To Tame the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 0) (15 page)

“Then your future remains in doubt.”

Claire reluctantly nodded.

The carriage pulled up in front of a shop with a sign of a
spool of thread speared with a needle. The name in the shop window read
Mrs.
Duval’s
.

“We are here!” declared Cornelia. “I cannot wait to show my
modiste my gift for her. She will be very excited for she can copy anything.”

They entered the modiste’s and one of Cornelia’s footmen,
carrying the fashion doll, followed them inside.

Cornelia introduced Claire and then held out the doll to
Mrs. Duval. “For me?” she exclaimed.

“Indeed, yes!” said Cornelia. “To use to fashion my friend a
gown such as she might have purchased in Paris.”

Claire studied the older woman’s face. She was elegantly
attired in a soft gray silk with lace trim, her dark hair confined to a knot at
her nape. The name Duval was French but the woman had an English accent. “Are
you by any chance French?” she asked.

“My husband’s family is French. They came to France early in
the century. But I am very English, except when it comes to fashion. Then I am
French.”

All three women broke into laughter.

“Come,” said Mrs. Duval. “I have some new silks to show you,
and one that might just be perfect for this gown I’m to make.”

The modiste put several bolts of shimmering silk on the
table before them. Claire and Cornelia ran their fingers over the fine fabric.
It was the gold one that drew Claire’s attention. “I do like this one.”

“Then you shall have it,” said Cornelia and nodded to Mrs.
Duval.

For Claire, shopping with a woman friend was great fun.
Before an hour had elapsed, with the help of Cornelia and Mrs. Duval, Claire
ordered three gowns. One was to be fashioned from the glistening gold silk
moiré that Cornelia thought a perfect choice for the soirée to be held in
Claire’s honor.

Claire was quick to agree. She had never had such a glorious
gown and wondered what Captain Powell would think when he saw her in it. It was
for him she wanted to appear the lady.

Once they concluded their business with Mrs. Duval, Cornelia
directed the coachman to the shops for shoes, reticules, shifts, corsets and
other items she assured Claire were necessary. They returned to the parasol
shop to find several that would match her gowns and keep the sun from her face,
though Claire had to laugh at the thought of trying to hold one on a moving
ship.

The baroness had asked the footmen to keep a watchful eye on
anyone following them and Claire observed them studying the faces of the men on
the street. But if the same man dogged their steps, Claire had not noticed.

When their errands were completed, with a gleam in her eye,
Cornelia said, “I think before we return home, we shall stop in Mr. Negri’s
Pineapple shop in Berkeley Square.” At Claire’s puzzled look, Cornelia said, “…
for some sweetmeats and ices. Many of his confections are from French recipes,
you know.”

“That sounds wonderful.” A taste of home, and if she were
honest, she had a sweet tooth which her papa had indulged with treats he
brought her from Paris.

Once the driver had their new destination, from inside the
carriage, Claire watched the shops they passed and spoke her thought aloud. “I
feel guilty even thinking of a fête and such beautiful gowns while my papa is
in France worrying about me, knowing I am the prisoner of his enemy, an English
privateer.” Claire remembered her papa as she’d last seen him, shouting orders
from the deck of his ship in the midst of the Channel. He had been nothing like
the papa she thought she knew.

“Not just any privateer, Claire,” said Lady Danvers. “Simon
is the natural son of an English earl, albeit he was never recognized.”

“Do you mean—”

“Simon’s father never married his mother, and then failed to
acknowledge Simon before he died.”

“Oh.” Claire could not help but wonder how such a beginning
contributed to the man he was today. “How awful for him.”

“It’s become all too common an occurrence in the aristocracy
in the last several years, I’m afraid. He was the earl’s firstborn son and
should have been the heir but his father’s failure to marry his mother made
that impossible.”

“Was his mother not acceptable?”

“Not to the earl. She was educated and beautiful, but a
commoner,” Cornelia remarked in a tone of resignation.

“Ah.”

“When his mother died, he ran away to sea. Ships and sailing
men are the only other family he’s ever known.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Well, let’s see… He’s five and twenty now, so at least ten
years ago. He loved her, I know, and all Simon has told me of her suggests she
loved her son.”

“I lost my mother when I was younger than that,” Claire
sadly reflected. “But I had the sisters.”

“They must love you,” said Cornelia, her kind eyes conveying
sympathy.

“I’m certain they are worried, but perhaps my papa has
explained I am to be returned.” She hoped he did not explain all that had
transpired.

“I doubt they would find the truth reassuring. Snatched from
your bed by an English privateer? No, certainly not.”

Claire sighed. “You are right, of course.” There was really
no good way to explain that night. She decided to ask a question that had been
bothering her since the baroness had spoken of Simon’s mother. “Did his
mother’s family have money? Else, how did the captain come to own two ships?”

“He was poor as a church mouse until his father, on his
deathbed, managed to make Simon a wealthy man. His mother had died by then. He
has used the funds to great effect. In the last few years, he’s become a
successful ship’s captain and, for his work in the war, respected by many at
Whitehall.”

Even if she were to forsake her vow to Élise, Claire knew
her papa would never consider an Englishman, much less one who was
illegitimate, for her husband. Had Providence brought Simon Powell back into
her life only to send him away? It seemed so. Perhaps it was best to forget her
longings and convince her papa to allow her to return to the convent. Else she
would have to marry the man her papa had chosen for her, a man she did not even
know. The thought cast a cloud of anxiety over the otherwise delightful day.
She shook it off, determined to enjoy Cornelia’s company for whatever remained
of her time in England.

Leaving the baron to his port, Simon bid his friend goodnight
and trudged up the stairs to his bedchamber, weary from a long day. The ladies
had retired shortly after supper, tired from their day of shopping, leaving him
and Danvers to linger over their port, discussing their meeting with Eden.

With an American wife, Danvers was hoping for a quick
resolution to the war. Simon had his own reasons for wanting hostilities with
the French to end.

Watching Claire across the table during supper had been a
trial. She was lovely and tempting, her blue eyes lighting with mirth, her
French accent beguiling, as she engaged in witty conversation with their hosts.
A forbidden prize he very much wanted to claim but never could. The port wine
and conversation with Danvers had helped to dull his desire, but only slightly.

Accustomed as he was to the rocking of a ship, sleeping in a
bed on land always left him restless. He had just managed to drift off when a
cry awoke him with a start. Rising on one elbow, he listened. There it was
again, faint but real. Throwing off the cover, he slid from the bed, donned his
breeches and padded across the room. When he opened the door, the cry grew
louder. It was coming from Claire’s room.

Dare he enter her bedchamber? Another cry pierced the night,
vanquishing his doubts. He charged across the corridor into her room. She was
tossing about in the bed, fighting the cover and shouting in muffled whispers,
“
Non, non
!
You mustn’t follow. You will die!”

Simon strode to the bed and sat on the edge, reaching out to
grasp her flailing arms and lay them at her side. “Mademoiselle.”

She did not respond, but tossed her head back and forth on
the pillow, gasping the words, “
Non! Non!
”

Perhaps she would respond to her Christian name. With one
hand, he gently shook her shoulder. “Wake up, Claire.”

She uttered a sound deep in her throat that sounded like
pain mixed with terror.

He gathered her into his arms and held her close. She was
shaking. “Claire, sweetheart, ’tis all right. Was just a bad dream.” Her warm
body was pliant in his arms. She felt right snuggled close to his chest. He
wanted to keep her there.

She woke then. “Captain? … is it you?”

In the faint light from the window she would only know him
by his voice. “Yes, Claire, ’tis Simon. You’re all right now.”

She clung to him as if he were the only raft in a
storm-tossed sea. It tugged at his soul. At times, she was a wild child, at
others stubborn, but at this moment she was vulnerable and he wanted to protect
her, even from her dreams. He could never have explained the deep feelings that
rose to the fore then. They were not feelings he’d had for any other woman.

He didn’t want to leave her, but he knew he must.

The bedcover had fallen to her waist, leaving only the thin
nightgown she wore separating them. Beneath it, the warmth of her skin and her
soft breasts pressed against his bare chest tempting him beyond endurance. He
wanted to crawl into the bed with her. He wanted to make love to her. “I must
return to my chamber.”

“No!” she cried. “Don’t go. Not yet. Please… stay till the
dream passes from my mind.”

“All right.” What else could he do? She was frightened and
shaking, but why? “What has you so frightened?”

“Élise. Her ghost follows me. The dream is always the same.”

He slid his palm up and down her back trying to soothe her.
The heat of her skin beneath the thin cloth tempted him unmercifully but his
intent was to comfort, not ravish.

After a minute she stopped shaking.

“Tell me, who is this Élise?”

“A girl who died because of my foolishness.”

“What foolishness?” How could a young woman’s silliness lead
to another’s death?

She looked up at him in the dim light, placing her hand on
his chest, her cool fingers on his warm skin stirring his manhood. Their heads
were so close he could smell her sweet breath.

“Two years ago, I sneaked out of the convent to see a
masquerade. It wasn’t the first time I had escaped the confines of the convent
walls, nor the first time Élise followed me. She was really too frail to have
done so, especially on that night. On the way home it rained and we were
drenched. Élise took ill with pneumonia.” He felt the dread that came over
Claire as she sobbed. “She suffered so.” Burying her face in his chest, she
shuddered. “It was horrible and all because of me.”

He held her close, his brows drawing together as he puzzled
over her words, remembering a night long ago when he’d attended a masquerade
outside of Paris. There had been a girl then, one who’d fallen from a tree. A
girl who had fascinated him with her pluck and her mesmerizing eyes. “The girl
in the tree at the château… that was
you
?”

She raised her head. “
Oui, c’était moi
.” Her voice
was faint and somber as if she carried an overwhelming burden of guilt.

“I remember now. You ran away with another girl. Was that
her?”

“
Oui
. She died a sennight later.”

Suddenly he understood. She had tortured herself with the
other girl’s death. “You blame yourself. That is what troubles your sleep?”

She nodded. “Élise haunts my dreams, but there is more.
Before she died, I promised her I would become an Ursuline nun and teach the
children. It was her dream, one she would never realize because of me.”

He let out a sigh. “A noble vow, perhaps, but I do not think
’tis your destiny. And Élise did not ask it of you, did she?”

“No, but I promised… I made a vow to her.”

In the darkness of the room, he could not see her well, but
he thought he heard a pout in her voice. She was so close, her breasts pressing
into his chest. He kissed her hair. It smelled of lavender and the touch of it
on his lips was like silk. “God will not hold you to a promise made when you
were young and filled with remorse.”

She tipped her head back, “But… ”

Unwilling to let the moment go without acknowledging his
desire for her, he brushed his lips across hers. They were warm, soft and oh,
so sweet. She did not protest when he kissed her more deeply. He had to steel
himself from claiming all he wanted, to keep from joining her in the bed. But
it wasn’t just her father and the crew of the
Abundance
that held him at
bay. It was her innocence. It was not his to claim.

“Even that night I wanted to kiss you, Claire.”

She stiffened. “But you were doing things with that… that
trousered hussar!”