She fought past the sob in her throat, and a hot, fat tear splashed onto her bodice. “Whenever you wish, my love.”
“Farewell, Sister.”
Simone could not say it, and so she simply smiled.
Didier turned on his heel, and Simone gained her feet to watch him. With a delighted giggle, he burst into a run through the hall, fast, faster, and his laughter broke loose of him and swelled. Through the gaping hole in the rear of the hall he raced, and as he leaped off the edge of the cliff, his arms outstretched, Nick’s feather in his small fist, Simone heard him call out “Maman!”
Then, in a blink, he was gone.
And Simone knew he was at last free.
“Simone! Simone!”
She heard the running footfalls, the delicate inflection of her name being spoken by a native countryman. But she did not turn. She could not seem to take her eyes from the view of the sea, the mellow sun taking this horrible, wonderful day away from her.
But then arms snapped around her, pulling her into an embrace, and they were not Nick’s arms.
“Simone,mon dieu!” Charles gasped and then held her away to look into her eyes. “I saw the ship smashed upon the rocks and I thought…I feared…” He broke off, appearing genuinely terrified, and crushed her to him again.
“Release my wife, Beauville.” Nicholas’s voice brooked no argument.
Charles turned but left one arm about Simone’s shoulders. “Simone is coming home to France with me and her father. I love her and I want to marry her.” Charles looked down at Simone, his eyes still fearful. “I do Simone. I love you.”
“Simone is already married,” Nicholas said mildly, helping Genevieve to her feet. When he was assured that she could stand, he approached the arrogant Charles. “But if she wishes to return with you, then it is her decision to make.”
A murderous look flitted over the Frenchman’s angular face. Charles looked to the old man, approaching beyond Nick’s shoulder. “Jehan?” he called, as if seeking the elder’s aid.
Simone’s father walked past Nicholas looking fragile and ancient. He came to stand before Simone, took both of her hands, and moved her a step away from Charles. “Give us a moment, son.” He smiled at Simone. “My darling.”
Simone was radiant. Her hair bedraggled and snarled around her face, dried blood and smears of dirt on her cheeks, her gown now black and ruined.
Nick thought she had never looked lovelier.
“You are my father,” Simone said wondrously, and then embraced him.
And that was when the first real prickling of fear pierced Nick’s heart. This was Simone, with the father she’d always craved. Jehan loved her, had loved Portia and Didier. Even Charles Beauville had done naught but shout his love for Simone from the moment he’d come to Hartmoore. And Simone had been without that particular comfort from anyone for quite some time.
Including myself,Nick thought.
Simone drew away with a little hiccough. She touched Jehan’s face and smiled before turning to Nick’s mother.
“Lady Genevieve?” she asked, as if unsure how the woman would receive her.
“Oh, Simone!” Genevieve and Nick’s wife collapsed against each other. “You brave, brave girl. Brave girl!” she insisted. “I owe you my life, and the life of my son.”
“Nay.” Simone leaned back. “’Twas you who saved us all.” She glanced down at his mother’s wrist, now wrapped in a strip of dirty underdress. “Is it very bad?”
“Just a scrape,” Genevieve assured her. She looked at Nick, her gaze tired but intense. “Simone refused to leave me. She had chance to escape, time and again, but would not go. Without her, I think I would have given up.”
Nicholas caught his mother’s meaning easily. Simone had risked Armand’s madness, her own life, to ensure the safety of his mother. He looked at her.
“’Twould seem I owe you a great debt as well, Simone.”
She stared at him for a long moment, and Nicholas felt his control of the situation slipping through his grasp.
“You own me naught, my lord.”
And then Nick was terrified.
