Page 90 of Echo in the Wind

“Must you sail so much?”

He jerked his head around to catch the serious look on her face. Whatever her thoughts, she cared deeply about his answer. Was she asking for Zoé or for herself? “Non. I have men to manage my affairs and worthy seamen to sail my ships. ’Tis just that I love the sea. But now I have more to be concerned with: the estate in Saintonge, my ships in Lorient, the king’s demands—which will no doubt take me more often to Paris—and you.”

“Me? Do you think to find room for me in all of that?”

He chuckled, lifting one of her curls from her shoulder and rubbing it between his fingers. “I do not worry about you, Joanna, at least not about finding room for you in my life.” He did not think he could live without her.

She pressed her lips together as if holding back words she wanted to speak.

“Come to me tonight,” he whispered in her ear. “I will send Gabe away as soon as I return to my cabin.”

She did not reply but continued to stare out to sea.

Would she come?

Alone in her small cabin, Joanna watched the flame flicker in the lantern, thinking about the last few days and the comte. He had teased her about his cat becoming hers. She had wondered, at the time, if he meant what he said about not minding as long as he could have both the cat and her.

If she returned to England, the cat might mourn her loss, but would he? How did she fit into his life? He had said he did not worry about including her. Did that mean he was confident she would stay with him? Follow him around like the cat followed her? Ironically, just when she’d found a man she wanted, he seemed in no hurry to make their relationship more than it was. Perhaps the lusty comte considered her a mere convenience, a woman to be enjoyed for a time and then cast aside.

She had grown close to his niece, tucking her in each night and hearing her prayers. It would be hard on both of them if Joanna were to return to England.

She wished she had her friend Cornelia to talk to. She had left her home in America to marry a British nobleman and remained by his side even when England declared war with her country. Of all women, surely Cornelia would understand Joanna’s love for a Frenchman. And she would understand Joanna’s choice of Donet, who Cornelia once described as a hero decorated by both America and France. But would she agree with Joanna’s decision to become Donet’s mistress?

Running her brush through her hair, she felt suspended between the inner voice that told her to stay in her cabin and her longing to go to his. Would she go to him tonight? Donet’s arrangement of the cabins provided a way for her to go to his cabin without others knowing. Surely he had planned it just for that reason.

She had gone to him once. How much easier to go to him now when she knew the passion that awaited her? Perhaps, that is how a woman raised to be a lady became a man’s mistress. The first time would be difficult, even a bit frightening. But the remembered passion would make the next time easier. After all, such a woman would already be ruined in the eyes of all. Once compromised, the path ahead would be clear. And if she loved the man, she would willingly go to him.

As if a tether connected them, she felt the pull of his dark beauty, his man’s body, lithe and muscled. She wanted to be with him, had longed for his touch. And she wanted to feel him moving against her, kissing her, making love to her.

They had not come together since that night in Saintonge, but she had glimpsed the desire in his eyes. Perhaps others had seen it, too. She was certain Gabrielle had guessed what lay between them after she had glimpsed Joanna’s bed, turned down but unused.

Having made up her mind, Joanna realized she would have to move as silently as the cat curled up on her bed so as not to draw the attention of one of his crew or her maid.

What did one wear to a tryst aboard a ship? She still had on her gown of cinnamon patterned cotton with a bit of lace around the bodice. Perhaps she should not change into her nighttime attire. He would only remove it anyway. Better to be discovered wearing a gown than a chemise and a robe.

Heart racing, she quietly slipped into the passageway and took the few steps to his cabin. She didn’t knock but slowly opened the cabin door, careful to make no sound as she entered.

He stood with his back to her, staring out the windows at the moonlight dancing on the waters. His midnight hair hung loose over his black velvet robe. When he turned, she saw beneath it he wore a white shirt, open at the neck, and black breeches. He was barefoot.

“You came,” he said in his richly accented voice.

“Did you know I would?” Sometimes she hated that he read her so well.

“One can never be certain with a vixen.” He walked to the pedestal table in the center of the cabin. “Would you like something to drink?”

She shook her head. “La Renarde… the name on the ship?”

He lifted the crystal decanter from the fenced tray and poured himself a brandy. “Oui, ’tis named for you, Joanna. I trust it meets with your approval?”

“’Tis embarrassing,” she scolded, twisting her hands at her waist. “What will people think?”

He took a drink and set the glass down, coming closer. Lifting her hand to his mouth, he placed a warm kiss on her knuckles. Behind him, the light of the lantern cast his face in shadows. “My crew, no doubt, wonders at your continued presence. If they make the connection between the ship’s new name and the red-haired beauty who travels with me, they will only smile at the change in their capitaine. But no one will speak a word of it.”

Raised to be a proper lady, Joanna was feeling uncomfortable in her new role as his mistress. She had thought she could go along with it being as she was in France, away from her family and those who knew her well, but her mind was plagued with second thoughts.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Like a brimstone match set to dry timber, she caught fire, opening her mouth to him, drinking deeply of his brandy-tinged kiss.

Her second thoughts flew away.