My dearest son,
’Twas with great pleasure and surprise that I read of your unexpected detainment at court. I am delighted that you have wed and have prepared your chamber to accommodate the baroness.
I look forward to your homecoming with great anticipation and feel certain that I shall be as enchanted with your new bride as you seem to be.
Your loving mother,
Genevieve
“Do I enchant you, Nicholas?” Simone asked, handing the parchment back to him. She knew her smile betrayed her pleasure.
“You do.” He set the missive aside. Reaching for her, he pulled her onto his lap. “Would you prefer to call me Nick? My family does.”
“I would like that very much. Nick.” She felt a silly giddiness at his nearness, and when his name rolled off her tongue sounding more like “Neek,” they both laughed.
“I think you will get on well with my mother,” Nick said through his smile.
“Oh?” Simone was fascinated by the texture of his skin.
“Mm-hmm. She is French as well.”
Simone raised her eyebrows. “Verily? Would that she had been in attendance at our wedding. Why did she not accompany you and your brother to London?”
The small muscles around Nick’s mouth seemed to tense for a moment before he answered her. “Mother does not often come to London. She left France on rather bad terms and has no wish to encounter anyone from her past.”
Now Simone was intrigued. “Your brother’s surname is D’Argent—is he not also French?”
“He is.” Nick was silent for a long time, so long, in fact, that Simone thought him not to elaborate further. But then he did speak, his voice strained. “I’ve only known Tristan for two years,” he said. “In truth, he is my half-brother, born in Paris and left behind when my mother came to England and married my father. D’Argent was my mother’s maiden name.”
“She abandoned him?” Simone asked quietly.
Nick shook his head. “She thought him dead. Tristan was abducted as a young boy, sold into slavery by my mother’s first husband—he was not Tristan’s father. When my mother discovered Tristan missing, when her husband boasted of what he’d done”—Nick looked away for a moment—“she killed him. Fled France a murderess.”
Simone’s shock knew no end. To look upon the Baron of Crane and his brother, one would never think that roots of such a sinister nature grew beneath their shining exteriors. “King William knows this?” she asked.
“He does, and he’s absolved her of any crime.”
Simone was quiet for a time, digesting this very personal confession, and was started back to the present when Nicholas asked, “Does this change your opinion of me?”
“After what I have told you of my own family? Of course not,” Simone insisted. “I admit that I am quite surprised by your mother’s past, but I admire her for her strength. Not many women, I think, could bear such a burden. You must feel very lucky to have them both.
“My mother is a treasure,” Nicholas admitted, and then winced. “Tristan and I are…still becoming acquainted. He feels he needs protect me since my father’s death. Mother dotes on him, in recompense for the many years they were separated.”
“You’re a good man, Nicholas,” Simone said. “And so is your brother. I am certain you both will work out any differences between you.”
Simone felt closer to Nick since they had shared so much, and she wanted to scrape up her courage and ask him of his exploits of the previous night—she felt she had to know. But then Nick’s gaze grew warm and he brought his head down to Simone’s. She turned slightly to deepen the kiss, and her worry was forgotten.
Simone felt his hand rise up over her hip to her waist. Up her back, into her hair, now smoothing over her shoulder and sliding down to the side of her breast. Her heart raced, and a small purr of pleasure escaped her throat into Nick’s mouth.
She’d not seen Didier in over an hour, when he’d raced from the chamber with his ever-present feather. Perhaps now…
…he could finally take his wife.
Nick groaned as Simone’s passionate mew vibrated inside his skull and she arched into his chest. He brought the arm not behind her back under her knees and stood, lifting her easily. Without breaking contact with her mouth, he carried her the length of the chamber before depositing her gently on the furs.
Nick pulled away and stood at the side of the bed, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks, like pink flower petals floating on fresh cream. Her lips were full and parted, and Nick pulled his tunic over his head. He kicked off his boots as his hands went to the laces at his chausses.
And then Simone’s face fell.
