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

by Walker, Regan

  “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.

  Claire had awakened early to dress and pace in her room. She must do something! It had finally come to her sometime in the few hours remaining in the night that the Reverend Mother had been right. She could not live Élise’s dream. Might she send a letter to her papa persuading him to free the English seamen he held? Ask him to allow her to stay in London? Cornelia had begged her to do so.

  She had stolen down the stairs not wishing to wake any who still slept, then froze when she’d heard a knock on the front door. A footman had answered and Nate entered.

  “I must see Cap’n Powell. I’m his cabin boy. ’Tis urgent.”

  “Follow me,” had come the reply.

  What could Nate have wanted that would be urgent? Carefully she had descended the stairs to hide in the recess next to the breakfast room as the footman had talked to the captain. He must have risen even earlier than she. Curious to know what was so urgent, she had sneaked to the study after the footman had passed her.

  She had waited in the shadows as the captain walked to the study. The door was ajar and she listened as he spoke to Nate. What she had heard made her pulse speed.

  Papa is in London? I must find him!

  Tobacco smoke assaulted his nostrils as Simon stepped through the door of the tavern. Shafts of sunlight filtering in through the paned glass windows illuminated the haze that hung in the air. The large room, crowded with unbathed men, smelled of sweat and sour ale. He had never liked such places overmuch, but this day the tavern served his purpose. He had chosen the Bell Tavern because it was a good place to hide in the open. And a meeting here wouldn’t lead Donet’s men back to Claire.

  Ambling his way through the crowded wooden tables, avoiding outstretched legs and serving wenches carrying heavy trays, he slid into a chair at the back of the room where he could remain in the shadows. As more men entered the tavern, the noise of their midday conversations rose to a clamor.

  Moving his chair to face the front door, he accepted a tankard of ale from the smiling barmaid while watching for Jordan and any who might f
ollow him, pondering his next move.

  Now that his business in London was completed, his priority was returning to Rye. He had no intention of giving Eden more time to find a reason to involve Claire in his schemes. The British government could damn well negotiate peace without her as a pawn. Besides, he was anxious to know if Elijah and Giles had returned from Paris. Even more, he wanted to know what Amos Busby had learned in Lorient.

  A movement at the front door caught his eye as Jordan Landor slipped in and doffed his tricorne, revealing a familiar head of curly dark hair. The first mate quickly scanned the room and then made straight for Simon.

  His green eyes twinkling in amusement, Jordan pulled out a chair and sat. “Thought I’d find you tucked away back here.”

  “So you did.” Simon waited till the barmaid brought another tankard and then, making himself heard over the din, got to the point. “How many are watching the Fairwinds?”

  “Zeb thought he recognized two. But there might be more. Donet is nothing if not thorough.”

  “Any idea whether his ship is near? I’d like to avoid another encounter with the Frenchman. The mademoiselle would not take it kindly if I blew her father out of the water.”

  “There are so many ships in port just now, the Thames is like a kettle of stew on the boil. No way to tell if Donet is anywhere close. But if he is, he’s not sailing his brig-sloop.”

  Simon thought of the possibilities. “Most likely he sails another of the ships he has seized, an English merchantman, perhaps. After all, he began as a pirate. Slipping over the side with knives between their teeth must be familiar to his crew. I’ve often thought his many disguises account for his successfully eluding our frigates.”

  “Aye, you’re right. We cannot be certain of the ship he’s sailing.”

  Simon had been toying with an idea, one that would be certain to keep Claire close to him and away from her father, at least for a time. And it might spare his men a fight in port. “Can you capture Donet’s men watching the Fairwinds?”

  “Aye, at least the ones we can see. We’ve plenty of extra crew from the Abundance to set a trap.”

  “Good. ’Twill slow down the Frenchman. Send word with Nate early tomorrow when you have Donet’s spies in hand. Tell the lad to bring what he needs for the next few days.”

  “What are you thinking, Captain?”

  “Donet will expect me to return to the ship with his daughter in tow unless he believes she is already there. But he might think her absent if his spies have not observed her on deck, or me either for that matter. He won’t be expecting what I have in mind.”

  Jordan’s brows drew together as he listened intently. “And that would be?”

  “I want you to sail the Fairwinds to Rye while I take the lady over land.”

  A look of amazement appeared on Jordan’s face. “He’d never expect you to travel by coach.”

  “My thought exactly, except that I plan to use a private carriage. It will take us two days to get to Rye. You can sail there in the same time if the wind and tide are with you.”

  “I’ve done it before,” Jordan assured him. “Aye, I can do it.”

  “The mademoiselle won’t like it, but then she wasn’t too pleased when I carried her away from Saint-Denis.”

  Jordan chuckled. “Or when you forced her to sail from Dieppe. What are your orders should the Fairwinds be followed out of port by another ship?”

  “Try to elude him on the Thames. Once in the Channel, use the schooner’s greater speed to outrun her. Do not engage unless Donet forces your hand. Not even he would follow you into the maze of Rye Harbor.”

  Chapter 15

  “We leave tomorrow,” announced Simon at dinner. He regretted springing this on the baron and his lady but it could not be avoided.

  For a moment Danvers and his wife said nothing. Next to him, Claire inhaled sharply.

  “So soon?” asked Cornelia, struggling to find her voice.

  “Aye, something’s arisen. Mademoiselle Donet and I will travel by carriage. The arrangements are made. I cannot risk sailing the Fairwinds myself.”

  Simon watched the reactions of his friends. Cornelia shot a glance at Claire. Danvers’ brow twisted in puzzlement. Neither he nor his wife asked Simon the why of his plans. By now they were familiar with his strange comings and goings and would not press him beyond what he offered by way of explanation.

  “Where are you taking me?” asked Claire, turning to look at him, her azure eyes inquiring, her voice insistent.

  “Back to Rye.”

  Her eyes flashed as if she might defy him, but before she could open her mouth, Cornelia interjected, “I will help you pack, Claire.”

  “Only what you’ll need for one night,” he counseled.

  “This is all so mysterious, Simon,” Danvers protested. “Have you told Eden?”

  “No. And I do not intend to do so.”

  Danvers’ forehead creased in a frown. “He will not be happy. Said he wanted to talk to you about the exchange before you sailed.”

  “My ship is under observation. So would I be if I went to Whitehall just now. The Frenchman would expect such a move. No, I cannot risk it. And I travel in haste.”

  “Ah, I see.” Danvers nodded as if he understood, though the baron could only guess at all that was in Simon’s mind.

  Cornelia opened her mouth. “But—”

  “Nay, darling. Do not ask him more,” Danvers gently chided as he took his wife’s hand. “Simon has no doubt considered carefully what must be done.” The baron faced Simon. “We wish you and Mademoiselle Donet a safe journey.”

  Claire sat back in the hackney she had hailed, relief flowing through her. Once she and Cornelia had seen to the packing of the portmanteau the baroness had loaned her, Claire had asked to be alone for a while. It had been her excuse to slip away.

  Perhaps it was a foolhardy venture but she had to try and find her papa. If she were successful, and he knew of her wishes, if all he wanted was her safe return, wouldn’t he allow the captain’s men to go free? Might he even allow her to stay in London?

  Leaving the mansion unobserved had not been easy, but she’d managed it, except for one young footman who intercepted her just as she was about leave. She stilled her racing heart long enough to give him the excuse of an afternoon walk in Mayfair. He had not been pleased but he could hardly hold her prisoner when Cornelia treated her as a guest.

  There was no guard following her either, perhaps because she’d been with Simon. He had given her money the day she and Cornelia had gone shopping, and she still had it. The coins were safely stored in her reticule lying on the seat beside her. Glancing out the window at the sun on the buildings, her spirits lifted knowing she’d have hours of light in which to accomplish her purpose.

  Directing the hired coachman to the Pool of London had been easy enough but trying to recall where on the river the Fairwinds was anchored had been more difficult. She remembered the Thames was crowded with hundreds of ships the day they’d arrived. Into her mind came the picture of the huge mooring post nearly three times the height of a man to which ships had tied up. When she’d described it to the coachman, he had nodded as if remembering such a marker. He must have taken pity on her, a foreigner and a lady alone, for he agreed to see if he could find it.

  If she found the Fairwinds, would she recognize her papa’s men who were watching it? Other than M’sieur Bequel, she could only recall one or two who had come to the convent with her papa in all the years she was there, but their faces might be familiar. She hoped so. It might not be a very good plan but it was the only one she had.

  A few minutes later, the hackney rolled to a stop. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. The coachman climbed down and opened the door. Holding open his palm for the fare, he said, “Yer here, miss. The post ye described is just there.” Her gaze followed the direction of his outstretched arm and she saw the mooring post, the ships tied up at the wharf—and the Fairwinds! Now all she had
to do was find her father’s men.

  “Thank you, sir.” She dropped the coins in his hand.

  When the hackney had driven away, Claire walked to one of the buildings that faced the river where she stood in the shadows, observing what was before her. The smell she had inhaled that first day they’d moored in the Pool of London was there again, the stench of garbage and the smell of sour ale from the taverns. There were men everywhere, some carrying cargo to and from anchored ships, but some standing idly by, appearing to do nothing more than share bits of conversation with other men. Avoiding their curious gazes, she ventured forth as if she had come a purpose to seek passage on a ship.

  She was not the only woman on the quay. A few leaned against the front of a tavern, wearing dresses revealing much of their bosoms, tossing seductive smiles to any man who walked by. There were others, more properly attired, who appeared to be passengers waiting for the small boats to ferry them out to ships. But unlike those waiting for ships, she was alone.

  She studied the faces of the men whose gazes were fixed on the Fairwinds, hoping to recognize even just one. There. Was that man sitting on a cask in front of the tavern one of her papa’s men? He looked familiar, a seaman by his dress. Could he be one of her papa’s crew? If he were, he would have a French accent. Perhaps she might ask him a question.

  She approached as if to walk by him and then stopped. “Sir, do you happen to know where a ship named the Abundance is anchored?” Why she had used that ship’s name she wasn’t certain. But any of her papa’s men would recognize the name since her papa had seized that ship. And they would recognize her French accent.

  “Aye, I do,” said the man in a distinctive English accent. “Likely ’tis in Lorient.”

  Oh, no. A sudden dread took hold of her. She looked closely at the man and recognized him as the bos’n’s mate from the Fairwinds. The one who had scrambled over the deck to secure the anchor the day they’d sailed for London. Only now he was cleaned up and had shaved off his beard. She couldn’t even recall his name.