Armand merely shrugged. “You will learn.”
Simone’s bravado had more or less run out, but she could not keep from pressing on. “Then you did not loveMamaneither?”
Armand turned to look down at his daughter, a bemused smile twisting his face. “Of course not.”
A lump caught in Simone’s throat and she fought to break it to pieces by swallowing hard. She could not block the implications of Armand’s confession: neither of his children had been conceived in love. She was infinitely glad Didier had not been present to hear the blithe admission—surely all of Hartmoore would be incased in ice if he had.
But now was not the time to shed tears over Portia’s loveless union, not when Simone’s future teetered on Lady Genevieve’s return. Nick’s mother’s demeanor would likely set the tone for Simone’s life at Hartmoore, and Simone could only hope that whatever past lay between the dowager baroness and Armand, it would not taint Simone’s relationship with Nick.
And she was unable to wait any longer for her husband’s return. Simone straightened her spine, composed her face. “If you will excuse me, Papa, I’m going to find Lord Nicholas.” She turned to go, but Armand’s hand snaked out, staying her.
“Non.You will wait here with me and we will hear Lady Genevieve’s explanation together.”
Simone wrenched her arm from his grip and backed out of his reach. “I will not. I am worried for the lady and wish to speak tomy husbandprivately.”
Armand’s face darkened, and the skin drew taut from his eye to his chin. “Don’t threaten me, Simone. You’ll do as I say, and I’ll have no argument from you.”
“Is aught amiss?”
Simone nearly wept with relief as Nick’s strong voice filled the hall. She spun to see him crossing the breadth of the chamber, a very pale Genevieve between him and Tristan.
“My lord,” she breathed. She took a step toward them but then hesitated, glancing at Nick’s mother.
Genevieve must have seen the uncertainty in Simone’s eyes, for she smiled then, and beckoned to Simone. “Come, darling. All is well.”
Simone reached mother and sons in a score of steps. “My lady, how do you fare?”
“I am much better now.” Genevieve glanced up at Nicholas. “’Twould seem I became overexcited at the surprise arrival of…an old acquaintance.” She released her sons’ arms, and Simone thought she saw a look of determination harden the woman’s eyes.
Had Genevieve been trying to convince Simone or Nicholas with that neat explanation? Simone could not tell.
The dowager baroness pulled Simone to her and tucked her into her husband’s side. With an oddly bright smile, she turned toward Armand.
“Lord du Roche, I do hope you’ll accept my apology for my earlier behavior.”
Simone rose slightly on her toes and tilted her head closer to Nick’s. “What is this?” she whispered.
Nick frowned and shook his head, nodding toward Armand’s approach, as if to say, “Watch and see.”
“Please,” Armand said, reaching Genevieve and bowing. “I can only imagine the shock it must have been.”
Lady Genevieve’s nostrils flared. “You are very gracious. Indeed, you also must have been taken by surprise.”
Armand shrugged. “I always knew we would meet again. But what matters now is that our children have happily joined in marriage. How fortunate for us both that we will not be relegated to being kin to strangers, eh?”
“Fortunate. Of course.”
No one in the hall moved, and Simone felt the tension gripping them all like a giant fist. If someone did not say something to disrupt the terrible silence, Simone felt as though she would scream.
Nicholas cleared his throat. “Well, then. We must be off. Tristan?”
The large blond man to Simone’s left nodded, his eyes never leaving Armand. “Yea. Mother, do you require assistance in settling…your guest?”
Genevieve did not turn when she replied to her elder son, but continued to stare at Armand. “The pair of you go on, and have your farewells with your wives. I shall see to Lord du Roche personally.”
Simone glanced to Nick, urging him with her eyes to intervene. For reasons unknown to her, she did not like the implications behind Lady Genevieve’s words, nor the very manner in which her father stood before the woman, as if poised to pounce on her at first opportunity. She suddenly wished more than anything that she had quietly acquiesced to her husband’s initial command to bar Armand from Hartmoore.
Nick frowned. “Are you certain, Mother?”
