"Please, Simon, put down the sword!" Her plea, in her eyes and in her voice, yanked him from his thoughts once more. He returned his attention to Fouquet, who remained frozen against the wall, barely breathing as he keenly watched Simon's reaction.

Simon swallowed hard and took in a breath, trying desperately to quell his murderous desire. Slowly, he forced his sword arm down. His hand shook visibly.

Fouquet grinned, victorious. "You see, someone like you could never stop someone like me." He leaned closer and said in a low voice, "By the way, nothing in my life was sweeter than sinking into the innocent young flesh of my beautiful stepdaughter." Then he laughed.

The words sent a jolt of violent rage through Simon. He shoved Fouquet back against the wall and thrust. His sword sliced through the unsuspecting flesh of Fouquet's shoulder.

Fouquet recoiled, shocked, filling the room with a blood-curdling shriek. Simon leaned in, knowing that the tip of the sword pressed against bone. Fouquet continued to howl in agony. Simon stopped inches away from his ear.

"The pain you feel is small in comparison to the suffering you have imposed on others. And this is a small payment for what you did to her."

Simon yanked out his sword.

Fouquet slammed his palm against his wound, trying to contain the blood, still wailing between pants.

"Arrest him!" Louis bellowed out.

He stepped away from Fouquet, bracing for the moment the King's Musketeers would seize him.

Someone grabbed him and shoved him back.

Stupefied, he saw two musketeers seize Fouquet's arms.

"Me?" Fouquet shrieked, reeling between physical pain and shock.

He was dragged before the king. Louis stood erect and authoritative, in sharp contrast to the genial king everyone knew, who enjoyed merriment and women-all indulgences that were the prerogative of a young monarch. He looked regal dressed in a gold-and-white doublet and breeches with a white hat and large gold plume.

"What have I done?" Fouquet cried out.

Angelica watched her stepfather. For a man who had risen so fast and so high in power, who had never offered anyone in his path compa.s.sion or mercy, he'd never looked more pitiful.

Louis lifted his chin. "I placed my trust in you, the Superintendent of Finance," the king began. "I expect honesty from you at all times, and yet you steal from me and France!" A collective gasp swept the room.

Fouquet, who was being held by the two musketeers, paled further. Blood ran down his arm, yet arrogantly, he straightened his spine. "I've shown the highest integrity for my post, Sire!"

"Do not lie to me! Let it be known before all here that I have proof of your gross deceit! Your wickedness is scribed in these ledgers." Louis gestured beside him at Simon's ledgers held by Jules and Armand.

"Those are not mine!"

"I'm aware of that. They belong to Monsieur Boulenger."

"Him? Sire, he's no more than a scoundrel. Completely untrustworthy."

"Perhaps." Louis tilted his head. "But why, then, do his figures match the figures in your ledgers, written by your hand?"

Angelica heard Fouquet's gasp when he saw two musketeers holding the brown ledgers he'd hidden at Beaulieu. His dark eyes darted accusingly at her. The silent word, You! burned in his eyes.

She glared back at him with smug contempt. Walking into Beaulieu had been the most difficult thing she'd had to do. Memories had swamped her from the moment she stepped into the chateau. Painful memories lurked in every room-memories of her mother's sadness that had consumed her during her marriage to Fouquet, and of the night that had changed Angelica's life. The night of her rape. It was in the very library where the rape had occurred that Angelica found the hidden ledgers. She'd carried them out of Beaulieu herself, for they symbolized the future, leaving behind the ghosts of the past, ghosts that had haunted her for too long.

Seeing her stepfather's misdeeds finally catching up to him filled her with such satisfaction. She'd done it for Simon. Yet it aided her in ways she couldn't have imagined.

Her stepfather was finally going to pay for all he'd done.

"Be gone from my sight." Louis waved his hand. Immediately, the musketeers dragged Fouquet out pleading and bleeding. Fouquet's wife broke through the crowd. "No, Sire! Please!" she cried out. The pity Angelica felt for the woman who shared her age didn't touch Louis, for he didn't so much as look her way as two more musketeers stepped forward to escort her, weeping, from the room.

"Monsieur Boulenger, approach!" Louis commanded.

Simon hadn't moved from his spot since the musketeers grabbed Fouquet. The unprecedented events unfolding before him held him immobilized with astonishment, leaving him feeling almost light-headed.

Fouquet arrested. At last.

Simon forced his legs to move forward. Stopping before the king, he bowed low.

"Sire."

"Boulenger, have you trouble with your hearing?" Louis was still vexed.

Simon didn't require further explanation. He'd raised the king's ire by defying his command and piercing Fouquet with his sword. He might not have been arrested for it, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't still be punished. His fury had gotten the better of him. His act of public defiance had removed the likelihood of gaining n.o.bility. Whatever punishment Louis would render, it couldn't be worse than having failed Robert and his beloved Angelica.

"No, Sire. I have trouble with the injustices imposed by the Finance Minister on the people of the realm who must have the resources to provide themselves with the basic necessities of life to give them the strength to serve you well."

"And you appoint yourself their defender? Their leader?"

"No, Sire. You alone are their leader. You are their king. And they wish your leadership, desperately."

Louis considered Simon's words for a moment. "I have heard their cries and am aware of their needs and wishes, Boulenger, just as I am aware of yours."

Simon looked up at the king, trying to gauge the meaning behind his words. He then turned to Angelica, whose smile was as brilliant as the sun on a summer's day.

Louis continued, "I've heard about you for some time now. The late Marquis de Nevelon very much made it a point of taxing my ears with your many naval and financial successes for France. Back then, I left these matters in the hands of others, believing that they were attending to them justly. That has changed. Now then, Monsieur Boulenger, kneel before me."

Simon's brows shot up. His heart sputtered. For a moment, he was frozen in disbelief. His gaze darted to Angelica. She continued to smile, unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

Simon looked down at Robert's sword still clutched firmly in his hand. He swallowed the lump of emotions that welled up in his throat as he thought of Robert. This was what he had wished for him always.

Slowly, Simon turned the sword until the tip touched the floor and used it to aid him down onto his knee, overwhelmed with the incredulity of the moment. The crowd erupted, equally surprised as they realized what the king was about to do.

"This man is Simon Boulenger, the Black Demon. For his outstanding service to his country, I recognize all of his past accomplishments, and I deem them to have been performed while he was the commodore of a distinct elite fleet of the French navy." A cheer filled the room, echoing in the domed ceiling. Simon turned and saw that a battalion of his men had filled the overcrowded salon. The men from the King's Navy joined in the jubilation. His gaze traveled to Angelica, who continued to beam at him, tears of joy welling forth.

Louis raised his hand, silencing the crowd. He continued, "Furthermore, all of his loyal men are to be recognized as part of the French navy and derive any and all benefits that it brings." Another burst of jubilation erupted. "Now then, Monsieur Colbert, if you will read the doc.u.ment."

Simon's heart lost a beat.

Colbert stepped forward. Stopping before Simon, he unrolled the parchment he held in his hands and began to read.

"By the grace and favor of the most serene, most mighty, and most Christian Majesty, King Louis XIV of France, His Majesty, whom we have praised above, affirms and announces publicly by these Letters Patent that Simon Boulenger, in consideration of his merits and valor, and as a reward for services rendered, be hereby enn.o.bled."

Simon lowered his head and closed his eyes. Enn.o.bled. The word that exalted him in society humbled him. He swallowed hard and gazed up at Angelica. Tears rained down her cheeks now, although she still wore a radiant smile on her lips.

"...the said Simon Boulenger, and his children to be born in loyal marriage, shall hereby enjoy all honors, immunities, prerogatives, and pre-eminences which are customarily enjoyed by n.o.ble gentlemen of n.o.ble lines..."

As Colbert continued to read, Simon wrestled to accept what his ears were telling him. A dream come true. One he'd had for so long and had all but given up on. He squeezed the hilt of Robert's sword.

His gaze returned to Angelica. Her lovely cheeks were moist with tears of joy, her smile now hidden behind her trembling fingertips. His chest tightened, so overcome with emotion he could barely register the words Colbert read. Colbert suddenly stopped. Another roar of enthusiastic approval reverberated in the Grand Salon.

Colbert stepped back.

Louis silenced the crowd once more with a lift of his hand.

"Monsieur, since Sorbon has been bequeathed to you by the late Marquis de Nevelon, with these Letters Patent, I grant you the t.i.tle, Comte de Sorbon."

Applause and cheers filled the air.

Louis stepped close to Simon and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "I have convened a special emergency a.s.sembly. Fouquet shall be on trial for his life. I expect a favorable result. Without the proof of the ledgers your men and Madame la Marquise provided me last eve, I could not have proceeded as I have today. I'd grown weary waiting to be rid of this man, acquitting him of his self-enriching role. Therefore, it is with tremendous grat.i.tude that I've bestowed upon you the honors you have received today. However, if you ever disobey me in public or private again... Need I say more to you, sir?"

"No, Sire."

"Good. Your men have delivered your last capture of silver. Very impressive."

"Thank you, Sire."

"Now, I understand that the late Marquis de Nevelon's wishes were that you marry Madame la Marquise without delay, at which point both lady and Nevelon will be yours. Clearly, he loved you like a son."

"And I loved him as greatly as any son could love a father, Sire."

"Then, we shall respect his dying wishes. Thus, upstairs in chapel, at my request, Pere Martineau awaits you and your lady. Valid upon marriage, you will be the next Marquis de Nevelon. However, out of respect for the memory of the late commodore, you shall marry discreetly, if your lady is willing." Louis gave Angelica a leering a.s.sessment. "She's quite magnificent. I could be persuaded into further generosities if you are willing to share."

"She is absolutely not negotiable, Sire." Simon held his wrath in check, but his voice was firm, his words unequivocal.

Louis lifted a brow. "Really? Pity." He straightened and stood tall and regal. "Monsieur le Comte, rise!" he commanded for all to hear.

Applause thundered in the salon as Simon rose to his feet.

Angelica rushed forward and threw her arms around him, burying her face into his shoulder. Simon looked up at Louis. The king rolled his eyes. With an impatient wave of his hand, he dismissed Angelica's actions and walked away.

Simon wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek against her soft hair. Closing his eyes, he inhaled her soft fragrance. The joy of holding her once more swelled his heart until he thought it would burst.

She looked up at him; her green eyes shone tenderly. "I'm so happy for you, Simon."

"None of this could have been possible without you. You make my dreams complete. Angelica, will you marry me?"

She lowered her head and shook it slowly. Simon's heart lurched. She looked up again, this time with a radiant smile. "I have loved you for so long. I thought you would never ask. Yes! Yes, I will marry you."

Simon grinned like a fool in love. He knew it and didn't mind a whit. "This is a day of miracles." He squeezed her tightly.

Forced to remain at Vaux-le-Vicomte for the night, Simon swept into the bedchamber with his wife in his arms. Two servants were turning down the bed. He was instantly vexed. After all these hours, they were still not alone.

Married in the chapel at Vaux-le-Vicomte with the priest, Jules, Armand, and two other men from Simon's crew as witness, they'd been requested to join the king and the rest of the aristocracy present immediately following the ceremony. The party at Vaux-le-Vicomte had continued without their host and hostess.

Simon had remained at Angelica's side throughout the evening's festivities, wary of the king's amorous glances toward her. He couldn't wait to get her out of Louis's sight and into his arms. He'd barely tasted the endless courses, four different soups, pheasants, quails, partridges, salads, pastries with crystallized fruits and preserves. He drank little of the wine that generously flowed.

When finally the meal had ended, Simon managed to have them excused from attending the performance of Moliere's comedy, Les Facheux, in the gardens.

Angelica gave no indication she noticed the two servants in the bedchamber. The moment her feet touched the ground, she had her arms around him, pressing her hot mouth to his throat, softly kissing his neck. Stifling a groan, he heard the servants' soft snickers.

"That will be all," he called out to them, startling Angelica. Her cheeks warmed to pink as she tried to step away from him. He tightened his arm, keeping her against him.

"Yes, my lord," smiled the younger female servant as they both left, giggling.

Angelica smiled up at him lovingly. "Simon Boulenger, Marquis de Nevelon, Comte de Sorbon. It sounds wonderful, but I care more for your other newly acquired t.i.tle. Husband."

He returned her smile. "And I, my beloved wife, care to consummate this marriage without further delay." His voice was low and provocative.

Her hands were instantly at his waist, fumbling with the closures on his breeches. "Then hurry."

He stilled her hands by covering them with one warm palm. "Let me," he gently urged and began to undress, removing his doublet and linen shirt, tossing them carelessly to the floor.

He had her rapt attention as he undid his breeches. Her breathing deliciously quickened.

Tilting his head to one side, he studied her, the smallest smile touching upon his mouth. He stopped undressing, cupped her face, and kissed her, savoring the texture and taste of her mouth. It wasn't all that long ago that he believed he'd never know her kiss again.

"Please, Simon," she said, breathless. "I don't want to wait any longer." She stepped back. Her gorgeous eyes were on his erection straining out of his opened breeches, and his sac, heavy with come. She fisted the skirt of her gown with both hands and began pulling up at the voluminous material.

Simon grasped her wrists, stilling her. She looked adorably puzzled and wildly aroused. "No. Not like that. I want to feel you completely naked against me," he managed to say despite his thundering heart.

She looked stricken. "But that will take too long."

"We have the rest of our lives, cherie. Turn around," he coaxed while trying to maintain a grip on his own feral need. He trailed kisses along her neck and shoulder, enjoying the soft, satiny skin he'd missed so much, stripping off article after article until he had her completely unclothed.

Then he swept her up in his arms and carried her over to the generous bed. Placing her in the center, he sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled off his boots.

She was up on her knees in an instant, raining kisses on his shoulders and along his neck. He closed his eyes, delighting in her heated enthusiasm, reacquainting himself with her eager impatience in bed that he found both compelling and contagious.

Yanking the remainder of his clothing off at an accelerated rate, he twisted around and pressed her down, kissing her in the frenzied manner she desired, banishing all thoughts of moderation from his mind. They could slow down when they were old and gray. For now, he would let her dictate the pace.

Arching hard against him, she urged him inside her. He needed no further prompting, driving home with one easy thrust.

Home.

She sobbed with pleasure. He groaned out his.

Controlling his thrusts, he plunged as deep and as hard as she wanted, filling her repeatedly, her juices bathing his c.o.c.k. Between heated kisses and caresses, they exchanged whispers and words of love.

She wrapped her legs tightly around him. "Stay inside me," she panted against his mouth. Her words sent a rush of raw heat shuddering through him. He'd never spent himself inside a woman. And he couldn't wait to spend himself inside his beautiful wife.

His moonlight angel.