by Darcy Burke
“Captain, if they thought the Black Demon and his men were cold-hearted pirates before, wait until they see what hell we shall unloose upon them now.”
She recoiled. Dear God… Simon de Villette was involved with pirates.
He was the leader of these men. He was the Black Demon? No, it couldn’t be. He was an officer in the royal navy. Wasn’t he? A sick feeling slid down into her stomach as she realized he’d never actually told her he was in the King’s Navy.
Oh why? He’d been so…incredible. His touch, his words, his actions, he’d shown her the concern and consideration she hadn’t realized she’d lacked in her life.
The image of his attractive face, those gorgeous eyes, his beguiling smile, appeared in her mind. As did the memory of his strong arms around her. Fool. Fool. Fool! He was a fraud. A lie. Too good to be true. She tamped down the ridiculous sense of loss.
They were in the company of criminals.
They had to get away. Now. Angelica squeezed her friend’s hand. “These men are not what they appear. They’re pirates!” she said in a sharp whisper.
“Pirates?”
“Yes!”
“No, I cannot believe it.” Gabriella shook her head. “The captain? Domenico?”
“I just heard them.”
Her friend’s eyes widened. “Are you certain? I heard nothing…”
“Yes! Dear God, yes.”
Gabriella stepped back, horrified; her leg bumped a chair, causing it to scrape across the floor. The sound resonated in the long corridor. Footsteps immediately followed. The dining hall door was snatched open.
Angelica’s stomach dropped.
A large man glared at them from the threshold. Gabriella slapped her hand over her mouth, a sorry attempt to stifle her cry.
Simon stepped around the man and into the hallway. He approached, his dark brows knitted together, his vivid eyes fixed on Angelica. Dressed in a white shirt and black breeches, he had never looked more like an outlaw.
Gabriella began to weep softly into her hands. Though it didn’t take much to bring her dear friend to tears, this was no time for histrionics.
Angelica threw her arms around her friend. “There now, Gabriella, you need not cry.” With a fixed smile on her lips and her heart in her throat, Angelica turned to Simon as he approached. “Good day, Simon.”
“Good day. Is everything all right?” He eyed Gabriella, softly sobbing on her shoulder.
“Yes, of course. Gabriella is so relieved to see me in good health and out of bed, she’s been moved to tears. We’re both so happy to see each other. Is that not so, Gabriella?” She gave her a small pinch on the arm.
Gabriella jerked up. Angelica looked into her watery eyes and silently commanded her to cease her tears. Gabriella faced Simon with great trepidation.
“Yes, I’m…ha-happy.” She offered him a miserable smile.
“Dieu.” A dark-haired man walked up behind Simon. “She doesn’t look happy,” he murmured in French. Then to Gabriella he said in Italian, “Gabriella, your friend is correct. There’s no need for tears. We discussed her recovery yesterday, during our walk in the gardens, remember?” Clearly, this was the man Domenico, whom Gabriella had talked about.
At the mention of the walk in the gardens, Gabriella was back to sobbing into her hands. More men began exiting the dining hall, making the corridor feel smaller. They circled like predators. Angelica felt as though she and Gabriella were the prey.
Her smile still frozen on her face, Angelica slid a protective arm around Gabriella’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. We seem to have disturbed you. We’ll return to our chambers now.”
She turned and escorted Gabriella down the hall, praying they couldn’t hear her heart thundering.
“Angelica?” She tensed at the sound of her name, every muscle in her body poised for flight. It was Simon.
Leader of sea-bandits.
Hearing her name from him this time didn’t have the same tantalizing effect. Swallowing down her terror, she turned to face him. He strode past her and opened the door to the library. “Please, come in.”
Angelica lowered her arm and exchanged looks with Gabriella. Her friend’s eyes were big and full of fear. Filled with her own dread, Angelica clasped her friend’s hand and led her into the room.
Simon and Domenico entered after them.
Simon stopped before her. His size and muscled form had never been more intimidating. She desperately hoped he couldn’t read in her eyes the horror she felt inside.
“I don’t believe you’ve met Domenico Dragani. He is a commander of one of my ships,” he said.
She exchanged polite greetings with the man; all the while, her mind raced. How were they going to get out of here?
“Are you certain nothing is amiss?” Simon asked.
How could his concern appear so sincere? How could he be so proficient at duplicity? Because he is a criminal.
She looked away briefly, needing to break the connection with his gaze, when she noticed a small, blank parchment on the desk.
An idea came to her.
“Actually”—she glanced at both men—“there is something amiss. Gabriella isn’t feeling well.”
Gabriella gasped. Angelica squeezed her hand to silence her.
“She isn’t?” Domenico stepped forward, studying Gabriella closely.
Gabriella looked down at her feet, unable to meet his eyes.
“Yes,” Angelica answered for her. “It seems she’s been having stomach pains. They come and go.” She squeezed her hand harder. Gabriella’s attention shot back up to her. Upon making eye contact with her friend, Angelica said, “When the pain hits, it’s quite terrible. Even worse than the time she was to go to the village with Madre Paola.”
Thankfully, comprehension dawned on Gabriella’s face. Clearly, her dear friend remembered the time she’d fabricated a stomach ailment to avoid spending the day with Madre Paola. Unfortunately, afterward, she’d been forced to down considerable amounts of nutmeg oil to combat her “malady.”
Gabriella looked unsure for a moment, and Angelica was afraid she might be too frightened to go through with the ruse.
“I-I think the pain is returning…” Gabriella said.
Relieved, Angelica watched her friend begin an impromptu performance, clutching at her stomach with a moan. Then a moan louder still.
“You should sit down,” Angelica ordered and grabbed the parchment off the desk.
By the time she returned to her side, Gabriella was not only sitting but doubled over and moaning repeatedly.
“Gabriella… What the devil…?” Domenico dropped to one knee beside her.
Angelica fanned her with the parchment. Gabriella continued to moan as if in dire pain.
Angelica forced herself to meet Simon’s gaze. “She needs a physician. I’ve never seen her quite like this.”
“Simon.” Domenico looked concerned as he slipped an arm around Gabriella. “I think it’s wise. Perhaps we can get a physician from one of the ships—”
“No!” Angelica blurted out. “I mean…Bernard Toussaint was so skilled and so kind. Gabriella would highly benefit from his competence and gentle manner.” They needed Toussaint, not one of their physicians.
Gabriella wailed out.
“My friend is very sensitive,” Angelica added, squeezing Gabriella’s shoulder, fearing her performance was a tad overmuch. With her other hand, she surreptitiously concealed the parchment in her sleeve.
Simon frowned. Gabriella’s moans grew softer. Angelica held her breath.
“Domenico, carry her upstairs. I’ll order a man to ride to the town to find Bernard Toussaint.”
Angelica almost collapsed from relief.
Domenico swept Gabriella up in his arms and stalked out of the room. Angelica turned to follow.
“Angelica?” Simon caught her arm.
She jumped back from the contact, and saw the immediate surprise on his face. She mentally chastised herself. Relax! You will give yourself awa
y.
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m somewhat jittery.” She rubbed her arm, willing away the feel of his fingers. “I’m worried about Gabriella.”
“Yes, of course. However, you’re quite flushed. Is your head hurting again?”
She wanted to scream at him to stop acting as though he was decent. She was all too aware of the sword against his left hip. Thoughts of what the cutthroat was capable of doing with it, had done with it, tortured her aching brain.
“I’m fine. I must get upstairs. Gabriella needs me.”
***
In Gabriella’s chamber, Gabriella lay on her side in the middle of the bed with her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, moaning with dramatic persuasion.
Domenico leaned over to feel her forehead for fever. “Water…” she rasped at him.
He turned around, scanning the room for a water pitcher. There was none to be found.
“I’ll be back shortly with some water.” He turned on a heel and left with purposeful strides.
As soon as Domenico was gone, Gabriella sat bolt upright. Angelica ran to the hearth and selected a piece of kindling that had burnt only halfway. She used it on the small parchment she’d stolen from the library and quickly scribed a note to Toussaint.
“We’re going to need assistance to get out here, and out of the realm. We’ve no money. No transportation to go back home,” Angelica said, returning to the bed. They were going to have to trust someone. And trusting strangers was the last thing she was comfortable doing. “Our choices are rather slim. I have written a note to the physician asking for help. I think we can meet him outside the servants’ entrance once everyone is asleep. I will slip him the note—”
“I will give the note to him,” Gabriella stated. Her eyes no longer held any fear. “It is my fault we are in this terrible predicament. I helped Simon de Villette take you out of the convent. I am not asking you, Angelica. I’m demanding it! I will give the note to the physician.”
Seeing a determination in her friend she’d never seen before, she didn’t argue with her and handed the note over. Tucking it into her sleeve, Gabriella lay on the bed once more.
As soon as they heard footsteps approach, she began the second act of her performance. In the next agonizing hour and a half, Domenico paced about the room while Angelica held Gabriella's hand as her moaning friend continued her seemingly tireless act of intermittent attacks. Finally, the door opened and the physician entered with Simon.
“Signorina, it is so good to see you,” Toussaint said in his usual friendly manner, “but you should be in bed, resting.”
Angelica rose. “I’m feeling much better, really. You have my deepest gratitude, for your talents in medicine afforded me a speedy recovery. I pray that you will be equally effective in treating my friend.”
Bernard Toussaint approached the bed. Gabriella moaned softly. “Of course. If I may be permitted some privacy to allow me to examine the young woman…”
Outside in the hallway, Angelica’s heart pounded away the moments as she waited with Simon and Domenico. Domenico’s continued pacing only made her more nervous.
With Gabriella alone with the physician, she could further explain the predicament they were in.
Domenico stopped abruptly. “I can’t understand what could be the matter with her. She was perfectly fine yesterday in the gardens,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t stand the wait any longer.” Domenico threw open the door to reveal Toussaint standing near the bed, holding the folded parchment.
Angelica’s heart dropped to her stomach.
Domenico entered and snatched the note from Toussaint’s hand. Reading its contents quickly, he glanced at a panic-stricken Gabriella and then at Angelica. He walked over and handed the note to Simon. “I believe you should read this.”
Her limbs went numb.
Simon’s gaze moved over her words. His jaw tightened. “Merde,” he muttered, then crunched the parchment in his fist. Without a word, he grasped her wrist and stalked down the hall, with Angelica all but running to keep up with his long strides.
He pulled her into her chamber and slammed the door shut behind him. Yanking her arm free from his grasp, she ran to the middle of the room and turned to face him. He’d removed his sword, yet he was still very much a threat.
She clenched her fists. Whatever he was about to do, she would not surrender without a fight.
Chapter Seven
“So, mademoiselle, you speak French,” Simon said in his native tongue, no longer intending to speak to her in any other language. “Do enlighten me on everything else you’re keeping from me. And do not attempt to lie, pretending you don’t understand me when I hold in my hand the proof that you do.”
He threw the crumpled parchment into the fireplace. Fuck. This predicament was entirely his fault. A moment of carnal fog outside a convent had resulted in this situation.
A situation that had just turned very serious.
He’d failed to learn anything about her. He’d erred in his assumptions concerning her—she speaks French—and as a result of his mistakes, she’d overheard his conversation with his men.
The last thing he wanted was to have her entangled in his circumstances.
Now she was caught in the web.
“Monsieur, I’ve told you all you need to know about me.”
She momentarily unbalanced him by speaking for the first time in his language of birth. Each perfect word sounded heavenly.
This was no daughter of a peasant who’d been tutored in a convent. Her manner of speaking and conduct were too refined. Her education had been obtained in France, or perhaps from French tutors in the Republic of Genoa. In short, her family was, at least at one time, notable. What happened? Why had they left her in a convent for so long? She was certainly of marriageable age.
Were they all dead?
“You are mistaken, mademoiselle. You have much to tell me. However, first allow me to tell you about me.” By the note she had written and the look in her eyes, narrow, accusatory, and full of disdain, he knew she condemned him as a scourge on society. A pirate. It bothered him that she thought so little of him. And he had no idea why it mattered what she thought.
“My name is Simon Boulenger. I am, in fact, the captain of a fleet of privateer ships for France. It is my…duty”—he forced the word off his tongue—“to attack Spanish ships and forward proceeds to the Crown. And for your information, Toussaint works for me.”
She flinched, but her gaze remained locked on his. He found himself admiring her courage. Under the circumstances, any other woman would have succumbed to tears by now.
“I don’t require any explanations or details about you. All I’m interested in is returning to the convent.”
He crossed his arms. “I don’t think you understand. Matters have just become very complicated. You’ve been made privy to…sensitive information. As a result, I can’t risk the lives of my men to take you anywhere now.”
She paled. “You can’t be serious! We are to be prisoners?”
“You will be treated no different than you have been.”
“Except we are not permitted to leave!”
“That is correct. I’m sorry.”
“Why? What possible harm could Gabriella and I cause you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how long you were listening, the extent of what you heard. I don’t know who you are. Or who you know. These are dangerous times. There are enemies everywhere, including in the Republic of Genoa. I cannot take any risks. This is not a permanent situation. It’s only until…certain matters are attended to.”
Until his situation with Fouquet was rectified.
Until Fouquet was ruined.
“I heard nothing, really…”
Raising his brow, he gave her a skeptical look.
“Very little, I swear! And any personal information about me is irrelevant, I assure you.”
He approached her. She stiffened, her fists still at her
sides. Once again he found himself tantalized by her proximity. The sweet, fresh scent drifting from her chestnut tresses seductively swirled through his system. His hungry cock hardened by the second.
Simon gazed at her upturned face. For the first time, he noticed an adorable freckle on her earlobe and another on her neck. He had to fight back the urge to press his lips to her soft skin. Dieu. He wanted to coax her into his arms and onto the bed, to turn the fiery look in her eyes into carnal hunger. If she had any idea how badly he wanted to sink himself inside her, knowing she would be deliciously tight and hot, she’d bolt for the door.
He couldn’t believe he was lusting after a virgin in convent garb.
A woman who, at the moment, clearly despised him.
He’d never been hated by a woman. And he didn’t like being hated by this one.
“It is your game of secrecy that makes me mistrust you as much as you mistrust me,” he said.
“You cannot do this. I demand you take us home! You have no right to hold us here against our will!”
“We won’t be staying here. We will be sailing for the West Indies in a few days.”
Her mouth fell open. She stepped back. There was horror in her eyes, a crack in her brave façade.
“No! We will not go with you!” she countered. “You wear finery and have influential friends”—she indicated the chamber with a sweep of her arm—“but you are not the noble or officer you pretended to be. You are not part of the King’s Navy. You are clearly deceitful and no doubt corrupt. I want no part of whatever criminal endeavor you are embarking on!”
Her words gored him to the core.
Furious, he stepped forward. She took another step back, bumping into the tall bedpost at the foot of her bed with a gasp.
“You accuse me of deceit? Of hiding who I am? You hide more than you reveal! Who the hell are you to judge me?” Merde. The day had been long. He was both physically and emotionally depleted. And he was sick and tired of this game. It was no longer intriguing. He wanted answers. Needed answers. “I’m tired of this nonsense. I demand to know who you are, and what truths you conceal. Right now!”
She glared at him, her body rigid. In a low voice simmering with ire, she said, “I have told you all you will ever know about me.”
