It all made sense now—Nick’s swift changes in humor, his aversion to their marriage; the nun’s stall in London, the convent at Withington. He was in love with this Evelyn, and she had refused him.
The stupid, stupid girl.
Armand’s voice taunted her. “Do you now see? Your baron fancies another. Even now he rides to this Obny. Your place here is tenuous at best.”
Simone shook her head and looked up at her father. “He called for the letters to be burned. He must no longer desire her, or why would he wish them destroyed?”
“Ah, poor Simone,” Armand taunted, a sparkle in his eyes. “When I discovered the letters, all were still sealed.”
Panic welled, throbbing and fierce within her. “If he’s not read the letters, he does not know—”
“Oui.He does not know his long lost love wishes to return to him.” Armand rose, tossing the letter aside, where it fluttered and twisted and floated to the ground. He looked down at Simone with a haughty contempt. “How long do you think it will take Lord Handaar to relay the happy news to his friend?”
Simone shivered, staring at the pile of hateful truth as if in a trance.
“Fear not,” Armand soothed, his voice sounding abnormally comforting. “Once William is informed of the baron’s abandonment of you, compounded with his initial assault on your person, the king will no doubt grant us a divorce with lands and money. After all, you may be with noble child at this very moment. And I”—he looked around the lavish chamber, a secret, terrifying smile on his face—“I have come to feel a sort of affection for England. Mayhap I will stay on awhile—take a bride myself, before returning to France.”
Simone’s dread increased tenfold. She raised wide, tear-filled eyes to her father, and her voice was a shaky whisper when she spoke. “There will be no divorce, Papa.”
“What do you mean, there will be no divorce?” Armand cocked his head. “Surely you do not intend to remain married to a man who would bring his mistress to dwell alongside his wife?”
Simone shook her head. “There will be no divorce, for one is not necessary. ’Twill be an easy matter for Nicholas to be rid of me once he’s informed the king that—” She broke off, closing her eyes while a blazing heat crept over her face.
“What? Once he’s informed the king what?”
“That we have not made love.”
Armand’s face paled, and he returned to the chair near the bed. “Mon dieu,” he said, and continued speaking in a low voice, almost to himself. “This could ruin me. All that would be required to dissolve the union is a statement from the baron citing a lack of intimacy. She’d be examined by the king’s physician. He would demand I return the bride price.” Then Armand’s eyes blazed. “What is wrong with you, girl? Why have you not given your husband his due?”
“Papa, please.” Simone had never felt such shame. “Didier—”
“Non!” Armand bellowed. “Do not t-take his name in vain, not my beloved son whom you k-killed!” He calmed a bit. Beads of sweat tricked down the deep seam of scar on his forehead. “Your mad reasoning matters not. I must concern myself with securing your position. I cannot leave England just yet…”
Simone felt numb. Only hours ago, her life had been on the verge of blossoming into a happy and contented future. But now…now, perhaps Nicholas would return and demand she leave.
Simone licked her dry lips. “Perhaps naught will come of this. Lord Nicholas journeys to Obny on business, but surely he will tell such a good friend of his marriage. That will be the end of it. He will not forsake me.”
Armand’s eyes narrowed, and he perched his chin on his ruined fist. “What father would not scheme to have his daughter a baroness, hmm? Particularly if ’tis a love match between old friends?”
Simone rose slowly from the floor, her muscles twanging in protest so soon after her near miss in the bailey. “I’ll not draw any conclusions until the baron’s return.”
“Very well.” Simone was more than a little surprised at her father’s easy acceptance. “And I, too, shall stay on at Hartmoore until such time.”
“But, Papa, Lord Nicholas ordered—”
“Is it your wish to be tossed on your arse in a foreign country, alone and without so much as a mount should the baron favor the reluctant nun?” Armand demanded. “Tell me now, Simone, that I might know the very depths of your madness.”
Simone knew he spoke true. If Nicholas did usurp her position, where would she turn? She knew no one outside of Hartmoore and possessed not Armand’s conniving charm, which easily opened doors and garnered aid.
“I understand, Papa,” Simone said calmly. “But you cannot be here when Lord Nicholas returns. There is an inn at the village of Withington—”
Armand frowned. “I know of it, you addle-brained chit. Think you I slept on the ground on my journey to this hellish hold?”
Simone took a deep breath. She must remain in control. “Very well. Once Nicholas returns, I shall send for you and perhaps he will allow you respite. But you do goad him overmuch, Papa, and it would not aid my cause were I to deliberately disobey him.”
Armand chuckled as if she’d paid him a grand compliment and rose from the chair. “If he does not banish you from his home, I do believe Lady Genevieve will be of assistance in endearing me to her son. After all, she is a widow now, and with both her sons married, she will likely have want of a companion.”
Simone cringed at the thought of the graceful Genevieve and her father as a couple, but she made no comment as Armand passed her and crossed to the door. With his hand on the latch, he spoke a final time.
