Fiery Tales: Undone Part 2

Chapter Two.

Angelica moaned softly. A terrible ache pounded inside her skull.

Little by little, the darkness dissolved until she could detect rays of light. Objects took on recognizable shapes, yet nothing looked familiar. No resemblance to any room she'd ever seen at the convent. The chamber she was in was decorated with colors of light green and gold. A costly green velvet chair sat before the hearth across from the foot of the bed. The furnis.h.i.+ngs were too fine. Too ornate.

Where am I?

She moved her gaze to the right. Sunlight cascaded from the window. With a groan, she shut her eyes tightly and turned away from the a.s.sailing light. The sudden movement sent a stabbing pain directly to her temples.

She remained still, eyes closed, until the pain subsided. Thoughts came to her slowly, scrambled, as she attempted to recall her last memories. The chapel. Madre. The horrible incident with the stick...

Without moving her head, she opened her eyes once more.

A woman sat near the bed, chin down and fast asleep. A woman she didn't recognize. A woman not in gray, the required dress at the convent. The silver-haired woman's modest clothing was a distinct contrast to the richness of the room.

Unease seeped into her system; her pulse quickened.

The woman beside her stirred, and her eyes fluttered open. She looked straight at Angelica and came to her feet.

"Dieu, you're awake!" she exclaimed and rushed from the room.

Angelica's heart jumped to her throat.

Had the woman just spoken French? Though she hadn't spoken the language in years, she'd understood every word.

Dear G.o.d. Where was she!

Exhausted, Simon strode toward the dining hall of the Chateau Arles.

Located by the sea, the isolated chateau belonged to the recently retired Commodore of the King's Navy-Robert d'Arles. Simon had spent much of his youth here with Robert, when they weren't at sea, at war.

It was an ideal place for Simon to rendezvous with his s.h.i.+ps.

Robert had returned from Paris during Simon's brief trip to the Republic of Genoa and was waiting to break fast with him. Normally, Simon would be delighted to spend time with the man who'd saved his life, had raised him as his own and taught him everything he knew about s.h.i.+ps and battle.

But not today.

Today there was something he needed to say to Robert. It was a conversation he never thought he'd have. The words he had to voice to his mentor weighed heavily on him.

Dieu, everything was in shambles. Even his good judgment was askew. Last night's events further emphasized that. Never had he pursued a beautiful woman without first giving cautious consideration beforehand to any possible reprisals. He'd always prided himself on his self-control, on his ac.u.men. Yet, last eve he'd done something completely impetuous and chased a pretty face into a convent.

Thank G.o.d, the two women weren't from n.o.ble families.

Having sailed the short distance back to France, his s.h.i.+p had arrived well before dawn. He'd carried the beauty, still trapped in slumber, to one of the second-floor bedchambers and managed to coax her friend to retire to a separate chamber for rest.

He could still feel the heated effects of having Angelica's soft, sweet form against him, desire still humming in his veins. In fact, each time he gazed upon the captivating face that had provoked his uncharacteristic behavior, raw l.u.s.t licked up his spine. His physical reactions to her were confounding in the extreme.

Anxious to speak to the moonlight angel, he'd given orders to inform him the moment she awoke. No doubt she'd be pleased to be out of that convent. For good.

Yet he forced himself to stop short of imagining the various ways she might demonstrate her appreciation.

Simon entered the dining hall with her divine singing echoing in his mind.

"Ah, Simon, there you are!" Robert d'Arles-Marquis de Nevelon, Comte de Sorbon-rose from the table with the a.s.sistance of a cane.

The sight was jarring.

A splinter of wood that had fragmented during a cannon attack had pierced Robert's leg, fracturing it. It seemed inconceivable that his life at sea was over. A life Robert so greatly adored. At fifty-five, his strong physique sculpted by his physical lifestyle was evident even in the finery of his silk, olive-green doublet and breeches. Simon had always seen Robert as invincible. A high-ranking naval officer. An Aristo whose conquests on the sea and in the boudoir were legendary.

"I wasn't certain you'd join me this morning. I heard you brought two women back with you. What's the matter, my boy? Are you finding one at a time is not enough these days?" Simon could readily see the physical misery Robert's leg was causing him reflecting in his gray eyes, despite his smile.

Robert was a proud man. Simon purposely schooled his features to show indifference to his condition and forced a smile in return. "I'll have to double my efforts if I'm to hope for a chance of matching your mult.i.tude of comely ladies by the time I reach your age," he teased, hoping his answer was enough to put an end to the topic. A discussion about who the women were and how they came to be here was the last thing Simon wanted at the moment.

Robert chuckled as they sat down at the table. "You've done exceedingly well in your own right-not just with the ladies but at sea as well. You do me proud."

It was a great compliment coming from the greatest man Simon had ever known. He was about to respond when the servants entered with the morning meal. Robert continued the moment they were alone again, not allowing him a reply.

"I understand that your s.h.i.+ps have been highly successful. As usual." His tone was once again full of pride. "Fouquet must have been quite pleased to see the sum."

Simon swallowed-the food having just turned bitter in his mouth. Simply hearing Fouquet's name soured his insides and rioted with his conscience.

"Why shouldn't he be pleased? I'm certain Nicolas Fouquet could use the money to construct an addition to his enormous new chateau. Isn't Vaux-le-Vicomte grander than Fontainebleau-the king's finest palace?" He couldn't hold back the venom in his tone.

Robert stopped eating. "Careful, now. To suggest-even remotely-that the Superintendent of Finance is misappropriating funds from the treasury is a dangerous accusation to make. Do not make powerful foes, Simon. Let the king deal with Fouquet. You must stay focused on your goal. It's only a matter of time before you receive the recognition you deserve from our king. Then Louis will at last enn.o.ble you and allow you to become an officer in his navy-just as we have always wanted."

Robert's words stabbed straight into the core of Simon's being. Though he had no choice, Simon hated telling the man to whom he owed his every success, who had championed Simon at every turn, sharing in his dream of betterment-that it was all dead.

The dream was done.

Everything they'd hoped for would never come to pa.s.s.

"Robert, it is time to stop dreaming and accept reality; our king is weak. And completely uninterested in his own kingdom," he said in restrained, even tones, wrestling to keep his ire in check. "He's left the realm vulnerable to the corruption that now infests it-namely Fouquet and the First Minister Cardinal Mazarin, who both battle for his power. Louis is not going to change. Nor is he going to recognize anything I do. Or have ever done."

Robert shoved his plate aside. "Nonsense. With your naval successes and the wealth you've earned for the Crown, it will only be a matter of time-"

"It will not be a matter of time."

"It will! I believe in our king. He is an intelligent man. He is young-true. But he will come around, and he will take the reins from Fouquet and Mazarin, and be the king he was meant to be."

"Dear G.o.d, Robert, how can you say that? Louis had his coronation at fifteen. He's now almost twenty-two, and still he doesn't rule, letting others run his country for him-preferring to spend his time with his mistress and on his ridiculous ballets."

Robert sat back, looking incredulous. "What in the world has gotten into you? I've never heard you speak this way. Becoming enn.o.bled and an officer in the King's Navy has always been your dream. Why this change of heart? Why now? You are so close to attaining all that you've worked for. What has happened?"

Grim, his heart heavy, Simon shook his head. "Thomas Jaures is dead. He was captured by the Spanish. My men found his body dumped on the French border. All evidence shows that he wasn't executed but rather tortured to death. Gilbert and Daniel have yet to be found."

Robert frowned. "I had no idea."

"Without Thomas, it will prove most difficult to continue as in the past. To infiltrate with another spy of Thomas's caliber will take much time..." A friend like Thomas can never be replaced. His brutal, senseless death would never be forgotten. "Fouquet's demands for more captured silver from the Spanish are unceasing and ever growing. Mazarin is unconcerned with what Fouquet does with the Crown's money so long as there is enough to fund his war and expand the realm. And the king simply doesn't care about anything but dancing and f.u.c.king. I've had enough." He felt disgust down to the very marrow of his being. Everything he'd done for his country and king, everything he'd worked for was now tainted.

In blood.

"Listen to me." Robert grasped Simon's wrist and gave it a squeeze to punctuate his words. "I know Thomas was your friend and a good man, but you cannot allow his death to cloud your thinking. We are at war with Spain. Men die. This is simply battle fatigue you're experiencing. Nothing more."

"This is not battle fatigue. Dieu. Don't you see the corpses scattered around? I returned three weeks ago not only to learn of Thomas's gruesome death, but also to find that our villages and country roads now resemble battlefields. Only there are no dead soldiers upon the ground. Just the lifeless bodies of innocent men, women, and children-dead of starvation. Driven by his infinite greed, Fouquet is literally taxing our people to death and using the funds from the Crown Treasury as his personal wealth!" Outrage yanked Simon to his feet. He began to pace, trying to settle his agitation, fighting back the urge to slam his fist into the wall.

After months at sea, he'd returned to see his dream replaced by a nightmare.

"You have no proof he steals," Robert countered.

That stopped him dead in his tracks. "Proof? The proof is that obscene palace he's building, right under Louis's nose!" Jesus-Christ. The riches he'd put into Fouquet's hands had helped create this monster!

How it f.u.c.king goaded him.

That he'd helped Fouquet succeed in his ambitions, enabling him to wreak such misery on the lower cla.s.s, that he'd allowed himself and his men to be used as p.a.w.ns-including Thomas, Gilbert, and Daniel-in Fouquet's schemes had been eating away at his very vitals every waking moment for the last three weeks.

"Though I'd heard Fouquet was building a new abode for himself some time ago," Simon continued, "I'd never seen Vaux-le-Vicomte before. Upon my return, I was ordered to deliver the Crown's share of our recent captured silver directly to his new chateau. Merde. I've never seen anything like it. Gilded ceilings. Gold-woven rugs-opulence both inside and out-while decomposing bodies line the route to his ostentatious castle!"

So many wasted lives... Simon felt sick inside. And responsible. "Our peasants have never before been in such a desperate state." In all the carnage he'd been a party to during their war with Spain, nothing-absolutely nothing-had been more horrific than the devastation he'd witnessed since his return. Infants cold in death at their mothers' b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The rotting flesh of countless forsaken souls. People of his own cla.s.s.

It wasn't all that long ago that he was just like them-helplessly impoverished.

"Simon, the peasants have always experienced hards.h.i.+ps."

"Hards.h.i.+ps, yes. Decimation of this magnitude, never."

Robert was born into n.o.bility and privilege. He was a good man-in fact, there were few like him in his cla.s.s-but he didn't nor could he truly understand what it was like to be dest.i.tute-hopelessly trapped in poverty.

Always at the mercy of the upper cla.s.s.

All Simon had ever wanted was never again to be vulnerable to the upper cla.s.s the way commoners were. It was the reason he'd pursued social status long after he'd attained wealth, for wealth alone wasn't enough to safeguard him. However, while chasing his ambitions, he hadn't intended to impose suffering on those who had already suffered enough.

He should have heeded the niggling doubts he'd had about Fouquet since his appointment as Finance Minister. He should have seen the signs of corruption sooner. Now he could practically trip over the glaring evidence of it.

"Those poor souls are at the mercy of a Superintendent of Finance whose excesses are without conscience or limit, and whose actions go completely unchecked. And I"-Simon jabbed his finger into his chest-"have helped that serpent slither to the top."

"All you have done is what was expected of you-your duty."

Simon set his palms down on the table and looked Robert in the eye. "I've ordered men into battle and had them die in a war that is about nothing but profit for Fouquet and Mazarin. I want no part of Fouquet's nefarious plans of grandeur. I've been chasing a fool's dream. I want no part of any of this anymore."

How could he have been so foolish as to believe that hard work and dedication could ever earn him an elevated position from men such as these?

"Giving up will not make it better for the lower cla.s.s, I a.s.sure you," Robert said. "Without the money you contribute to the Treasury, Fouquet will make it worse for them. For as long as Fouquet and Mazarin maintain their powerful posts, you must continue. Fouquet will not allow you to simply walk away."

Simon slammed his fist down on the table, unable able to stem the fury that boiled in his blood. "I know. The accomplishments I believed would have elevated me from commoner and afforded me an officer's commission are the very deeds that hold me bound to him now."

The older man held up his hand. "Enough," he said with finality. "This talk is mad and suicidal. I'll continue my efforts to bend the king's ear. In the meantime, rise above this. Remain focused on the prize you seek. You have earned it! For the love of G.o.d, don't do anything to defy Fouquet. You will be arrested and executed for treason-and likely your men as well. Think of them..."

Simon sat back down, feeling weary. "I do think of them, Robert. They have fought, risked their lives, died-and for what?"

"For France. For the people. For honor."

"Honor? Where is there honor in any of this?"

"There is honor in fighting for your country! And we have fought hard and true during this war! There is honor in you, in having the courage to reach beyond what life handed you at birth. Look at where you came from, and look at where you are now. The son of a fisherman is today a privateer commander of fourteen s.h.i.+ps, seven of which are rented wars.h.i.+ps belonging to the king himself! And if that were not enough, do not forget the island."

The island. His island. Oh no, he hadn't forgotten that. It was the place he longed for...and hadn't seen for two years.

Years ago, he'd sailed to New Spain to attack Spanish s.h.i.+ps and ports for profit for France-just as he'd been ordered. It was there, among the many islands of the West Indies, some controlled by European colonists, others independent pirate kingdoms, that Simon found the island he'd named Marguerite.

It was now home for him, his men, and their families. Solidly fortified. Independently theirs.

"Once I have news about my missing men, I intend to return to the island for a while. Louis's s.h.i.+ps will remain, but my own will follow me back to Marguerite."

He needed time away from France and war. He needed time to plan and think. He didn't believe that Robert could sway their king. Moreover, he refused to be an instrument in Fouquet's quest for personal gain any longer. No matter what Robert said, Simon couldn't turn a blind eye to what was happening to his people, nor could he ignore the self-condemnation that tormented him.

What Robert didn't know was that Simon had established new spies, not in Spain-where he'd placed Thomas, Gilbert, and Daniel-but as servants in Fouquet's own domain. Spies who had already begun to provide information about Fouquet's dealings-in commerce and trade, as well as personal matters.

Though it meant the death of a dream he'd craved for so long, he was going to get out of Fouquet's clutches-but he'd have to be focused. And at the moment, he was far too enraged to concentrate. Or to lead himself and his men out of this perilous tangled web-alive.

"Perhaps a rest is best for now," Robert ceded reluctantly. "But do not make it lengthy. You must make sure you continue to meet Fouquet's demands."

Wis.h.i.+ng to change the subject, Simon asked, "Why don't you return with me to Marguerite? There is sun, warm breezes, and attractive women to while away the time with."

His comment drew a soft laugh from Robert. "I serve you better if I stay in France, particularly in Paris, with the king. I plan to return there tomorrow."

"So soon?"

"Now that I am retired, I have been reacquainting myself with old friends..." Robert's smile faded. "At first I missed the sea, Simon. Dieu, I missed it so...but now I realize that I miss something else more."

"What is that?"

"A home. A wife. Children."

Simon was shocked. "Regrets? You, Robert?" Over the years, he'd witnessed countless mistresses fill Robert's leisure time. He'd always been completely contented with his bachelorhood.

Robert's smile was rueful. "I wonder from time to time what my life would have been like had I chosen to marry."

"It's not too late."

"Perhaps..." Then he added, "Perhaps it is something that you should consider."