Page 86 of Echo in the Wind

Zoé ran ahead and Joanna followed with the basket as they wandered away from the château. A gentle breeze stirred the tall grass as they walked along, Zoé bringing her flowers to contribute to the basket slung over Joanna’s arm.

Joanna paused to gaze back at the château. Smaller turrets decorating the roof pointed to the sky, making the whole affair appear more like a castle than she had thought when she had seen only the front. She had difficulty imagining the pirate captain as lord of this grand estate. He seemed more at home on the deck of his ship. Raised the son of a comte, educated in the manner of French nobility, he could well do both. Donet was no ordinary smuggler, but then, neither was she.

“Lady Joanna, won’t you marry soon?”

The question seemed to come out of nowhere, but then children often asked questions Joanna found startling. “Why do you ask?”

“You should have a husband and mon oncle needs a wife. We could be a family.”

She smiled down at the girl. “I am honored you would consider me, Zoé, but your uncle may not want another wife. From what I hear, he loved his first wife very much.”

“’Tis true,” she said with downcast eyes. “I once heard Papa and Grand-père arguing about her.”

“None of that matters now, Zoé. You have no need to fear being alone. Your uncle loves you and will take care of you.” She hoped he would keep the child with him, but his life didn’t seem to have room for Zoé, any more than it did for her. And then she remembered that Donet’s daughter had been educated in a convent near Paris. Did he mean to do the same with his niece?

They walked on through the long grass. Red, lavender and yellow flowers bobbed in the breeze amid the green blades. Zoé bent her head to pick more flowers.

Joanna drank up the summer sun, tilting her hat back to feel the warmth on her face. It was late June and the thought came to her that time was slipping away. She ignored it. If she had spent the summer at The Harrows, she would have missed the only man she might ever love.

“Look!” Zoé pointed toward the château. “It’s Oncle Jean.”

Joanna lifted her eyes to see Donet striding toward them with an easy grace, as smoothly as he crossed the deck of his ship. He wore no coat. In his black waistcoat and breeches, he appeared the smuggler she had first glimpsed in Bognor, except for his white shirt.

“What can he want?” He would not come looking for them unless the matter was of some importance.

Her heart overflowed with love, watching him draw close. She blushed, remembering what he looked like when he wore nothing. She had touched his lean muscled body and knew its scars as well as her own. The words of his surgeon came back to her: He bears wounds only seen with the heart, and the scars that have formed over the years still pain him. Would she ever see those wounds, touch those deeper scars?

As he reached her, an easy smile crossed his face. “Here you are!” he exclaimed. “Lost among the flowers.”

“Did you come to pick flowers with us, mon oncle?” asked Zoé with a hopeful expression.

The look in his dark eyes told Joanna he hadn’t come to pick flowers. His purpose was more serious.

“Non.” He picked up one of his niece’s long curls, the color so like his own. “I must speak to Lady Joanna alone for a moment. Do you think you could carry the flowers back to Marguerite? I promise to join you shortly.”

“All right.” Zoé glanced at the two of them and reluctantly accepted the basket Joanna handed her. “But don’t be long. We are to have tea on the terrace.”

The girl skipped away, swinging her basket, the blue ribbons from her straw hat flying behind her in the breeze.

Donet watched her for a moment, then turned back to Joanna. “She is becoming quite attached to you.”

“I like her, too.” She was afraid to say more, afraid to confide her thought that she would love to be a sister to his niece, even a mother if the girl would allow it. “What is it you wish to discuss with me?”

He took her hand and led her to one side of the field where a copse of oak trees provided shelter from the sun and, she thought, from prying eyes.

“I have been summoned to Paris by the king. We are leaving Saintonge tomorrow.” At her raised brows, he added, “’Tis probably only the usual requirement for one new to a title to pay homage to his sovereign.”

“Oh.” She looked down at the ground, remembering Richard had done the same when he became the Earl of Torrington. She had a sinking feeling her time in France, her time with him, was about to end.

His thumb rubbed the top of her hand, making sensual circles over her skin. She grew warm at his nearness, at the memory of their night together. At the desire that flooded her senses.

“I know you have wanted to return to England,” he began in his French-accented voice, “but I would prefer you go with me to Paris.”

Go with him to Paris? She looked up, losing herself for a moment in his obsidian eyes. “As what, M’sieur?”

He pulled her close, their bodies touching. His lips were so close. Their eyes met and neither looked away. “As my guest, if you like. More, if you would have it. I have made a few changes on my sloop so that you will have your own cabin. In Paris, you would have your own rooms, though I would welcome you in mine.”

His gaze remained intense, his eyes so dark and heated she could fall into their depths. “I would like to see Paris.”