Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(68)

“I care about him too. He loves me and he was there for me all those years when you weren’t.”

“But you don’t love him,” Pierre insisted. “You couldn’t say the words to him. I saw it.”

The high morning sun beat down on her bare head, pounding with unrelenting pressure. “Maybe that doesn’t matter.”

With a growl Pierre jerked her against his chest, so that his face was only a breath away. His face was smeared with the dirt of battle and lined with weariness. But something powerful filled his eyes.

When he leaned into her, closing the gap between them, she didn’t have the strength or the will to resist him. He bent his face against hers, and she met his lips with eagerness. She was hungry for him and let his lips demand from her a response that she was all too willing to give.

Then he groaned and cut off the kiss, dragging his mouth away and leaving her lips bruised but wanting more.

“Don’t tell me that Jean’s kiss was anything like that.” Pierre’s chest heaved, his face once again a mask of frustration. “Don’t tell me you kissed him back the way you just kissed me.”

She couldn’t deny Pierre’s words. She shared a passion with Pierre that she’d never once felt with Jean. But could their passion and love survive the challenges they would face in the days to come? Yes, Pierre had claimed he’d give up his voyaging ways. But could he? Could they really be happy together?

She couldn’t bear the thought that Pierre would grow miserable on the island. And if she forced him to stay, she knew it was only a matter of time before he’d grow restless. Besides, she’d just promised that she’d wait for Jean’s return. How could she break her word?

Her mind spun with the memory of the winter morning her father had surprised them with his visit, of the joy that had spread across his face when he’d picked her up and embraced her with his big arms. His nose had been icy against hers, and the snow in his beard had tickled her cheeks.

But only moments later, his limbs had stiffened, and his expression had clouded with a confusion and pain that had ripped her little-girl heart, when her mother, wrapped only in a blanket, had swung open the bedroom door. The bare man-sized feet poking out from the end of the bed had been all her father had needed to see before he’d moaned in agony.

And his moan had ricocheted through the depths of Angelique’s soul. There were times in the quiet of the early morning before dawn that she could still hear it.

It was the groan of betrayal.

How could she ever bear to hear it come from Jean’s lips? And it would come eventually—if he learned she’d been cheating on him. Cheating just the way her mother had done with her father.

Angelique lifted trembling fingers to her lips to stifle a cry at the realization of what she’d been doing. She’d been unfaithful to Jean. She’d neglected her promise to him at the slightest attention from Pierre. She’d allowed Pierre’s flattery, his kisses, and his declarations of love to turn her head from doing the right thing, honoring her commitment to the man who adored her.

As much as she’d tried to prevent it, she’d become as brazen and forward as her mother. She’d reveled in forbidden kisses and touches. She’d let her flesh dictate the situation. What was to prevent it from happening again when the next man came along who turned her head? An anguished cry slipped from her lips, and tears sprang to her eyes. What kind of woman had she become?

She shouldn’t have let herself care about Pierre and make plans with him, at least not until she’d had the chance to talk honestly with Jean. She and Pierre should have waited, should have used restraint until Jean returned. If their love was strong enough and meant to be, wouldn’t it have lasted until after they’d done the honorable thing?

Instead she’d spurned all that Jean had offered her, his sweetness and goodness to her over the years. She’d gone behind his back, deceived him, and trampled his kindness in the dirt as if it meant nothing, just as her mother had done to her father, time and time again.

“Pierre, I’m sorry,” she whispered, yanking away from him, panic giving her new strength. “I can’t hurt Jean any further.”

Pierre fumbled for her, but she slipped out of his grasp and tumbled out into the open grass, where the soldiers in the blockhouse would be able to see her.

“Come back, Angelique,” Pierre hissed from his hiding spot in the brush.

She darted across the distance that separated her from the walls of the fort. She knew Pierre couldn’t follow her, not without putting himself in great danger.

“Angelique, ma cherie,” he called in a raspy whisper, “please come back.”

She forced her legs to run away from him, putting as much distance between them as she could.

The shout of a soldier came from one of the square firing holes in the blockhouse. They’d spotted her.

She couldn’t turn around now even if she wanted to. With a sob she forced her feet forward, even though she wanted to do nothing more than fling herself back into Pierre’s arms.



“I’m back,” Pierre said as he climbed through the narrow opening of the cavern.

“I’m surprised you returned,” Jean said weakly, “and didn’t leave me here to die.”

Pierre made his way across the incline to the back of the cave, to the dark recess where he’d hidden his brother. He didn’t reply. He was too angry, and ashamed to admit that he’d considered abandoning Jean.