau and to inform the men still out searching for Angelica to cease, he had spent his time writing communiques, 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 mult.i.tude of s.e.xual 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 t.i.tle. It's unthinkable for a commoner to address a n.o.ble 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?"

"I found out today. As I've told you before, social standing is everything. Robert's elevated birth and status are what shields you from Fouquet. I'm glad he helped you. He has succeeded where I have failed." His insides writhed. He'd lost her to a n.o.ble. Not just any n.o.ble, but Robert.

"I should have been the one to protect you. I should have been the one to marry you and free you from your stepfather's clutches. Merde!" He turned and raked both hands through his hair, then spun around to face her again. "I cannot even free myself from Fouquet's hold!" he bellowed.

She jumped.

Closing his eyes briefly, he let out a heavy sigh, trying to calm down. "Angelica, you are where you should be, in the upper circle of society. Please...for the love of G.o.d...leave this room." His voice was hoa.r.s.e.

Her eyes filled with tears. "Simon-"

He held up a hand. "Don't speak. Just leave."

"I wish none of this had happened. I wish we were still on the island..."

The mention of the island only conjured up bittersweet memories. His control snapped. With two quick steps, he grabbed her arm, surprising her.

Stalking to the door, he wrenched it open.

He strode briskly down the long corridor until he reached her chamber door. Throwing it open, he entered her room with her in tow. His body trembled. His heartache was so keen, it was eroding his sanity.

Knowing that Robert's chamber was the adjoining one, he released her and rasped, "Get to your marriage bed. Go to your highborn husband. There's nothing left to say between us."

"Yes, there is," she insisted softly. "I will live the rest of my life grateful for having known you, for you have taught my heart to love in a way it has never known. I do love you, Simon."

A violent jolt sliced through his turmoil, shaking the ground beneath his feet. He took an involuntary step back, unable to catch his breath. "Don't," he whispered.

He watched a single tear slip down one lovely cheek before she wiped it away. "There is no marriage bed. Robert and I have a mariage de convenance. There has been no other man. Only you."

Another catastrophic jolt, her words shattering the fragile hold he had on himself.

Grasping her arms, he whirled her around, pressed her against the door he didn't even remember closing, and crushed his mouth to hers. His kiss was demanding, heated, anguished, and desperate. He tasted tears and wasn't at all certain that they were hers alone.

He groaned. Softly, she whimpered.

His heart roared, She's mine!

But his mind and conscience balked.

Self-condemnation rang in his head, growing increasingly louder until he could stand it no longer, forcing him to tear his mouth, with a tortured groan, from the staggering allure of her soft lips. From his beloved.

He pressed his forehead against the door and closed his eyes, breathing hard. The denied fulfillment, not just physical but emotional as well, was excruciating.

He delivered a forceful blow to the door with his fist. "I cannot do this." He drew in a ragged breath, then looked into her eyes.

She looked as sorrowful and defeated as he felt. He cupped her cheeks. "Angelica...I want you. I love you. But you belong to him. You have married a man I could never betray."

A warm tear slipped down her cheek to his thumb. "I could never betray him either."

He drew her to him tightly. Burying his face in her chestnut hair, he allowed himself a final moment, one last time to hold her in his arms.

It took all the will he possessed to release her, breaking contact with her, with the woman he loved and wanted more than his next breath. Placing his shaky hands on her shoulders, he pulled her from the door, opened it, and walked out.

No less shaken, Angelica closed the door. A flood of tears rained down her face as she slid down the portal, sobbing into her hands.

In the shadows of the adjoining closet, Robert quietly turned and silently reentered his room.

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

Jules steadied the pail of water in his hands, positioning it just right. With a swift jerk of his wrists, he poured it precisely on Simon's sleeping form sprawled out on the bed, fully dressed.

Simon leaped to his feet, startled, coughing, yet still managing to grab hold of his sword and unsheathe it.

"What the-" Simon growled.

"Go ahead. Pierce me with that sword," Jules barked. "It'll be the only thing you'll have done, other than drink yourself to unconsciousness, in two days!"

Simon sank down onto the edge of his wet bed, his head balking at Jules's loud voice. He dropped his sword onto the floor with a clank and clutched his throbbing skull.

"Merde. Get out," he mumbled, his tongue feeling thick and heavy. Water droplets dripped from his hair.

"No, I will not. If you wish it so, you will have to remove me."

Simon slanted him a jaundiced look. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing? Can you not leave me in peace?"

"Peace? Is that what this is? You're going to end up in an early grave. I'll not sit back and watch you do it. Your men need you, and Robert has been asking about you since yesterday. Wash. For G.o.d's sake, change your clothes, and then go see him. I'll not lie for you any longer!"

"Dieu, stop yelling." Each loud word knifed his aching brain.

"Go see Robert, Simon. He deserves better from you than this. Or is it your desire that he should learn you are in love with his wife?"

"Of course not!" He growled a little too intensely and was instantly punished with a sharp pain tearing through his head. "Merde." He hissed out through clenched teeth. "I would do anything for him not to learn that," he said more softly. "He's far too happy being married to her. I'll not take that joy from him. I owe him everything." And everything was what he was giving Robert, for Angelica was everything to Simon.

Jules sighed. "I'll see that some food is brought here. Wash and dress quickly. Don't keep the man waiting any longer."

An hour later, Simon stood outside Robert's chamber door.

Having bathed, eaten for the first time in days, and donned clean clothes, he didn't feel much better. His mind was dull. His headache was only slightly less torturous now than in the hour before.

Jules was right, though. Simon couldn't keep imbibing, and he couldn't remain in Robert's home either. He decided he was going to leave today. He didn't want Fouquet to return and find him here, nor could he stay under the same roof as Angelica and watch her be with Robert, the only real father he'd ever known.

It was surprising to learn that Robert hadn't consummated the marriage. He could make no sense of it. Robert had a healthy s.e.xual appet.i.te, never pa.s.sing on an opportunity to bed any beauty. Much less a beautiful wife. Could his injury be more debilitating than Simon had a.s.sumed? Robert would never divulge something so unmanning. He was far too proud.