“B-Belle,” he groaned, surrendering to the building heat, the slick sounds of her hand on him filling the quiet room.
His thighs tensed beneath her, hips rising in shallow thrusts that matched her rhythm, chasing the friction she gave so generously.
When the end came for him, it broke over him in waves: his whole body going taut, back arching off the bed as his manhood pulsed hard in her grasp, spilling thick and hot across her fingers and his own skin.
“Annabelle,” he pressed her name out in a breath so low she felt it more than heard it, raw and reverent against her ear, his grip on her wrist finally easing as the last tremors shuddered through him.
After, she lay against his chest in the dark. The fire had gone to ash, and the room was cool, and neither of them moved to fix it.
“We are considerably more interesting than friends,” she said, and he found some measure of amusement in her words because he chuckled.
“I think I am wont to agree, wife,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“This is the part about the weather gauge,” James said. He had the ship book open on Dominic’s desk, his finger on the page. “I don’t know what it means.”
Dominic looked up from the ledger. James stood in the doorway, book extended, chin forward.
“Where did you encounter the term?” Dominic asked.
“Page forty-three.” James came in and set the book flat on the desk, open to a page showing two fleets and a diagram of wind direction arrows. “Annabelle didn’t know. She said to ask you.”
Dominic set his pen down. “The weather gauge is the upwind position. The ship that holds it has the wind at her back—she can advance or retreat on her own terms. The ship downwind fights on the other captain’s terms.”
James studied the diagram. “So the whole battle can be decided before a single shot.”
“A significant portion of it.”
“By the wind.”
“By whoever positioned himself better before the wind shifted.” He leaned forward and traced the formation with one finger above the page, not touching it. “This is the French van at Trafalgar. By the time Nelson engaged, they were already on the leeward side. They couldn’t close the distance without sailing into their own guns.”
James’s head tilted. “So being stronger doesn’t always mean winning.”
“Rarely. A stronger fleet in the wrong position loses.”
James studied the plate in silence, eyes moving from fleet to fleet. Then: “Can I sit?”
“Yes.”
He pulled the small chair from its corner and set it beside the desk. He opened the book flat between them. “Why did Nelson sail perpendicular to their line? Every other fleet sailed in a line.”
“Because he knew the perpendicular approach would put his ships under fire for thirty minutes with no ability to return it.” Dominic picked up the book. “He also knew that once his columns broke the enemy’s line, it would create a close-range engagement, and English gun crews were faster at close range than any fleet afloat.”
James thought about this. “He let his men be shot at on purpose. To reach a better position.”
“Yes.”
“He knew some of them would die.”
“He did.”
James was quiet, looking at the plate. “Was he sad about it?”
Dominic paused. “I believe he was. He had served with those men for years. He knew their names.”
James nodded.
