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“And I have not sneezed?”

“Sneezed? Non, not once.”

The cat came closer. She reached out to stroke its glossy fur. The huge animal began to purr and curled up beside her. “Aunt Hetty’s cat always makes me sneeze. How odd this one does not.”

Donet grinned. “It seems mon chat is pleased with your touch.”

Jean trudged up the companionway, forcing his eyes to stay open, still thinking of Lady Joanna’s fingers running through Franklin’s fur. He had imagined those same fingers running through his hair. He shook his head to clear his thinking. After going so long without sleep, even longer without a woman, his mind had conjured something that could never be.

Emerging onto the weather deck, he breathed in the fresh sea air and yawned. The white caps on a gray sea beneath heavy dark clouds told him a storm was coming. The growing wind blew his hair into his face. Taking a ribbon from his waist, he tied it back.

Émile glanced toward Jean standing near the helm. The quartermaster’s face was set in grim lines as he marched toward Jean from amidships.

“Well?” said Émile, arriving at Jean’s side. “After so long and very few reports from yer lad, the whole crew wonders if the English smuggler has survived. Or their capitaine for that matter.”

“She lives. I have remained with her because I was worried. The wound was not a simple one. She lost much blood. Then the fever consumed her.” He met Émile’s gaze. “For a while, it was close, mon ami, but I think she will recover.”

“Mon Dieu, Capitaine, what would ye have done had she died? This smuggler is not only a woman, but Lady Joanna West!”

“Yes, yes, I know.” He crossed his arms over his chest. Standing with his feet apart, he searched the ship for signs of damage. “I have known all along.”

Émile inclined his head. “Ye have?”

“You don’t think her breeches could hide her woman’s shape from me, do you? It took only a little more information for me to ascertain her precise identity. I have been wondering how long it would take you to realize the truth of it.”

Émile pressed his lips tightly together and scowled.

“’Tis true. Lady Joanna leads the Bognor smugglers.”

Émile shook his head. “The crew won’t like having a woman aboard. We both know ’tis bad luck to have a woman on the ship, especially one they can’t touch.”

“Most will accept it. You may tell them she is my lady. And those few who do not accept her I will replace in Lorient.” In the long nights he had watched over her, Jean had sorted through the crew in his mind, deciding which ones might present a problem.

“How fares the ship? Gabe’s reports were rather vague, but I knew if the damage were severe, you’d have sent for me.”

His quartermaster looked aloft. “The English dog got off a lucky shot that sheared the main peak halyard. The bos’n and his mates rigged a jury splice that’s holding for now. The spanker boom and stern are cut up some, but nothing serious.” Facing Jean, he said, “The carpentry can wait until we reach port, but meanwhile, what’ll ye do with her, Capitaine?”

“Lady Joanna will sail with us to Lorient, of course. ’Tis not far from there to Saintonge. I would not send her back to England until she is well. Nor would I allow anyone other than myself to see her safely home. Since I cannot sail la Reine Noire to England any time soon and my sloop in Lorient needs some alterations to be readied, the lady will be with us for some time.”

“Does she know her sojourn in France will be longer than she might expect?”

Jean shook his head. “After she made her displeasure known to me at being forced to sail to Lorient, I thought to wait till we arrive before telling her she will be seeing more of France.”

His quartermaster gave Jean a lingering perusal. “Ye don’t seem bothered by the prospect of having her with ye.”

Jean gave his friend a sidelong glance. “Oddly, I am not.”

“I see.”

Perhaps Émile saw more than Jean intended. But he was too weary to think of it. He closed his eyes, swaying with the movement of the ship. He could fall asleep where he stood.

“If ye don’t mind my saying so, Capitaine, ye look like a whore’s bed. Why not get something to eat and a few hours of sleep?”

Jean’s head ached and his eyes burned. “That was my plan, but I could not sleep without a damage report and seeing to our passenger. Wake me should the storm turn out to be more than a small squall.”

“And where will ye be sleeping?” asked Émile.

He fought a yawn. “Oh, did I forget to say? Since yours is the largest of the officers’ cabins and the only one with two bunks, I thought to share with you.”