"Well, it would appear that you are a fortunate woman," Toussaint said. "I don't believe your injuries are serious." The physician eased her down onto her back. She lay stiffly, watching Toussaint warily. Her hands still clutched the bed linens to her chest.

From Simon's vantage point, he could easily appreciate her form with the discerning eye of a libertine. Against his will, his mind flitted through the various ways in which he could coax the stiffness from her body. The various ways to make her warm and yielding-just for him.

"I would advise you to stay abed a few days. I shall leave you some headache powders to help with your pain." Toussaint's gaze lingered on Angelica's face, more of a perusal of her fine features than an a.s.sessment of injury.

Simon strode over to the door and s.n.a.t.c.hed it open. "Thank you." He didn't miss Toussaint's look of surprise at the abrupt dismissal.

"Yes...well, you're quite welcome." Turning to Angelica, the physician picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckle. "It was my pleasure."

Alone at last in her chamber, Angelica took in a fortifying breath. She was going to have to flee from France. Having escaped these borders before, she knew she could do it again. She was accustomed to overcoming challenges. She hadn't survived this long without that skill. Securing Simon de Villette's help would make things easier. However, with or without the stranger's a.s.sistance, she would gather Gabriella and leave the realm for good. She could not-would not-remain here.

It was far too dangerous.

Men like Nicolas Fouquet didn't change, no matter how many years pa.s.sed.

Nicolas Fouquet did not forgive.

Or forget.

Chapter Four.

Domenico Dragani leaned over toward his friend Armand Rancourt seated comfortably in the velvet chair next to him in the library of Chateau Arles.

"Armand?"

"Yes?"

"Did he"-Domenico indicated Simon with a motion of his chin -"just say convent? Two women?"

Seated behind the large ebony desk, Simon tightened his jaw. "Yes, that is exactly what I said. Convent. Two women." Merde. He felt like a complete imbecile telling two of his top commanders and closest friends about the guests he'd brought with him from the Republic of Genoa. But he could hardly hide the women indefinitely.

Domenico sat back. His lips twitched, his sorry attempt to hold in his mirth. "Ah...Simon? Have you run out of women that you now pluck them out of convents?"

"I think we'll move on to more pressing topics." Simon took a drink from his goblet of brandy and set it down on the desk.

Domenico leaned toward him. "Do they have warts and whiskers?" He grinned.

Simon frowned.

"What possible difference could any of this make?" Armand questioned their Italian friend, Armand's blond hair and light eyes a sharp contrast to Domenico's darker coloring. "Just as Simon mentioned-we have more important things to concern ourselves with. Fouquet. Thomas's death. The fate of Gilbert and Daniel. And the imminent arrival of our ships. Or have you forgotten about those, Domenico?"

"Of course not. But, Armand-a convent. Women with warts and whiskers." Domenico shuddered in mock horror.

"Excuse me..." Gabriella interrupted from the doorway, looking nervous and unsure.

The old servant, Henri, reached the door in a great rush. "Your pardon, Captain. I will return the mademoiselle to her chambers straightaway."

Simon waved Henri away. "Gabriella, come." He rose, momentarily surprised to see her out of her religious garb and dressed in a pale blue gown. He'd ordered that a chest of women's clothing, captured from one of the Spanish ships, be offered to the two women. From the way Gabriella kept smoothing her hand over the skirt of the gown, he could tell she very much liked the garment made for aristocracy. One of the servants had clearly helped her dress. Her auburn hair was arranged in a fashionable coiffure of ringlets.

What would Angelica look like in such finery? His blood warmed at the mere thought.

Gabriella stepped forward. "I-I'm sorry to disturb you. I would like to see Angelica."

"She is asleep at the moment," Simon said. "She was awake earlier and was seen by a physician. He advises that with some rest, she will be well in a few days. If you wish, you may see her when she awakens."

She brightened. "I would like that very much. I cannot thank you enough for your kindness."

Simon brushed off the comment. He could hardly look at his action as a good deed when his conduct had been initially motivated more by a disreputable inclination than a gallant one. "Allow me to introduce you to two of my commanders. Gabriella Santino, this is Armand Rancourt." Armand gave her a nod and a bow. "And this is Domenico Dragani."

Domenico approached with a smile, took her hand, and pressed a kiss to her knuckle. "It is a pleasure to meet you." He gave her a sweeping bow.

Gabriella blushed and beamed. Simon shook his head, amused.

Armand leaned toward Simon and asked sotto voce, "Does she speak French?"

Simon had asked her that very question onboard the ship. "No."

Turning to Domenico, Armand inquired in French, "Do you detect any warts? Or whiskers?"

Domenico smiled. "Not a one," he responded in kind, his look indicating approval of her feminine qualities.

"Domenico, why don't you show Gabriella the gardens?" Simon suggested, noting her instant pleasure over the prospect.

Needing no further encouragement, Domenico tucked Gabriella's hand in the crook of his arm and left the room, boasting about his knowledge of the botanicals on the chateau's grounds.

Gabriella looked pleased to be out of the convent and content to keep it that way. If only Simon could understand why her friend felt such a compulsion to return.

"Angelica... Where is my little Angelica?"

She was six and giggled as her father called out to her from the grand foyer of their country estate, his voice drifting up the stairwell to her small ears. Quickly, she dashed down the stairs, her small shoes tapping on each step in her rapid descent.

"Papa!" She jumped into the outstretched arms of the man she loved the most and looked into his adoring eyes, then at her mother who stood by smiling as she watched their loving exchange. Her long, dark curls flounced about as he spun her around. And around. She squealed happily, hugging his neck with fierce affection; his laughter filled her world with joy. Her surroundings blurred. Objects became indistinguishable. And the laughter suddenly changed then from gaiety to harshness. Cruelly taunting her.

Her world stopped revolving at once.

Laughing down at her was the face of another man her mother had called husband, yet Angelica could only call him "Evil" in the quiet of her fourteen-year-old mind.

Angelica jolted awake to find herself sitting up in bed, her heart pounding. Her head balked at the sudden movement, punishing her promptly with a sharp pain.

Pressing her fingers to her temples, she tried to knead away the ache. She hadn't had a nightmare like that in years. No doubt it had occurred because she was in France. Near Fouquet.

She suppressed a shudder.

Her stepfather came from one of the most distinguished, powerful parliamentary families in the realm. Fouquet had influence. And authority over her. If he ever found her, she'd be at his mercy.

And he had none.

Never again would she allow herself to be in his clutches. Cunning, manipulative, ambitious, Fouquet had had different faces, one for her and her late mother and another for everyone else. Most had no idea of his malicious nature. For so long his malevolent conduct had been limited to savage words, mostly directed at her poor mother, but shortly after her mother's death, one horrible night, his wickedness had progressed beyond the lash of a vicious tongue.

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 n.o.bles 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, rea.s.sure 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 pa.s.sed 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 coa.r.s.e 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 t.i.tle.

"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 s.p.a.ce 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.