by Darcy Burke
Why keep her past a secret from him when it cost her more than it gained? When it was keeping her from more bliss. From more with him. Everything she’d seen today further confirmed in her heart that she should take the risk. He’d shown himself to be worthy of her trust. And she was going to lay her secret bare.
The wall of silence that kept her apart from him was going to be torn down.
“If you like, you may start tomorrow, Angelica.”
She couldn’t stop smiling. “Thank you!” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “For the position and for making me sing.” Each time she sang that song, it gave her great comfort and strength. She stepped back. He looked utterly stunned.
She laughed. “That wasn’t very discreet of me, I suppose,” she said without apology. She didn’t care who was watching. She wasn’t going to be afraid. Or hide anymore.
Everything was going to be all right. He’ll understand.
He smiled back at her. “I’m glad you are so pleased.”
“I want to accept your invitation,” she blurted out.
He was speechless for a moment, her words astounding him more than her public affection. “Really…”
“Yes, Simon, truly. Will you come to my room tonight?” She had the overwhelming urge to kiss that perfect mouth. Never to stop.
“You understand what this means, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You will reveal yourself to me completely, without holding back?”
Old fears rose within her. She quickly said, “Yes,” before they could overtake her. “I will, but—”
“But what?”
“I want to be with you first, just like on the ship. One more time. Then I will tell you what you wish to know. I promise.”
***
Simon walked through the front door of his home. The day couldn’t have trickled by more slowly. He’d gone through the motions, meetings, and inspections, but all he could think about was Angelica. In his arms. Finally trusting him. His knowing all her secrets.
He climbed the stairs. Each step that brought him closer to her made his heart beat a little faster. By the time he reached Angelica’s door, he felt nervous. Incredible. He’d never been nervous with any woman. Not ever.
Entering her room, he found her standing on the small balcony. The breeze caressed her hair and the hem of her pale-colored dressing gown.
Basking in the moon’s silver light was his moonlight angel.
Momentarily transfixed, he watched as she inhaled the night air and gazed at the multitude of starry lights. Raw hunger shot through his body. Hardening his cock.
His desire for her was humbling.
He approached, the sound of the distant sea becoming more pronounced.
“That is indeed a beautiful moon,” he said.
Startled, she spun around, then smiled. Her smile wasn’t as joyful as it had been earlier. It was a little nervous, a little apprehensive.
She threw herself against him, taking him off guard. Twining her arms around his neck, she planted a zealous kiss on his mouth. There was nothing apprehensive about that.
Capturing her face between his hands, he angled her head and took command of the kiss, sliding his tongue past her lips, possessing her mouth. He gave her slow, measured strokes of his tongue, enjoying the sensual sound of her soft moan, and the sweet, hot press of her form against him. For an instant, he wondered if he should shatter her mystique at all. Did he really want this enchantment to end? Would it end?
She ended the kiss, breathless. Big green eyes stared back at him, darkened with desire. Taking his hand, she began to pull him toward the bed. “There was a moon just like that one on the night we met,” she said.
He rooted his feet to the floor, halting them from moving any closer to the bed. Yet he couldn’t stop his gaze from stroking down the length of her body. A breeze stole its way into the room and swirled her dressing gown, giving him a glimpse of her legs. Beneath the wrap, she had on only a night chemise. The two layers of thin material didn’t come close to shielding her from his burning regard.
“You are beautiful. Passionate,” he said. “A devastating combination.”
She blushed. It was an appealing novelty. The women he normally bedded were not the blushing types. Especially in the boudoir.
“We have matters to discuss before we do that.” He nodded toward the bed. He couldn’t believe he was hesitating, in any way, to take a beautiful woman who was offering herself to him. To take his fantasy angel.
She slipped her arms around his waist, her soft belly pressing against his stone-hard cock. His eager prick twitched hungrily. “Take me first, Simon. I love the way you make me feel… Just one more time before we talk.” She pressed her mouth against his neck and trailed hot kisses toward his throat. He closed his eyes. She was moving things along, using the oldest of ploys. And it was working. The crest of his cock was already wet with pre-come. Yet he wasn’t going to let her use his body against him. He was here for more than sex. She’d made him promises she was going to keep. He’d never agreed to her suggestion of sex first.
He picked her up and had her on her back on the bed in one fluid movement. He lowered his body on top of hers. Taking her wrists, he slowly raised her arms above her head and pinned them there with one hand. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t fight him.
“You are still playing games, and you are trying to distract me with sex.”
“No, Simon, I just want—”
“I know what you want. We are not leaving this room until you have told me everything you’ve promised to tell me.” He wanted her to trust him enough to tell him the truth. He wanted to stop obsessing about her. His gaze fell to her sweet breasts, rising and falling with her excited breaths.
God help him, he just plain wanted her.
He couldn’t keep chasing after her or tormenting himself with questions about her. Nor did he want to be jealous of phantom lovers he envisioned with her. He had to have answers. Or lose his bloody mind. Maybe then he could return to his old self or at least to some semblance of that person.
Slowly, he opened her dressing gown and untied the silk ribbon at the neckline of her chemise. “We are going to play my game, chère.”
Chapter Fifteen
Pushing aside Angelica’s clothing, Simon stroked the warm curve of her breast. She gasped and strained a little in his hold. She was so deliciously responsive to him, and he was going to use it to his advantage.
If it didn’t kill him first.
“I’m going to ask you your name no more than three times. All you have to do is tell me before the third and final time, and our game of pleasure continues. If you fail to answer by then, we stop. Are you ready to play?”
“Simon…”
He shifted his body. “Do you know you have the prettiest nipples?” Holding her gaze, he dipped his head, purposely hovering his mouth over one taut peak. “I especially love them when you’re aroused and they are pert like this, begging to be sucked.”
He gave her nipple a gentle flick of his tongue, then brushed the contour of his lips over it, drawing a whimper from her. “Shall I suck this pretty pink nipple, Angelica? Do you want that?”
Her breaths were already sharp and shallow. “Yes!”
He smiled. “As you wish.” He captured her nipple with his mouth, lightly sucking and biting it, making her squirm and strain beneath him, unable to contain the urge. A sweet demand for more. And more was exactly what he was going to give his green-eyed siren. Releasing her nipple from his mouth, he gently pinched and pulled it as he turned his attention to her other breast, and suckled the pebbled peak. The seductive sounds she made swirled though his system, and tightened his sac.
Simon pressed his thigh between her legs, precisely over her clit, applying just enough pressure to make her breath catch. And feed her fever.
“Please…” She arched hard against him. Her voice was but a shaky whisper. She was begging him, and he should d
erive some satisfaction from it, but instead he was unraveling because of it.
He trailed his mouth up toward the tantalizing column of her neck, nipping and tasting the satiny skin along the way.
“Do you wish me to stop?”
“No.”
“Then tell me your name. Say it.”
A strangled sound escaped past her lips. “Simon…not like this. Don’t do this now… I want you.”
He’d heard those three words uttered many times in bed before. Why did they sound so different when they came from her? Why did those three words from her lips send him straight to the edge?
He claimed her mouth to silence her. She parted her lips for him. Unable to resist, he slid his tongue inside.
She returned his kiss, drawing on his tongue, causing his prick to pulse. With a groan, he kissed her harder. Hungrier. She squirmed against his leg, then began rocking her hips against his thigh.
He tore his mouth from hers and quickly stilled her, unable to withstand her provocatively rubbing against him.
Reluctantly, he removed his thigh from between her legs.
“Angelica…” His breaths were as sharp and quick as hers. “You want my cock, don’t you? Deep inside…like before…”
She shivered with excitement. “Yes.”
“Then tell me your name. And I’ll give you what you want.” He cupped her breast, stroking her beaded nipple with his thumb.
He could feel her heart racing, her body yielding, and his will to see this mad plan through slipping away from him.
It shouldn’t matter who she was or whom she had ever been with. He shouldn’t want to erase former lovers from her mind so she’d long only for him, or struggle this hard against an overwhelming need to claim her as his own when exclusivity had never been important to him before.
He bloody well shouldn’t want any woman who had this potent effect on his body and mind.
Grabbing the hem of her knee-length chemise, he pushed the fabric up along her thighs, deliberately letting her feel it inching higher and higher up her legs. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”
She gave him a quick nod, her cheeks adorably flushed. He cupped her sex, his fingers covering her damp, downy curls. Softly, she moaned. He gritted his teeth, his cock having stiffened to painful proportions. Thoughts of taking her regardless and ending his own suffering were running rampant in his head. He was dangerously close to losing this game of wills and desires. He had to play this out. Quickly.
He couldn’t withstand much more.
Knowing she was already close to climax, he was careful not to stroke her clit or increase the pressure of his hand. It took everything he had to resist the lure of her wet sex, battling back the overwhelming urge to plunge his fingers inside that heavenly snug heat.
“Mon ange, I am going to ask you one last time—” She thrust her hips up and grazed her clit against his palm. They both groaned. Damn her.
Her sex was warm, slick and so inviting…
On the brink of letting go of the façade of control, he pulled his hand away, his cock pulsing stronger, in rhythm with his wild heartbeat.
He took in a ragged breath. “Tell me who you really are. Tell me something about you.”
Lifting her head from the bed, she pressed a kiss against the hollow of his throat. “What difference can a name make right now?” she said against his skin.
Her words jarred him.
With a growled oath, he pushed himself off her and sat up.
He raked a hand through his hair, his every muscle taut. Why the hell didn’t he just fuck her? She was offering! It was what he would have done with anyone else.
What difference can a name make right now. It made a difference! Merde.
She touched his sleeve.
He turned to face her. “The game is over. You win.”
Her hand tightened on his arm. “If you leave, I lose.” Her eyes were without guile, her tone sincere and soft. “Don’t go, Simon. I made you a promise. I will keep it. I will tell you my name.”
He turned his body to face her better. “Go on.”
She looked at him, then looked away with a sad smile. “I have not said my own name in ten years.”
He cupped her cheek and turned her face to his. “Say it now.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “It would change everything. I don’t want anything to change this…for this is perfect bliss.” She kissed him, her mouth so soft and sweet.
Breaking the kiss, he pulled her arms from around his neck and held her hands. “Why would it change everything? Who are you? Who do your secrets protect?”
She swallowed as if something was obstructing her throat.
“Perhaps it would be easier if you tell me about your parents?” he suggested. “Was your father a politician in the Republic of Genoa?”
She bit her lip and shook her head.
“Nobility, then?” he asked. His heart pounded in anticipation, not knowing what he was about to learn. She gave him the slightest nod.
His heart lurched. Jésus-Christ, he’d stolen a highborn lady from a convent.
He gripped her shoulders. “Dieu, enough. Who are you? To which noble family do you belong?”
She paused, struggling with her emotions and her next words. He held his breath.
“My name is…Angelica Marie-Louise de Castel. My father was Étienne Philippe de Castel, and my mother, Louise Fourché. They were the Comte and Comtesse de Beaulieu. I was their only child. I am French.”
For an instant, he was frozen. A French Aristo… “But your name, Angelica, that is not French.” His voice was nothing more than a raspy whisper.
“No. It was a name my father read once in a book, and when I was born, my parents agreed it suited me. It took some convincing of the priest at my christening, though…”
His head was spinning. Frantically, he scoured his memory, trying to recall if Robert had ever mentioned the Comte de Beaulieu before. “Why have you been in the Republic of Genoa for ten years?”
“I ran away from my home.”
He released her.
“To be with your lover?” He hated how much the notion bothered him as the image of a young girl full of romantic notions running off with a young man Paul’s age flashed in his mind. “You were an heiress, and yet you relinquished everything for him? Did he leave you, abandon you at the convent?”
“No. No.” She shook her head.
“Do you miss him?” He was horrified that the question left his mouth and that he would even care to know the answer.
“Never.” He could see pain in her eyes. She was vacillating. Part of her wanted to tell him, to reach out beyond the silence that had its hold on her.
Cupping her cheek again, he stared into her distraught eyes. He couldn’t stop his next words. “Did he break your heart? Did he make empty promises just to have you?”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before she whispered, “No…”
“My God, Angelica…” He couldn’t stand the secrecy of her past a moment longer. “Who is this man whom you gave the gift of your innocence to?”
She jumped back, pushing against his chest, surprising him. “I did not give him anything! He took it from me when he raped me.”
Her words were like a physical blow; he lost the air from his lungs.
Reeling, he stared at her, willing her to take back the words, to tell him it wasn’t so. Rape had been something he’d considered but the last thing he would have ever wanted to hear. It took a moment before he could breathe, before he could speak. Somehow, he forced out a single word. “Who?”
Tears glistened in her eyes. She looked away. Ever so softly, she said, “My stepfather.”
His stomach clenched.
“My mother was devastated when my father died. Afraid and feeling alone, she was unable to cope and remarried as quickly as she could. My stepfather turned out to be very different than he first appeared. Their marriage lasted a year. My mother died. He’
d obtained guardianship over me and control of my estate. One night, when he was well into his cups, he told me I was his and that I should start behaving like the lady of the house. He said that I would have…new duties now…”
Simon wanted to shout for her to stop, uncertain just how many details of the cruelty inflicted on her he could endure before he’d snap and succumb to the fit of rage simmering inside him, growing stronger with each and every hard thud of his heart. How could anyone harm this woman, his moonlight angel? He tried to speak, but he couldn’t command his voice, leaving him trapped in mute anguish.
Frozen with fury.
“I fought him. I tried to run. I fell.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “We wrestled…” She paused and met his gaze. The sorrowful look in her eyes, knowing the horror she’d endured, devastated him.
She looked down at the bed before she spoke again. “He…pulled up my skirts…and he…” Her voice faded. Simon closed his eyes briefly. She returned her gaze to his, waiting for a response he was unable to give.
“He did not…finish what he started. He passed out, but…by then the damage was done. The servants ran in and pulled him off me. My maid Audrey rushed me upstairs and helped me clean off the”—she looked away—“blood. That night, she and a servant named Renier took me away from that house, and it was decided that we would go to the Republic of Genoa, where my mother had a cousin. The journey was long. We were afraid my stepfather would find us. When we reached San Remo, the streets were very busy. A festival was in progress that day, and I became separated from Audrey and Renier. I searched…I don’t know how long… Madre Caterina found me in the crowd and brought me back to the convent, a distance away. I never told her what happened. I never told her about my cousin. I decided to stay and live out my days there…until I met you.”
She searched his face for his thoughts or a reaction.
Simon spoke not a word, not trusting himself to speak, not while excruciating images of a fourteen-year-old girl fighting off the perverted advances of a lecher as he overpowered and violated her tore through his mind. He fisted his hand. He was so incensed, his blood practically boiled in his veins. The air in his lungs burned. How he wished he had his sword and the very man who committed this deed before him.
