Page 54 of Echo in the Wind

“’Tis a bit like painting the lily to add honey to the sweet bread, don’t you think?”

She grinned. “Since I am forced to be your guest, Monsieur Donet, I should think I might eat the brioche any way I like. Besides, your cabin boy offered me the honey and ’tis quite good.”

“It comes from Guernsey.” He lifted his coffee to his mouth and swallowed the dark liquid, ordering his body to calm. “A place I think you would like very much. I have a warehouse there full of tea, brandy and… other things. That is where the silk was stored.”

“I remember the silk,” she said with a sigh. “Brocade such as I have never seen.”

“I chose the vermilion because I knew it would go well with your hair.”

Her eyes flashed a look of surprise before focusing on her coffee. “I do recall you telling me you have known from the beginning I was a smuggler. ’Tis embarrassing to think my disguise so transparent.”

“Only to me. My quartermaster, M’sieur Bequel, with whom you spoke, never suspected. Nor did any of my crew.”

She smiled at him over her brioche and swept her tongue over her honey-sweetened lips. The sunlight had rendered her long auburn curls a waterfall of burnished copper. The innocence in her eyes told him she was unaware of her seductive effect.

Her eyes seemed to scrutinize him as she bit her bottom lip. “So, you keep secrets?”

“Many,” he said.

“A man who keeps secrets is unusual. And one who knows ladies’ fashion is most rare. You, Captain Donet, are a rare and unusual man.”

He laughed. “I am French, Mademoiselle. I once had a wife and still have a daughter, and I have been to Versailles, which may explain my familiarity with silk and ladies’ fashions. As for the other, you must know that pirates and spies, both of which I have been, must frequently keep secrets.”

“I knew you had been a pirate, but a spy?”

“In the war, oui. Ostensibly for America’s Mr. Franklin, but our Foreign Minister, Charles Gravier, comte de Vergennes, was his partner in all.”

She merely shrugged at his past pursuits, then blithely licked honey from another piece of brioche. Many women would be horrified. Not this one.

He liked looking at her across his table and would regret the day he must return her to her brother. But until then, he would enjoy her company. “Once we are anchored in Lorient, I will take you to my home. It overlooks the harbor. You will be more comfortable there. I will, of course, provide you with a maid.” He didn’t expect to find a lady’s maid at the château in Saintonge since both his brother and father had been widowers at the time of their deaths.

“How long will we be in Lorient?”

“Only a few days.” He did not tell her they would be going on from there to Saintonge. She would know soon enough. “If M’sieur Bouchet assures me you are on your way to a full recovery, I will take you to a modiste I know who can make up some gowns. At my expense, of course.”

“’Tis very generous, Monsieur, but it hardly seems fitting for you to buy clothes for a lady who is not your wife, your sister or your daughter.”

“If it bothers you, I can seek recompense from Torrington, but I would prefer the gowns and other garments you will require be my gift for your trouble. I can hardly send you back to England in breeches.”

Her cheeks flushed scarlet. At that moment, sitting there with her auburn hair falling down her back and honey glistening on her lips, he had no desire to return her to England or, indeed, to send her anywhere he did not plan to go.

Stifling an urge to tumble her to his bed, he set his napkin on the table and stood. “I must see my ship safely into Lorient. When that is accomplished, I will come for you.”

Joanna drank the last of her coffee, which was quite good, though she found it ironic Donet did not offer her tea when he must have plenty of it stashed in his hold. Or, maybe he no longer did, having unloaded his goods at Bognor. All but the silk, she reminded herself. That was still aboard. He had known she would like the vermilion silk. The man had very good taste.

Slowly, she rose, flinching only a little at the pull of her damaged but healing skin and walked to the stern windows. She felt quite accomplished now that she could cross the cabin while the ship was under way without holding on to the edge of the table.

Gazing out at the sun dancing on the waters roiling in the ship’s wake, she drifted into a contented state and her mind turned to the mysterious Captain Donet.

She had no trouble picturing him as a spy. There had always been an air of danger and mystery about him. The way he had shouted orders to his crew as the revenue cutter sailed straight toward them proved he was calm in the face of danger.

He had said she would be staying at his home in Lorient. ’Twould be scandalous if it were known she had been alone with him in his home, but the prospect appealed all the same. He had been a gentleman for all she had feared him a rogue. And she believed he would keep his word and return her to England. Truth be told, she enjoyed being with him, perhaps too much for her own good.

Behind her, she heard the cabin door open and turned to see Gabe returning. “Good morning.”

“Bonjour, my lady.” He set about clearing the table and straightening the cabin.

Joanna turned back to gaze out the large windows. The coastline of Brittany lay off one side of the ship. As the ship turned eastward, land came into view off the stern she had not noticed before. “Is that an island?”