Page 87 of Echo in the Wind

He touched her cheek with his fingers. She shivered at his touch, at the prospect of staying with him.

His hands went to her waist and he bent his head to brush his lips over hers, once, twice. “I want you in my bed, Joanna.” He kissed her, sliding his tongue into her mouth, possessing, plundering. Like a pirate claiming his gold.

She gave in to the wanting of him, raising her hands to his nape, and welcomed the kiss. Her breasts pressed against his hard chest and she felt her body yearning to be joined with his again. She had never realized a woman could feel such hunger for a man.

When he broke the kiss, she opened her eyes, feeling slightly dazed. His kisses always left her witless.

He touched his forehead to hers. “Will you go?”

“You knew I would say ‘yes’, didn’t you?”

“I had hoped. I don’t wish to go without you, and I must take Zoé for her safety. She would want you to go, too.” Joanna did not tell him that if Zoé had her way, they would be wed. Her instincts told her doing so might frighten him away.

He took her hand and they walked back to the château. “I have ordered gowns for you for Paris. You will need them for Versailles.”

“Versailles. I thought never to see it.”

“Now you will,” he said, squeezing her hand.

She glanced at him, unsure how to broach the next subject. “Before you leave Saintonge, I wanted to ask you about your tenants and the workers in the vineyards.”

“Yes?”

“The cottages I saw on our way to Saint Jean d’Angély were miserable heaps of mud, without even windows. Is that where your workers and tenants live?”

“It might be. I’d have to ask Giroud. It has been many years since I lived here, you may recall. At that time, they lived close.”

“Is there nothing you can do for them? The children looked so miserably poor.”

“I see you are still the lady who smuggles French goods into Sussex to feed the English poor. And now you would have me taking on the woes of the French.”

Her forehead creased with concern. “The children were barefoot and in rags. As the women watched our carriage, some looked angry. I couldn’t blame them. You have spoken of the egregious taxes they pay. If the comte de Saintonge is wealthy, might you pay them? Or give them new cottages?”

He took a deep breath and let it out, as if to think. Finally, he said, “I can and because you ask, I will. M’sieur Giroud can be put to the task of reducing the rents they pay. And we can increase their wages. ’Twill be the same result in the end. I do not wish to become one of those aristocrats who expects to be carried on the backs of the poor.”

“Thank you,” she said. “It means much to me that you would do something for them.”

He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her skin. “I do it for you, Joanna.”

Her emotions were mixed as they returned to the château. Already, her awkward position was making her feel uncomfortable. A female “guest” traveling with an unmarried aristocrat would be thought his mistress. And if she returned to his bed that is precisely what she would be. Here on his estate, she did not worry for her reputation, but how would they treat her in Paris?

Early the next morning, the carriage loaded, Jean said his goodbyes to the servants lined up in front of the château. The parting was vastly different from his stormy exit a score of years before when they had stared openmouthed at the shouting match between him and his father.

Tears flowed down Marguerite’s cheeks as she hugged his niece to her bosom. Zoé, too excited to be sad, told her not to worry. The girl’s only thought was for what lay ahead, sailing on his ship and seeing Paris for the first time.

He had spoken with Giroud about doing something to lighten the burden on his tenants. With the money from the stored casks they would sell, the estate would be flush with coin. Jean did not need to dip into his own considerable wealth to help his tenants, though he would have done so if need be to make Joanna happy.

The estate manager seemed relieved to hear of his plans. “Take care, M’sieur. I will send word should I hear of anything.” Jean nodded, knowing he referred to the murders and the carriage attack.

When Marguerite finally let go of Zoé, Émile gave the housekeeper a kiss on both cheeks.

Marguerite blushed.

“I’m in yer debt for sewing up the gash in my shoulder.”

“’Twas nothing, Monsieur.”

When all the goodbyes were said, they climbed into the carriage. The new driver was one of his footmen, pressed into service as his coachman. Inside, Joanna and Zoé took the forward-facing seat while Émile and Gabrielle took the other.