To Tame the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 0) (12 page)

Back on deck, Simon proceeded to the bow and raised his
spyglass looking eastward, but his mind was not on the Channel ahead. It was on
the French beauty who stirred a craving in him like no other woman.

Why had he kissed her again?

To want her was to court disaster. Claire Donet must be
returned to her father as she had come—innocent. Yet, even now, she was hardly
the innocent she had been, responding as she had to his kisses. She was fire in
his arms and a flame now growing in his heart. It had taken all his control not
to carry her to his bed and make her his. She would not have resisted, he was
certain, for the passion he had felt in her would rise to meet his own. Given
who she was, that would be sailing into dangerous waters.

A flock of birds flew across his line of sight, recalling
him to the task at hand. The Channel was clear as far as he could see, but as
they neared Dover, he knew the number of ships would increase. He and his
countrymen faced the French, Spanish and Dutch aligned against them. Despite
the Royal Navy’s plying the waters of the Strait intercepting merchant ships,
hoping to seize war supplies, they had not captured all.

La Reine Noire
continually eluded them.

After the shot he’d sent into the Frenchman’s brig-sloop, it
would be a while before Donet could transport war supplies. Limping back to
port, as he must have done, he would have to make significant repairs, allowing
Simon time for his trip to London. He thought of his captured crew and worry
furrowed his brow. He could only hope Donet would keep them in good health
knowing Simon held the one thing the pirate prized above all.

London

Claire held on to the rail, staring transfixed at the
hundreds of boats and ships crowding the River Thames. The afternoon sun bathed
the sky in golden hues etching the clouds in brilliant light and sending a
myriad of colors rippling through the water.

All around her ships were tied up to a tall mooring post, to
the wharf or to each other, some with their sails hanging loosely from the
crossbeams like so much neglected laundry left out in the rain. Her blood
surged with excitement at seeing such a sight.

They had sailed up the Thames, the captain at the wheel,
navigating the river from its mouth through a dozen treacherous bends to where
they were anchored in the area of the river Nate called the Pool of London.

She had marveled at the captain’s skill sailing in changing
winds and the river clogged with so many ships moving in both directions. At
the most difficult place in the river, he had taken the wheel and, with his
brow furrowed in concentration, deftly maneuvered the schooner away from the
other ships while steadily maintaining their course. The memory of those same
powerful hands holding her sent tiny shivers down her spine.

Would he keep her with him in London? She could not deny
that she looked forward to more time with him.

Nate joined her where she stood on the foredeck of the ship
and tipped his brown tricorne to her, his eyes quickly taking in her new gown.
“Yer a picture this mornin’, mistress!”

Claire warmed to the cabin boy’s compliment, glad she’d
taken the extra time to dress her hair. “Thank you, Nate.”

The cabin boy gestured to the other ships tied up to the
wharf. To Claire, he appeared as excited as she was to be in the busy port.
“See the men movin’ on the decks, mistress?”

Directing her gaze to the laborers hefting cargo from the
ships to the wharf, she remarked, “They are certainly working hard.”

“Aye, and soon we’ll be seein’ the same thing on the
Fairwinds
.”

She shifted her gaze to the water and watched as men and
women richly attired in colorful cloaks, jackets and hats were being ferried in
small boats to the ships. “Are those passengers?”

“Some, but might be a ship owner or a king’s man among ’em.”

Claire let her mind wander to the faraway places those
passengers might travel. Places she had read about, places she had dreamed of
in her days at the convent. Places Simon Powell had no doubt been.

Ahead of them loomed a tall, arched bridge spanning the
river, the golden sky behind it. Majestic stone buildings whose spires reached
toward the clouds stood as sentinels on either side. “What bridge is that?” she
asked Nate.

“London Bridge.”

She knew from her lessons that London was the largest city
in Europe and its port the busiest. The number of ships anchored in the Thames
attested to its importance in matters of trade. The bustle excited her, it was
so different from the quiet village of Saint-Denis, or even Paris with its
meandering Seine River.

Warm, muggy air carried the stench of the river to her
nostrils, but beneath it were the exotic scents of ginger and sandalwood,
spices from the West Indies, and the faint odor of hemp and tea that spoke of
the faraway places she’d only imagined. What must it be like to sail to those
ports? Her spirits rose with the thought. If only she could sail to them on a
ship...
his
ship. When she thought of sailing to faraway places now, she
thought only of the golden one, his sure hands at the wheel, his eyes upon her.

Hearing boots on the deck, she glanced behind her to see him
striding toward her. Despite her resolve to treat him with formal politeness,
her heart beat faster when their eyes met. There was a twinkle in his eyes
today.

He nodded to Nate, then paused to survey her appearance.
“Beautiful as ever, mademoiselle.” She detected a hint of amusement in his
voice. Did he find it surprising she could look the lady?

“Thank you for the gown, Captain.” She ignored the voice of
her conscience telling her it was highly improper to have accepted it; a
hostage had little choice if she were to be properly clothed.

“As soon as the customs men depart, and our cargo is
unloaded, we can leave.”

“Where will we be going?” she asked him, suddenly anxious to
know. Would he hide her away in some dark abode like a caged animal?

“I’ve friends in London with whom we will stay until your
future is more certain.”

Inwardly, she breathed a sigh of relief. He would keep her
with him. But the fact he could just drag her around like one of his shipping
crates was disturbing. “I suppose I have no choice in the matter?”

“None.” He handed a letter to Nate. “Take this to Lady
Danvers. She will be expecting it.”

“Aye, Cap’n. I remember the place.”

Claire felt a twinge of jealousy. Was this Lady Danvers his
maîtresse
,
his paramour? She would ask Nate. He would tell her.

A few hours later, Simon guided his captive to the waiting
carriage that would take them to the London home of Lord and Lady Danvers. He
had an open invitation from Cornelia and her husband, John Ingram, Baron
Danvers
,
to be their guest whenever he was in town. He and Cornelia were
of an age and Danvers only a few years older. They had become good friends in
recent years. That the baron worked closely with Simon’s superior, former Under
Secretary of State, William Eden, who was the head of England’s spy network in
Europe, made the arrangement all the more convenient.

For the occasion of her meeting his friends, he had given
his captive a new gown, one Sally had procured for him in Rye, one he’d been
saving for this moment. He wanted the French girl to feel comfortable meeting
their hosts. And for some reason he’d not pondered overlong, he liked to see
her in gowns that befitted her beauty. When he’d first seen her on deck, she
was a sight to behold in pale green brocade. The gown hugged her slim waist and
revealed just enough of her pale breasts to entice him to want to see more. He
could look at other women with no reaction at all. Why did this one stir him
so? She’d managed to pin the sides of her hair up. On her head was a jaunty hat
that matched the gold flowers on her gown. The innocent, French convent student
was suddenly a very exciting woman.

He intended to ask Cornelia to see that his hostage had a
wardrobe befitting the granddaughter of a French comte. Knowing the baroness
loved to shop for female frippery, he thought it a task she would relish,
especially at his expense. He had in mind, too, that Cornelia could chaperone
his reluctant charge and keep her occupied while he went about his business.
Donet’s daughter might not try to escape in London, but he would not leave her
to her own devices, or unprotected. While the baroness always traveled with
footmen, he would send one of his own men to watch the French girl lest she try
anything foolish.

Sitting across from him, she gazed wide-eyed out the open
carriage window as they drove away from the Thames. He was not surprised at her
excitement. London had many sights to fascinate a young woman just out of the
convent.

“You and Lady Danvers will have much in common.”

She turned her clear, blue gaze on him, a look of surprise
on her face. The faint circles still lingered under her eyes, making him wonder
again about her disturbing dreams.

“Nate told me Lady Danvers is the wife of an English baron.
How can we have anything in common?” There was a note of defiance in her voice,
reminding him that every inch of ground he gained with her was ground she only
grudgingly surrendered.

“Ah, but Lady Danvers is an American, mademoiselle.” It
amused him to spar with her. She had a quick mind. But it was not her mind that
had drawn his attention when he’d first seen her in the gown. He squeezed his
fist, forcing himself to rein in his thoughts. They would only lead to
frustration.

“An American married to an English nobleman?”

“I imagine it’s been awkward for her since the war,” he
conceded. “She met Lord Danvers before the war began, when she came to London
for a Season. They fell in love and she never returned to her family in the
Maryland Colony. Her brother is the captain of a schooner, as am I.” Then he
added with a grin, “Only on the other side.”

“He fights for America’s independence?”

“He does. Just like France. Now do you see how much you have
in common with Lady Danvers?”

She looked out the window as if reluctant to admit his point,
stubborn as always. “They shall have their independence, I am certain.”

He chuckled. “Yes, mademoiselle. I do believe you are right,
owing much to France, of course. Though as yet no agreement for peace has been
reached, there can be little doubt America will soon be her own country.”

She turned her face to look at him. “Does it not bother
you?”

“Not at all,” he said sincerely. “I only want peace. A
strong America will mean more trade.” Then with his mouth twitching up in a
grin, he added, “I do not intend to always be a privateer.” Why it was
important that she know he had ambitions for the future, he did not ponder.

“Probably wise,” she said. “It would seem to be a hazardous
profession.”

“As is piracy,” he said with a grin. She did not rise to the
bait but gazed out the window at the government buildings they were passing.

The coachman had taken a route that led past St. James Park
on their way to Mayfair where the Danvers’ London house was located. They had
just passed Westminster. Seeing it brought back memories that anywhere else he
could forget, memories of seeing his father, the Earl of Montmorency, leaving
Parliament, indifferent to a son he had never claimed.

Wanting her son to know of his noble heritage, despite the
earl’s deserting her to wed a woman of his own rank, Simon’s mother had told
him of his father when he was fourteen. She must have known she was dying.

Simon had been too proud to be shamed by his status, but he
had been curious. And that was what led him to come that day eleven years ago
to watch the Lords leaving Westminster and to inquire which was Montmorency. He
would have recognized him had those he’d asked not been able to point out the
earl. His father was tall and fair, not unlike Simon in appearance. He had
watched as the earl greeted his countess. She’d had his younger half-brother
and sister in tow. Unlike Simon, the earl’s other children were dark-haired,
apparently taking after their mother.

But if his father did not want to know Simon, then Simon
cared not to know him. So, on that day, he had turned away, vowing to wear his
bastardy like a glorious cloak.

He would show them all.

That the money for his first ship had come to him as a
result of his father’s guilt did not alter Simon’s views. He had taken the
money but would have rejected the name had it been offered. To Simon, the
father he never knew was a distant mountain, cold and aloof and only seen from
afar.

His mother, who had carried her noble lover in her heart
until her death, had been his inspiration. She believed in her only child and
sacrificed much for him. Because of her, Simon could read, write and speak
French. He deeply regretted she had suffered, for most of her own family had
disowned her. Only the kindness of a caring aunt had seen they were not without
funds.

His mother had once told him the world would eventually come
to his door. He had doubted the words when she’d first said them, but now he
believed it would happen. He would prove himself to a doubting world and make
his mother proud.

The carriage rolled to a gentle stop in front of the tall,
stone edifice that was the home of Lord and Lady Danvers. Simon shrugged off
his melancholy, stepped down and turned to offer Claire his hand.

She took it, gazing up at the looming structure. “It is
quite grand, isn’t it?”

“’Tis,” he said, unable to resist a smile. “A bit more than
they need, perhaps, but then the nobility likes their houses large. Besides,
Lord and Lady Danvers often have guests.”