To Tame the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 0) (28 page)

It was all the encouragement he needed. He glanced down at
her clothes, tempted to rip them from her, but he remembered she wore her
wedding gown. “If you think to wear that gown to our wedding, you’d best take
it off. Besides, I want to see you, sweetheart—all of you.”

Claire blushed and began to pull at her laces.

“Here, I’ll help. I’m good at this part.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you are.”

He turned her and began stripping the laces. The frippery
fell to the deck, her gown, petticoats, corset and shift forming a pile.

She kicked off her shoes and picked up the gown. Carefully
making her way across the rolling deck, she laid it aside.

As she moved, his eyes feasted on her rounded breasts, her
narrow waist and enticing hips and buttocks. Standing there in only her silk
stockings, she was delectable. And embarrassed, he noted, when she turned and
faced him, covering her breasts with her arms.

“Don’t fret, sweetheart. I’ll be as naked as you in a
moment.” He ripped off his cravat and waistcoat, having already shed his coat
and boots. Pulling his shirt over his head, he was left in only his breeches as
he reached to touch her arms. Slowly, he backed her toward the bed.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, her innocence rising to
the surface.

He smiled at her and reached his hand to cup her cheek.
“Just respond to me, sweetheart. I’ve imagined you like this, you know, so many
times.” He drew her arms from her perfect breasts, their honeyed tips calling
to him. “You are so beautiful, Claire.”

She blushed. He should have expected it. She was neither a
practiced courtesan, nor a bored lady of the
ton
, but a convent-raised,
sheltered young woman. It was a miracle he had found her at all and another
that she had given him her love, accepting him as he was. He couldn’t help but
wonder if he could ever be worthy of that love. Silently, he vowed to prove to
her and the world that he loved her above any other treasure life could offer.

When he had backed her to the bed, he began undoing his
breeches. His sex sprang free, bold and hard. Oh God, he wanted her so. She
looked down and inhaled sharply.

“’Tis all right, sweetheart. I mean to go slow.”

Stepping out of his breeches, he leaned into her and a bolt
of lightning coursed through him as they fell onto the bed together.

Claire gasped as Simon fell on her, his long, lean body
pressing against her from her breasts to her thighs. The hard flesh of his man
part pressed into her belly and a frisson of fear coursed through her. He was
so large and she was new to a man’s loving. But this was Simon, she reminded
herself, her golden one, the man she loved and had agreed to wed.

He braced himself on his elbows and dipped his head to her
kiss her.

She wrapped her arms around him and held him close. She
would think only of his kisses and not what came after. The scrape of his
unshaved face as he pulled his mouth from hers was tantalizing. His warm
muscled body glided over her woman’s softness as he moved his mouth to her
breasts, setting every nerve on end when his rough, whiskered skin encountered
her nipple.

When he covered one breast with his mouth and began to lick
and gently suck, ripples of pleasure coursed through her and an ache arose
between her thighs. He moved his mouth to her other breast at the same time he
moved to one side, placing his palm over her woman’s mound and moving his hand
in slow circles.

She moaned with pleasure and held his head to her breast.

As if he knew what she needed, his finger was suddenly
stroking her woman’s flesh and then it was inside her, touching some sensitive
spot that made her crave more, made her suddenly slick. His finger stroked her
and she rocked her hips to meet his touch. It was alarming and wonderful as her
body responded of its own accord to his touch.

He brought his mouth back to hers and kissed her deeply as
he moved above her.

She spread her legs allowing his hips to rest between them,
wanting his hardened flesh against her soft, hungry flesh. At her core she
experienced a quiver when he pressed against her, rocking his hips so that his
hardened member glided along her tender flesh that was now seeking, wanting
more. Fear and excitement wrestled within her.

When she thought she could bear no more pleasure, she
whispered, “Oh, Simon.” It was a plea for more.

She felt a shudder run through him. “I had wanted to go
slow, sweetheart, but it seems I… cannot.”

The tip of his hardened flesh probed between her thighs. It
frightened her for what she knew it was, what she feared was coming. But
longing to be joined with him, wanting him to be inside her aching core, she
raised her hips in invitation.

“I can’t stop, Claire, can’t…go slow.” With one sure thrust,
he buried himself deep within her.

She expected it to hurt and it did. But with their joining,
she felt complete. They were one.

He pulled from her slightly only to enter again, his hard
flesh filling her, stretching her.

I love you.

She lifted her legs to wrap around him and gripped his
shoulders with her hands. His thrusts grew more rapid and the pain turned into
something else, something more, as a rising pleasure drew all her attention to
the center of their joining. They were moving together even as the ship moved
beneath them.

She raised her hips to take him deeper with each thrust. A
sudden tightening of her muscles grew more intense where they were joined. The
tension was building, like a wave taking her higher and higher to some
unreachable crest. Suddenly the tension burst and she felt suspended in air as
spasms rippled through her.

Simon stiffened above her, then threw back his head, his
eyes shut tightly. One harsh, guttural groan and he collapsed on top of her.
She held him to her as the ship rolled in the waters of the Channel, loving the
feel of him around her, inside of her.

Simon awoke to a different sort of light filtering in through
the windows of his cabin. Afternoon sunlight, he thought. The ship rocked
gently, telling him they had anchored in Rye Harbor.

He felt Claire’s warm body nestled against his, her arm
draped over his chest and one of her legs slung over his thigh. His manhood
stirred. He wanted her again. Reaching his hand to her long, dark hair where it
spread out over his chest and her shoulders, he ran his fingers through the
tendrils of black silk. Nudging his face against hers, he kissed her temple.
Lavender
. 
He had slept with her scent all around him. No wonder he was hard and ready.

Turning into her warmth, he kissed her forehead, her cheeks.
She made small, kitten-like noises as she rose from the depths of sleep.
Softly, he kissed her awake. “Sweetheart,” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

Unable to wait for more words, he rolled her beneath him and
kissed her again. She was so warm and soft. “I love you, my own.”

She opened her eyes and smiled. “Simon, my love.”

“Aye.” He grinned. “So I am.”

She reached for him, twisting her hands through his hair,
freed from its queue long ago. Their love ignited a flame that swept them
higher as their passion demanded fulfillment. This time, he took her more
slowly, she, his willing partner in their leisurely lovemaking.

What a fortunate man he was to have tamed the wind and won
such a woman as his bride.

A few hours later, Simon was busy on deck, whistling, his
mind filled with images of Claire sleeping curled against him, when Elijah,
standing at the starboard rail, interrupted his thoughts.

“Well now, there’s somethin’ I ain’t never thought to see in
me lifetime!”

“What is it?” he asked coming up behind the old seaman who’d
just blown a puff of smoke into the air.

Elijah squinted his eyes. “I only know’d ’er ’cause I seen
‘er before.” Pointing to entrance of the harbor, he said, “Look ye there,
Cap’n. See that ship, jus’ a-comin’ in? She's all decked out like a lady in new
petticoats an’ flyin’ His Majesty's silks, but damn me eyes if that ain’t the
painted doxie of a certain French pirate, lately a privateer.”

Simon caught up the spyglass from the binnacle and aimed it
toward the ship just entering Rye Harbor. A wide smile spread across his face
when he saw the name on the hull.

Jordan joined them at the rail, raising a quizzical brow.

Still grinning, Simon slapped the spyglass into the hand of
his first mate and pointed. “She’s flying false colors with a new rig and he’s
covered some of the gun ports with painted canvas, but Elijah has the right of
it. That’s
la Reine Noire
. I’d know her anywhere.”

Jordan extended the spyglass looking toward the incoming
ship and frowned. “What the devil is he—”

"Look, sir! Look what’s comin’ up behind her!"
shouted Nate, pointing and jumping up onto the rail in his excitement. “It’s
the
Abundance
! She’s come back to us, sir!”

“So she has,” said Simon, “so she has.”

The
Fairwinds
crew left their chores and gathered
around to watch as the brig-sloop, rigged as a schooner, sailed closer,
followed by the ship they knew so well.

The two vessels under full sail crossed the harbor swiftly,
skimming the water like white birds, heading straight for the
Fairwinds
.
British colors fluttered from their mainsails. The Navy cutter making its
customary rounds of the harbor ignored them completely.

Amos Busby joined Simon at the rail. “The
Abundance
!”

“Aye,” said Simon. “She’s with him.”

When the larger ship was a mere biscuit-toss away, Simon
heard a cry of orders from her deck. With a rattle and a bang, all her canvas
came down at once, the wheel was turned hard to port and her anchor splashed
into the harbor not twenty yards from their own taut cables. The French ship
doused her sails and glided smoothly into place just off their starboard
quarter—as neat a job of anchoring as Simon had ever seen.

“Go, quickly, Nate. Fetch your mistress,” he ordered. “Tell
her nothing. I want to see her face when she learns her father has come.”

Simon’s gaze fixed on the deck of the French ship. His
nemesis, Jean Donet, stood on the raised quarterdeck, a tall figure in black,
his stance sure, his eyes focused ahead. A vision that Simon knew had struck
fear in the hearts of many a British seaman.

“There stands a gen-u-ine pirate, lads,” said Elijah to the
crew of the
Fairwinds
gaping at Donet.

“No,” said Simon. “There stands courage. He risked his life
to sail to England to give me his daughter’s hand. He does it for love of her.”
Turning to face his crew, he said, “Hear me well, men. While Donet is in
England, he is my guest and under my protection.”