Page 105 of Echo in the Wind

“And I have known for a long while. I tried not to love you, Joanna, for fear of losing you, but I had no success in that.”

“None of us knows how many years we have, but however many we are given, I want to spend them with you.” She looked up at him. “And what of you, Sir Pirate? You sail a ship into storms; you battle revenue cutters and the Royal Navy on the Channel; you draw your sword on brigands. What if I lost you?”

“I think you far more resilient than I, chérie. You would survive.” He thought of something that had long bothered him. “Do you think I am too old for you?

She laughed. “I think you may not be old enough!”

“I shall take that as a sign I am still gaining wisdom. So be it. Since it is agreed we will wed, let us speak of plans. I thought we might marry here in Paris before a priest and then again before one of your Anglican clergy, perhaps on Guernsey. What say you?”

Her hand began moving in slow circles on his belly. “Yes, ’tis best. Though I am certain God would not care, in England, we must be wed by an Anglican clergyman for our marriage to be valid. And I would like to see Guernsey.”

“Since I am a Catholic, we must also be wed by a priest. By the bye, should you want to know the name of the man you will marry, I was born Jean-Philippe Donet. But when I went to sea, I dropped all but Jean.”

Her hand paused a few inches short of his groin. “Shall I call you Jean-Philippe?”

“Non. I am used to the name Jean Donet.” He kissed her forehead. “But I would like it if you called me Jean when we are alone.”

“I would like that, too.” Her palm circled just above his groin. “There will be a dowry, you know. Richard will insist.”

“I will not insult him by refusing.” He placed his hand over hers so he could think. What might they do with the dowry? He had no need of money. “Perhaps, if you like Guernsey, we can use your dowry to build a home there.” He lifted his hand and stroked her hair.

“Another home?” she asked, her fingers playing with the thatch of black hair at his groin. “Are three not enough?”

“More than we need, certainly, but it occurs to me that it would be good to have a place on what is considered English soil. If violent times are ahead for France, as I fear they are, you and my niece would be safe there.” He kissed the top of her head, smoothed her auburn hair over her shoulders and caressed one of her breasts. “An excellent place for a honeymoon, mon amour.”

“What about Zoé?” she asked, bringing her palm back to his chest and laying her chin on it to look up at him. “Can she live with us?”

“My niece is so attached to you, I rather think she will insist.”

“I was hoping you would agree. It will make her very happy.” She stroked his belly and his imagination followed the direction of her fingers. “At some point, we must return to England,” she said in a husky voice, “if only to see my family and share the news. Richard will be pleased I have wed, I think.” She laid her cheek on his chest and trailed her fingers to his groin.

His body responded to her increasingly provocative touches. “If my business in Paris can be soon concluded, we can be married and back in Sussex by the end of August. Would that please you, ma chérie?”

Her breathing began to speed and her heart pounded against his chest. “Oh, yes. Richard and Tillie will be home from London by then. Perhaps once we are wed, I might send a letter from Paris so they will not worry overmuch if they return and find me gone. I can tell them you took me from The Harrows, a willing bride.”

Her hand grasped his hardened flesh sending a shudder through him. The blood in his veins boiled. Unable to stand another minute of her ministrations, Jean rolled her beneath him.

She parted her thighs, her soft body welcoming him.

“Oui,” he whispered in her ear, “a most willing bride.”

Chapter 25

After supper, Jean retired to the salon with Joanna, Émile and Zoé. Joanna had just poured tea and he and Émile were sipping their cognac when Flèche appeared at the door.

“Gaspar is here to see you, Capitaine.”

Jean looked up, his eyes meeting Émile’s sitting across from him. “We will see him in the study.” Rising, he kissed Joanna on the cheek.

Once the three of them were ensconced in the study, Jean poured each of them a glass of cognac and, leaning against his desk, watched his quartermaster and former carpenter get reacquainted. “Ye old dog, Gaspar, how many children do ye have now?”

“Three, but a fourth is on the way. What about you, Émile?”

“Too many ladies to satisfy to settle with one.”

“Enough, you two,” said Jean. He met Gaspar’s steady gaze. “You have information for me?”

Gaspar reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a piece of paper. “The man who did the dirty work is Joseph Frey, a Swiss mercenary working for one of Necker’s Swiss friends, a Joseph de Vogelsang.”