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

by Walker, Regan

  When he raised his lips from hers, she asked, “What did you say in the note you left my papa?”

  “I invited him to our wedding and asked for his blessing, for without it, we must sail to Scotland to be wed.”

  “Oh my. I wonder if he will come. He will be very angry, I think.”

  “Perhaps, but I am hoping he will not want to miss the chance to see you wed. But then again, he may yet try and take you from me. Even if he agreed Dordogne is not right for you, he may want you to marry another Frenchman.”

  He kissed her forehead and pressed her head to his chest. “I could not allow that.”

  She nestled her head under his chin, content just to be with him. She could feel his heart pounding a fast rhythm beneath her palm where it rested on his chest.

  “Sleep, sweetheart, for I will not give you the chance to do so once we reach the Fairwinds.”

  Excited for the future that lay ahead of her, she did not think she could sleep. But she must have drifted off, because the next thing she knew she was being carried in his arms, her head in the crook of his neck. She opened her eyes to a predawn light that outlined his chin. Ahead of her were the dark cliffs of Dieppe and the waters of the Channel lapping on the shore. She kissed the warm skin of his neck. “We’re in Dieppe?”

  “We are. And you had best stop kissing me if we are to make it to my cabin.”

  “Over here, Captain,” shouted the sailmaker, Mr. Berube, gesturing to a skiff pulled up on the sand. Simon lowered her onto one of the wooden bench seats and leapt in behind her. Mr. Hawkins, Mr. Berube and two others, who must have been waiting with the skiff, took the remaining seats.

  Soon, they were gliding over the water toward the schooner anchored off shore.

  Once onboard, Simon hurried Claire toward the aft hatch, shouting over his shoulder to Jordan, “Ship’s yours.” His crew, bearing huge grins, headed for their stations, preparing to sail.

  Nate stood to one side of the hatch, on his face a satisfied smile. “I left a tray for you and the mistress, Cap’n.”

  Simon acknowledged the lad’s thoughtfulness with a nod and drew Claire closer, about to descend the ladder. Nate’s words made him pause.

  “We’re all glad ye’re back, mistress,” said his cabin boy.

  “Thank you, Nate,” said Claire. “I am very happy to be here.”

  Simon urged her through the hatch and down the companionway.

  Once inside his cabin, he turned to face his prize. “Ah, sweetheart.”

  She was a vision, more seductive than she could possibly know. Her blue eyes glowed with happiness from a face that was sun-kissed from her time on his ship. Her long, raven hair, slightly tousled from their carriage ride, fell to her shoulders in wild abandon. The bodice of the ivory satin gown she wore drew his eyes to the tempting mounds of her breasts.

  Like a man long starved for his lover, he reached for her, unable to leave any distance between them. She came into his arms, smiling. His kiss was frantic at first, his longing suddenly a reality. His tongue explored the depths of her sweet mouth, as his groin swelled at the press of her soft breasts against his chest, his body ready for the woman he had wanted for so long.

  She returned his kiss, threading her fingers through his hair and holding his head to her.

  Each vied for the other’s mouth.

  He felt the ship lurch and held her steady. “You are still certain you want this, and now, before we marry?”

  She smiled and reached her fingers to touch his face. “I told you my home is with you, Simon. I have agreed to become your wife. I do not want to wait.”

  It was all the encouragement he needed. He glanced down at her clothes, tempted to rip them from her, but he remembered she wore her wedding gown. “If you think to wear that gown to our wedding, you’d best take it off. Besides, I want to see you, sweetheart—all of you.”

  Claire blushed and began to pull at her laces.

  “Here, I’ll help. I’m good at this part.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course you are.”

  He turned her and began stripping the laces. The frippery fell to the deck, her gown, petticoats, corset and shift forming a pile.

  She kicked off her shoes and picked up the gown. Carefully making her way across the rolling deck, she laid it aside.

  As she moved, his eyes feasted on her rounded breasts, her narrow waist and enticing hips and buttocks. Standing there in only her silk stockings, she was delectable. And embarrassed, he noted, when she turned and faced him, covering her breasts with her arms.

  “Don’t fret, sweetheart. I’ll be as naked as you in a moment.” He ripped off his cravat and waistcoat, having already shed his coat and boots. Pulling his shirt over his head, he was left in only his breeches as he reached to touch her arms. Slowly, he backed her toward the bed.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said, her innocence rising to the surface.

  He smiled at her and reached his hand to cup her cheek. “Just respond to me, sweetheart. I’ve imagined you like this, you know, so many times.” He drew her arms from her perfect breasts, their honeyed tips calling to him. “You are so beautiful, Claire.”

  She blushed. He should have expected it. She was neither a practiced courtesan, nor a bored lady of the ton, but a convent-raised, sheltered young woman. It was a miracle he had found her at all and another that she had given him her love, accepting him as he was. He couldn’t help but wonder if he could ever be worthy of that love. Silently, he vowed to prove to her and the world that he loved her above any other treasure life could offer.

  When he had backed her to the bed, he began undoing his breeches. His sex sprang free, bold and hard. Oh God, he wanted her so. She looked down and inhaled sharply.

  “’Tis all right, sweetheart. I mean to go slow.”

  Stepping out of his breeches, he leaned into her and a bolt of lightning coursed through him as they fell onto the bed together.

  Claire gasped as Simon fell on her, his long, lean body pressing against her from her breasts to her thighs. The hard flesh of his man part pressed into her belly and a frisson of fear coursed through her. He was so large and she was new to a man’s loving. But this was Simon, she reminded herself, her golden one, the man she loved and had agreed to wed.

  He braced himself on his elbows and dipped his head to her kiss her.

  She wrapped her arms around him and held him close. She would think only of his kisses and not what came after. The scrape of his unshaved face as he pulled his mouth from hers was tantalizing. His warm muscled body glided over her woman’s softness as he moved his mouth to her breasts, setting every nerve on end when his rough, whiskered skin encountered her nipple.

  When he covered one breast with his mouth and began to lick and gently suck, ripples of pleasure coursed through her and an ache arose between her thighs. He moved his mouth to her other breast at the same time he moved to one side, placing his palm over her woman’s mound and moving his hand in slow circles.

  She moaned with pleasure and held his head to her breast.

  As if he knew what she needed, his finger was suddenly stroking her woman’s flesh and then it was inside her, touching some sensitive spot that made her crave more, made her suddenly slick. His finger stroked her and she rocked her hips to meet his touch. It was alarming and wonderful as her body responded of its own accord to his touch.

  He brought his mouth back to hers and kissed her deeply as he moved above her.

  She spread her legs allowing his hips to rest between them, wanting his hardened flesh against her soft, hungry flesh. At her core she experienced a quiver when he pressed against her, rocking his hips so that his hardened member glided along her tender flesh that was now seeking, wanting more. Fear and excitement wrestled within her.

  When she thought she could bear no more pleasure, she whispered, “Oh, Simon.” It was a plea for more.

  She felt a shudder run through him. “I had wanted to go slow, sweetheart, but it se
ems I… cannot.”

  The tip of his hardened flesh probed between her thighs. It frightened her for what she knew it was, what she feared was coming. But longing to be joined with him, wanting him to be inside her aching core, she raised her hips in invitation.

  “I can’t stop, Claire, can’t…go slow.” With one sure thrust, he buried himself deep within her.

  She expected it to hurt and it did. But with their joining, she felt complete. They were one.

  He pulled from her slightly only to enter again, his hard flesh filling her, stretching her.

  I love you.

  She lifted her legs to wrap around him and gripped his shoulders with her hands. His thrusts grew more rapid and the pain turned into something else, something more, as a rising pleasure drew all her attention to the center of their joining. They were moving together even as the ship moved beneath them.

  She raised her hips to take him deeper with each thrust. A sudden tightening of her muscles grew more intense where they were joined. The tension was building, like a wave taking her higher and higher to some unreachable crest. Suddenly the tension burst and she felt suspended in air as spasms rippled through her.

  Simon stiffened above her, then threw back his head, his eyes shut tightly. One harsh, guttural groan and he collapsed on top of her. She held him to her as the ship rolled in the waters of the Channel, loving the feel of him around her, inside of her.

  Simon awoke to a different sort of light filtering in through the windows of his cabin. Afternoon sunlight, he thought. The ship rocked gently, telling him they had anchored in Rye Harbor.

  He felt Claire’s warm body nestled against his, her arm draped over his chest and one of her legs slung over his thigh. His manhood stirred. He wanted her again. Reaching his hand to her long, dark hair where it spread out over his chest and her shoulders, he ran his fingers through the tendrils of black silk. Nudging his face against hers, he kissed her temple. Lavender. He had slept with her scent all around him. No wonder he was hard and ready.

  Turning into her warmth, he kissed her forehead, her cheeks. She made small, kitten-like noises as she rose from the depths of sleep. Softly, he kissed her awake. “Sweetheart,” he whispered.

  “Hmm?”

  Unable to wait for more words, he rolled her beneath him and kissed her again. She was so warm and soft. “I love you, my own.”

  She opened her eyes and smiled. “Simon, my love.”

  “Aye.” He grinned. “So I am.”

  She reached for him, twisting her hands through his hair, freed from its queue long ago. Their love ignited a flame that swept them higher as their passion demanded fulfillment. This time, he took her more slowly, she, his willing partner in their leisurely lovemaking.

  What a fortunate man he was to have tamed the wind and won such a woman as his bride.

  A few hours later, Simon was busy on deck, whistling, his mind filled with images of Claire sleeping curled against him, when Elijah, standing at the starboard rail, interrupted his thoughts.

  “Well now, there’s somethin’ I ain’t never thought to see in me lifetime!”

  “What is it?” he asked coming up behind the old seaman who’d just blown a puff of smoke into the air.

  Elijah squinted his eyes. “I only know’d ’er ’cause I seen ‘er before.” Pointing to entrance of the harbor, he said, “Look ye there, Cap’n. See that ship, jus’ a-comin’ in? She's all decked out like a lady in new petticoats an’ flyin’ His Majesty's silks, but damn me eyes if that ain’t the painted doxie of a certain French pirate, lately a privateer.”

  Simon caught up the spyglass from the binnacle and aimed it toward the ship just entering Rye Harbor. A wide smile spread across his face when he saw the name on the hull.

  Jordan joined them at the rail, raising a quizzical brow.

  Still grinning, Simon slapped the spyglass into the hand of his first mate and pointed. “She’s flying false colors with a new rig and he’s covered some of the gun ports with painted canvas, but Elijah has the right of it. That’s la Reine Noire. I’d know her anywhere.”

  Jordan extended the spyglass looking toward the incoming ship and frowned. “What the devil is he—”

  "Look, sir! Look what’s comin’ up behind her!" shouted Nate, pointing and jumping up onto the rail in his excitement. “It’s the Abundance! She’s come back to us, sir!”

  “So she has,” said Simon, “so she has.”

  The Fairwinds crew left their chores and gathered around to watch as the brig-sloop, rigged as a schooner, sailed closer, followed by the ship they knew so well.

  The two vessels under full sail crossed the harbor swiftly, skimming the water like white birds, heading straight for the Fairwinds. British colors fluttered from their mainsails. The Navy cutter making its customary rounds of the harbor ignored them completely.

  Amos Busby joined Simon at the rail. “The Abundance!”

  “Aye,” said Simon. “She’s with him.”

  When the larger ship was a mere biscuit-toss away, Simon heard a cry of orders from her deck. With a rattle and a bang, all her canvas came down at once, the wheel was turned hard to port and her anchor splashed into the harbor not twenty yards from their own taut cables. The French ship doused her sails and glided smoothly into place just off their starboard quarter—as neat a job of anchoring as Simon had ever seen.

  “Go, quickly, Nate. Fetch your mistress,” he ordered. “Tell her nothing. I want to see her face when she learns her father has come.”

  Simon’s gaze fixed on the deck of the French ship. His nemesis, Jean Donet, stood on the raised quarterdeck, a tall figure in black, his stance sure, his eyes focused ahead. A vision that Simon knew had struck fear in the hearts of many a British seaman.

  “There stands a gen-u-ine pirate, lads,” said Elijah to the crew of the Fairwinds gaping at Donet.

  “No,” said Simon. “There stands courage. He risked his life to sail to England to give me his daughter’s hand. He does it for love of her.” Turning to face his crew, he said, “Hear me well, men. While Donet is in England, he is my guest and under my protection.”

  Claire had been talking with McGinnes in the galley, urging him to try some new spices, when Nate came rushing in, breathless.

  “Mistress. Ye must come!” Exchanging a glance with the cook, she dried her hands on a cloth. “What is it, Nate?”

  “I’m not to say, mistress. Cap’n wants it to be a surprise.”

  There had been so many surprises of late, she supposed one more was not unexpected. “All right,” she said and followed the cabin boy to the companionway.

  Once on deck, she headed toward Simon’s beckoning hand where he stood with a cluster of his men watching two ships anchored nearby. His welcoming smile made her cheeks heat at the memory of their lovemaking that morning.

  The crew parted for her to join him at the rail.

  “Look, sweetheart,” Simon enthused.

  Her gaze followed his and when she took in all that was before her, she raised her hands to her cheeks. “Papa!” He was just climbing over the rail of his ship and down a rope ladder to a small boat.

  “See the name on his ship?” Simon asked.

  Shielding her eyes against the sun, she looked toward the ship’s hull and read Blessing. “Oh Simon!”

  “Aye, sweetheart, a clever way of letting me know I need not fear his guns. He comes for our wedding.”

  She waited excitedly as her papa and M’sieur Bequel were rowed across the small distance, then climbed up the man-rope of the Fairwinds and dropped onto the deck where she and Simon stood waiting.

  “Oh Papa,” she exclaimed rushing to him, “you came!” He embraced her tightly. She looked into his dark eyes. “Thank you for giving us your blessing.”

  He stared into her eyes for a moment. She hoped he saw her happiness there. Then looking over her head, he said. “As you might imagine, Powell, I am not pleased about the manner in which you chose to collect my daughter. But I
concede, I owe you. I had not chosen well.” Claire stepped out of his arms, and her papa glanced at her before saying, “I can see Claire is determined to have you. Given that, I’d be a fool to withhold my permission.”

  Simon chuckled. “You are no fool, sir.”

  Claire returned to Simon’s side. He wrapped his arm possessively around her shoulder and drew her close. His warmth reassured her that she was where she was meant to be.

  “I see you have returned the Abundance,” Simon remarked.

  “Oui, it was to be part of my daughter’s dowry. Seeing how it was yours to begin with, I could hardly refuse.”

  “It is most welcome. Did I mention that I like your new name for la Reine Noire?”

  “It is only temporary,” said her papa, “and I have you to thank for the idea.”

  Simon held out his hand. “You have my thanks, sir, for your blessing and for the gift of Claire’s hand in marriage.”

  Her papa shook Simon’s hand. It was enough to show her the two men she loved had made peace. Given their prior relationship, she couldn’t see her papa giving Simon the traditional French kiss on both cheeks.

  “I trust you will take care of her, Powell. She’ll not be forced to live on a ship?”

  “I will love her all of my days,” said Simon, “and she’ll have a fine house in London.”

  Claire listened to the exchange, happy her father and the man she loved agreed on something involving her. Simon had told her the terms of the treaty ending the American war were not yet agreed to. Until they were, her papa and Simon were officially enemies.

  Her papa narrowed his eyes on Simon. “And you will keep your promise?”

  “Aye, sir, I will,” Simon confidently replied.

  “What promise?” she wanted to know.

  “I think you will find it most acceptable, sweetheart, but I’ll tell you when we are alone.” He faced her papa. “Will you and your quartermaster join me in my cabin for some brandy?”