Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(67)

Jean reached for her hand again. This time he brought it to his lips with uncharacteristic passion and kissed the back of her fingers. “I’ve missed you, Angelique.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she replied, hating that Jean’s lips against her skin elicited nothing, not even the tiniest of tingles.

“I’ve thought about you every day, every hour.” He tugged on her hand, giving her little choice but to lean closer to him. “It was the thought of marrying you that carried me through every horrible battle.”

Each of his words stabbed her tender heart again and again, until she didn’t think she could breathe through the pain in her chest. It was obvious he adored her.

“Jean . . .” Pierre began.

But then Jean pulled her down, captured her face between his hands, and guided her lips to his. For a long moment he moved his mouth against hers, and even though she tried to muster the response he would be expecting, the kiss felt stiff and forced. When he finally released her, she had to resist the urge to wipe her sleeve across her mouth to remove the cold wetness he’d left there.

“I love you, Angelique,” he said, placing one more kiss in her palm. “And the next time I set foot on this island, I’m going to marry you.”

She rested her hand against his cheek, knowing she should tell him she loved him too and that she couldn’t wait until he returned. Yet the words stuck in her throat.

When Jean had asked her to marry him two summers ago, before the war had started, she’d respected him and even cared deeply for him. She’d been so young, and it hadn’t mattered that she didn’t loved him. Jean had even said as much. He’d told her he loved her enough for the both of them. She’d figured that kind of marriage would be more than satisfying, especially compared to the life she had with Ebenezer . . .

Until Pierre returned and made her feel things she’d never known were possible.

“Come on, Angelique.” Pierre yanked her away from Jean almost roughly. “We’ve wasted enough time already. I need to get you back to the fort.”

“Tell me you’ll be waiting for me.” Jean clung to her hand with a desperation that hadn’t been there before.

She squeezed his hand but couldn’t make the words come out.

“Promise me.” His voice shook. “I don’t know how I can survive without knowing you’ll be there for me when I return.”

How could she refuse him now? He needed her. He needed to hope in their relationship. She couldn’t bear to think he might give up the will to live if she broke his heart now.

“I’ll be there,” she promised, trying to keep the misery from her tone.

Pierre pulled on one arm, and Jean held her fast with the other. She wavered between the two men, her heart wrenching into pieces. But Jean’s grip was weakening, and one last tug from Pierre was all it took for Jean to lose his hold and for her to fall against Pierre.

“There’s no time to waste.” Pierre dragged her toward the cave entrance. “We’ve got to get you back inside the fort before the battle ends or you’ll come under suspicion too.”

She didn’t argue with Pierre. She followed him out of the cave, into the woods, and ran silently after him as he led her in the direction of the fort. She tried to think of some excuse she could offer the sentinel for why she was so late in returning from her fishing, but all she could think about was Jean lying in the darkness, in pain, and how he’d be in greater agony if he learned she’d broken her commitment to him.

Could she really break it?

The question pounded louder with each step she took away from the cave until it drowned everything else out.

When they were within sight of the walls of the fort, Pierre halted. He pulled her down to a crouch next to him so that they were hidden in the shrubs.

His chest heaved with his breathing, much the same as hers.

“My fish?” she asked.

“No time to go back for them.”

She nodded. In the sticky heat of the morning, the fish would likely be covered with flies and starting to turn putrid anyway.

“This is as far as I can go.” He peered toward the west blockhouse and the North Sally Port beyond. “Tell the sentinel you got caught in the path of the battle. He’ll believe you.”

In the distance the popping of gunfire continued to echo with the occasional blast of a cannon. The Indian war shrieks had faded, and she could only pray that Pierre had been wrong, that the tide of the battle had changed to favor the American troops.

She started to rise, but then stopped and grabbed Pierre’s arm before he could slip away. “Don’t tell Jean about us yet, Pierre. Please. Promise me.”

His brows came together in a stormy furrow. “We need to tell him sooner or later. Why wait?”

“He’s hurt, and I can’t stand the thought of causing him more pain.”

“I suppose that’s why you lied to him—why you told him you’d be there for him?”

“I don’t know,” she said, wanting to block out the anger flashing in Pierre’s eyes. “I didn’t know what to tell him. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“You don’t know what to do?” Pierre gripped her shoulders and made her face him. “How can there even be a choice? You love me. Not him.”