To Tame the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 0) (18 page)

No matter his beginnings, Claire was proud of what he’d
become. He had accomplished much with no help save his own efforts and the
guilt money from his father. He had gained the respect of his men and, likely,
his country for his role in the war. Somewhere underneath it all she sensed the
pain he harbored from his past, a pain that kept him distant from others. She
did not want him to remain distant from her.

It was love she was feeling she realized sadly. A love that
could never be.

“You are very beautiful tonight, mademoiselle,” he said,
setting his brandy on the mantel. Closing the distance between them, he took
her gloved hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles, sending ripples of
pleasure coursing through her.

“Thank you, Captain. And you are very dashing tonight.
’Twould seem London has been good for you.”

“I can wear the costume when I must.” He winked at her and
she knew he was thinking of the night they had met in Saint-Denis, the night
she’d fallen from a tree.

She decided not to allow his amusement at her girlish
behavior to rouse her anger. “It suits you,” she said.

Lord Danvers carried a glass of sherry to her and she
happily accepted it, taking a swallow of the dry, nutty-tasting wine. She
needed courage for the evening.

Simon stood at the edge of the room watching the guests
cluster around the beautiful French girl who, to all appearances, was practiced
at her charms, handily trading quips with London’s elite. Simon had anticipated
that she would be the object of much male attention among those invited to the soirée,
but he did not have to like it.

Underneath her carefree manner, he suspected she was still
the innocent, convent-raised girl he’d met two years ago. Not as reckless and
perhaps a bit wiser, but still innocent. She was blossoming into womanhood and
the realization he would never see her as a mother of her own children or the
grand hostess she would one day become hit him with a wave of remorse. If she
had her way and returned to the convent, none of it would ever be. That he
might want her to have children and they be his own was something he’d not
fully admitted, even to himself.

The parlor was crowded with members of London’s aristocracy,
guests of Lord and Lady Danvers. Clearly, the young British lord and his
American wife were well liked by members of the
ton
. That they had a
friend who was a known privateer, rumored to be the bastard of an English
nobleman, was just another interesting tidbit for conversation. He suspected
some of the women who openly flirted with him believed him a rogue.

Lady Willowby, a young widow, who’d been looking at him over
her fan all evening, sidled up to him then.

“Captain Powell,” the pretty brunette said, touching her fan
to his arm, “you are a welcome sight.”

“Good evening, Lady Willowby.”

At his use of her title, she gave a disappointed pout. “Are
we not good enough friends for you to call me Amanda?”

“I should hardly think that proper,” he returned, wanting to
use the formality to keep her at a distance.

She moved closer until her rounded softness touched his arm.
He could feel the heat of her breast through his coat sleeve. “But we don’t
have to be proper, you and I,” she whispered behind her fan. “My carriage
awaits outside.”

That she would think he would jump at the chance to get
beneath her skirts rankled. A year ago, perhaps, but not now. “I have a guest
to look after,” he said stiffly.

“Ah yes, the young French woman.” She looked to where Claire
was talking with several young men. “But she appears to be occupied with her
many admirers.”

Simon inwardly cringed at the reminder. “Just the reason I
must keep watch.”

“Like an older brother?” Lady Willowby batted her eyelashes
in feigned interest.

He chuckled. “Just so.” Let the woman think what she would.
But he was no older brother and he kept watch over Claire as much for his own
sake as for hers.

“Well, then,” said Lady Willowby, turning to leave, “another
time, perhaps.”

He tipped his head and smiled as she joined the crush. He
had long ago stopped caring what such women thought of him or what the members
of the
ton
whispered.

Because she was American, Lady Danvers had once been a
subject of gossip, or so she had told him. But that had changed in recent years
with her husband’s port-drinking Whigs who were sympathetic to America’s desire
for independence. And since they expected to soon be at peace with France, none
held Claire’s nationality against her. Like French food, fashions and brandy,
she was another novelty to be examined and enjoyed. Why such a young woman was
in London at this particular time was a matter of some speculation among the
guests, but Cornelia came up with a convincing story of a distant relation that
everyone seemed to accept.

He lifted a glass of champagne from the tray offered by the
passing footman but refused the puffed pastry with beef and mushrooms. Sipping
the golden liquid, he kept his eyes on Claire.

“You could ask her to dance,” said Cornelia, joining him.
“And perhaps you should. See the man just approaching her? He is the young Duke
of Albany, just come into his title on the death of his father. He’ll be
looking for a wife soon. I understand he has ties to Scotland, and through
them, to the French. You might want to be careful about leaving her alone with
him too long.”

“Matchmaking, Cornelia? A bastard and a future nun seem
hardly a pair.” Even as he said it, the hard truth grated. He could never
compete with a duke, or any member of the nobility.

“Now there you’d be wrong,” she said, rapping her fan on his
arm. “Claire would care not a whit for your beginnings, Simon. She does not
judge men that way. Of course, her father presents a problem.”

“And do not forget it is my crew he holds captive. She is my
guarantee they will be safely returned.”

“I have not forgotten,” said the baroness, “and neither has
Claire. Still, I’d like to see her remain in London. Can you not arrange that?
I’ve quite gotten used to her company, you know.”

“I do not think that possible.” Simon said nothing more.
What was there to say? Cornelia had accurately summed up the whole affair.
Claire’s father, his men, their ridiculous situation.

“Well,” Cornelia whispered conspiratorially, “when the music
starts, I suggest you be the first to offer Claire your arm. Or be content to
have some young rake claim her.”

At his frown, Cornelia sallied forth to join her guests. The
baroness knew just how to stir his discontent.

A moment later, William Eden, attired in his customary
shades of brown, replaced Cornelia at Simon’s side.

“Finally alone. Good. I was hoping for a word.”

Simon raised his brow as he lifted his champagne to his
lips.

“When do you leave?”

“I sail for Rye as soon as my ship is loaded, tomorrow or
the next day.”

Eden directed his gaze to the object of Simon’s attention.
“And you take the mademoiselle with you?”

“I do.”
What scheme was forming in Eden’s mind now?
“I would not leave her behind when I need her for the exchange.”

“Ah yes,” said Eden, tugging his waistcoat down. “The
exchange. I’d like to have word of the arrangements when they are made. ’Twould
be a perfect time to capture the French pirate.”

Simon nearly choked on his champagne. “It hardly seems the
done thing, to coin a phrase of the
ton
. You would allow me to set up a
prisoner exchange as a means to betray the trust implied? He may be our enemy,
Eden, but I’ll not do it. Besides, something is bound to go wrong and my men,
unarmed and weakened by wounds, might be killed. Not to mention the girl. No, I
like it not. And I’m surprised that you would risk provoking an incident on the
heels of negotiations just commencing with the Americans.”

“I will think on it more, but the idea appeals.”

“I gave my word.”

“To a pirate, one who serves the enemy, I might add.” Eden
smirked.

Simon’s mouth twisted in a scowl. He did not intend to give
Eden the chance to involve him in that kind of duplicity. Claire’s father would
only think worse of him than he already did.

“No longer a pirate, he is a privateer as am I.” In the
distance, Simon heard the music begin. “Excuse me,” he said to Eden, “I must
see to my guest.” With that, he left the statesman and strode to Claire just as
some young buck was about to ask her to dance.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, offering her his arm, “This is our
dance, I believe.”

Claire was startled for only a moment and then she allowed
her pleasure to show, no matter his lie. “Of course, Captain Powell, how could
I forget?” Making her apologies to the young man with whom she’d been speaking,
whose expression made clear his displeasure at being cut out, Claire took the
captain’s arm and followed him to where the others had just begun dancing.

It was the same minuet she had watched him dance at the
masquerade. Only now it was her hand he held as he adroitly stepped through the
paces. And it was her he was smiling at. Joy rose in her heart. However
fleeting it might be, she would not regret this moment. It was a memory no one
could take from her.

“It seems you are forever sweeping me away to a place I’d
not intended to go,” she teased. “But this time, you have allowed me to realize
a fantasy I’ve had since the night of the masquerade.” At his questioning look,
she added, “To dance with the charming golden eagle.”

He chuckled. “I have not worn that costume since. It’s somewhere
with my things in Rye.” At her puzzled look, he said, “I’ve a house there when
I want to be off the ship.”

“You did not think to leave me there when you sailed for
London?”

“No, I never considered leaving you behind, mademoiselle.”
The longing she thought she saw in his eyes told her there might be more to his
keeping her with him than her role in recovering his men.

Perhaps he cares a little, after all.

Claire felt the eyes of the other guests upon them as they
danced together. She was a curiosity, as was the captain, he the bastard of an
English nobleman, she a Catholic descended from French nobility. But she never
saw herself as nobility, though Cornelia had told her the English would see her
that way. In so many ways, she still felt like the convent student she had been
for most of her life, ignorant of the schemes and flirtations that swirled
around her. Compared to these worldly London aristocrats, she must seem like a
girl playing at acting the lady. In the arms of Simon Powell, she felt protected.
She was grateful for his daring, to ask her to dance before the whole
glittering, London crowd. Well, she could be daring, too. They would be
notorious together—the French convent girl and the bastard.

The sisters in Saint-Denis had taught her to think of others
as equally loved by God. Honor and kindness would always mean more to her than
position and power. And she was certain Captain Powell was a man of honor.

The room seemed to disappear in a blur as he smoothly led
her through the steps of the dance. He was so handsome and tonight, he looked
only at her. She had seen the women’s eyes following him even as they gossiped
behind their fans. She felt oddly protective of him, not wishing him to be hurt
by their wagging tongues. What did it matter with so brave and daring a man how
he had begun? Was it not how a man ended that mattered?

She raised her chin a bit higher, determined to show them
all how fine a man it was with whom she danced, glad he would be her first
partner for the evening.

Hours later, Claire had danced many dances, more than one of
them with Simon Powell. When the guests
finally began to leave,
Claire was fighting a yawn. Only nibbling on the sweetmeats, candied fruits and
sugared nuts set out for the guests on the sideboard had kept her awake.

When the last guest had bid Cornelia and her
husband goodnight, Claire and the captain were left standing beside their
hosts, with only a footman attending the door.

“You were quite the rage, Claire,” said an
excited Cornelia. “We enjoyed introducing you to our friends, didn’t we, my
lord?”

“Indeed we did, darling,” said the handsome,
young baron. “And they enjoyed meeting you, mademoiselle,” he said to Claire.
“The Countess of Huntingdon—who I was surprised to see accepted our invitation
now that she’s reached the great age of seventy—remarked to me that she was
most impressed with your devotion to God.”

“I enjoyed meeting the countess. Such an
amazing woman and she has done much good with all the chapels she has caused to
be built.”

“Yes,” said the baron, “her building projects
are prolific.”

“Had we not told our friends you were leaving
London,” said Cornelia, “you would have many calling cards stacked up on our
silver tray come the next few days.”

The captain frowned. “Just as well we sail
shortly.” He took her elbow and directed her to the wide staircase in the
entry. “I will see you to your door.”

She paused, turning to look back at Cornelia
and her husband. “
Bonne nuit
, and thank you for the lovely evening.”

The captain was at her side as she ascended
the stairs, his tall figure a comfort.

“You danced every dance,” he said. “The men of
London Society were lined up for a chance to meet you.”

She couldn’t tell if he was complimenting or
chiding her. “It will probably be the last time I dance. I did not want to miss
any,” she said by way of explanation.
I want memories to take with me.

“Ah yes, the convent,” he said. “I’d nearly
forgotten.”

Claire could not tell for certain but thought
he was teasing her. He knew well her story and her plans. What he didn’t know
was that her heart was no longer in them.

At the top of the stairs he guided her toward
the wing that held their bedchambers. “Some sleep will do you good,” he said,
pausing in front of her door, “though dawn is not far off.”

It was true, she was exhausted, but she did
not feel like sleeping. She wanted to watch the dawn with him, to have another
memory of this special night before she returned to her papa.

He opened her door and gestured her inside.
She took his hand and pulled him in with her. “I don’t want to say
bonne
nuit
to you just yet.”

“This is dangerous, mademoiselle.”

When she said nothing, he hesitated, but then
closed the door. The maid must have lit the candle when she’d turned down the
cover of the bed. The candle’s soft light behind her lighted his face.

“Perhaps, but I would ask for a kiss before
you wish me a goodnight.”
A last kiss before I take my vows.

He smiled. “Then you shall have one.”

She went into his arms eagerly, memories of
his last kiss rising in her mind. But this was not like the last kiss, or the
one before it. He was not angry this time. He was tender and gentle.

His warm lips passed over hers, touching,
tasting. Then he kissed her more deeply as she opened to him, returning his
kiss and entwining her hands in his golden hair, setting loose the strands from
the velvet ribbon.

Drawing her into the hard planes of his chest,
his tongue invaded the soft recesses of her mouth, gently seducing her. His
movements were slow, sensual as he slid his tongue over hers, taking more of
her mouth. She was lost in the wonder of his kiss, in the feel of his body
pressing against her. They melded together as one. Her breasts became sensitive
with the quivers of pleasure that echoed through her body.

“Simon,” she gasped as his lips slid to her
throat where he nibbled at the tender flesh. “Oh, Simon. I do not want to leave
you.” She had finally told him what was in her heart. She wanted to stay with
him, even if it could not be.

He rained kisses on her neck sending shivers
rippling through her body. Her breathing grew ragged and her heart raced in her
chest.

With a deep breath, he pulled his head back.
“I fear this is not a good idea, Claire. I want you but I cannot have you. We
only tempt fate.”

She dropped her forehead to his chest, resigned.
“I know.” Then she looked up again, unable to resist another look at his face.
“But it might be the last time.”

He held her away from him. “You are such an
innocent and more tempting than any woman I’ve ever known. But I cannot forget
you are the daughter of the man who holds my men. And you have made clear your
intention to become a nun. In such circumstances, our feelings matter not a
whit.”

He was right, of course. But that did not stop
the wanting that had nearly overwhelmed her. Nor the ache in her heart at the
thought of never seeing him again.

Simon closed the door and took the few steps across the
corridor to his bedchamber, knowing he might take to his bed but he would not
sleep. He could still see the shock on her face from his words. He forced his
body to calm even as his mind was filled with plans. Could he rescue his men
before the exchange took place?

Claire.

Even her name made the blood surge in his veins. Rescuing
his men was his only hope of keeping her. All he needed was the name of the
location where they were being held. She had said she didn’t want to go. If he
had his men, she could stay.

A few hours later, the sun’s first rays filtered in through
his window. He rose, quickly dressed and went downstairs.

At the foot of the stairs, Higgins greeted him. “Good
morning, Captain Powell. His lordship and Lady Danvers have yet to rise. Would
you have breakfast?”

“Thank you, just coffee.”

In the morning room, he accepted the coffee a footman placed
in front of him when another appeared at the arched doorway.

“Captain Powell?”

“Yes?”

“A young man has arrived from your ship. He identified
himself as your cabin boy and says he comes on a matter of some urgency. I’ve
put him in the baron’s study thinking you might want to be private.”

“Thank you, that was most kind.” Setting aside his coffee,
he hastily rose and strode through the door.
What could the matter be now?

He entered the study and the familiar smell of old books
rose in his nostrils. Nate stood in front of the large, carved desk worrying
his tricorne in his hands. “Cap’n!”

“What is it, Nate?” The lad was obviously beside himself,
his cheeks ruddy with exertion and sweat beading on his forehead. “Have you
been running?”

“Aye, Cap’n. Mr. Landor sent me. There’re men watchin’ the
ship. I slipped away while the crew caused a racket on deck, but just to be
sure they didn’t follow me, I took a windin’ path down the alleys to get here.”

He sat on the edge of the desk. “You did the right thing,
Nate. Now, tell me, does Mr. Landor know who is watching the ship?”

“Zeb was the first to notice, sir. ’Twas yesterday. He told
Mr. Landor that a man lurkin’ about the cargo waitin’ to be loaded looked like
one of the crew from the ship that attacked the
Abundance
.”

“Well, if it’s Donet, he can want only one thing.”

“The mistress?” the boy asked anxiously.

“Aye.” Simon ran a hand through his hair as his thoughts
raced. Donet had taken the same step he was planning, not waiting for the
exchange. He could hardly blame the Frenchman for having a like strategy.

“Ye won’t let them have her, will ye, Cap’n?” Nate’s brown
eyes pleaded.

Simon reached out to tousle his cabin boy’s hair. “No, Nate.
They’ll not get her.”
At least not yet.
“But if Donet’s crew is watching
the ship, it raises questions. Do you know if they have a ship in port or if
the man Zeb saw is just a scout like the ones I sent to Lorient?”

“Mr. Landor did not say.” The boy looked down at the rug he
was standing on. “I think he does not know.”

“Is the
Fairwinds
loaded and ready to sail?”

He looked up. “Aye, Cap’n. Mr. Landor asked me to tell ye
that.”

“Good. Now, listen carefully. I’ll not risk a written
message should you be discovered on your return. I need to talk to Mr. Landor.
But I don’t want him to come here. Tell him to meet me at the Bell Tavern on
Fleet Street at noon.” At the boy’s questioning look, he said, “The first mate
knows the place well. The crowds will be thick on the streets then. Tell him to
depart the ship with two others, each going in a different direction to confuse
whoever would follow.”

“Aye, sir, I will.” Nate headed for the door.

“And be careful,” he cautioned the boy.

“Like always, cap’n.” Nate grinned and was gone.