Scarborough Fair Read Online Free Page B

apparently so desperately needed, it was merely a matter of when.
    â€œHe offered you nothing?” she asked quietly.
    He nodded, tendons writhing along his cheekbone. “He generously offered me Renommee , a frigate, but remembered she had already been given to a French captain. Then he suggested I take command of, how did he say it, ‘a number of small armed vessels’ out of St. Malo to disrupt the English privateer fleet in the Channel Islands. Then he had another bout of memory, casually mentioning that Prince de Nassau-Siegen would be in overall command, and a man like myself would not mind lending my experience to royalty.”
    He resumed pacing, bristling with humiliation. “It is not enough for him to deny me a ship, but when he offers one he refuses me full control. When I sail in a squadron, I will command or nothing.” He lapsed into an uneasy silence.
    Therese studied the garden. In the distance a fountain played carelessly, the column tumbling onto water lilies where golden carp swam lazily. “What now, my Captain?” She feared his answer would take him from her.
    He halted again, hand gesturing. “I have directed the midshipman who accompanied me to Le Havre to tell me of any suitable ship brought into France as a prize, and I have written to everyone who may be able to help.” He stepped to the seat and sat down slowly as though his tirade had drained his strength. As the bench took his weight Therese squirmed like a puppy, smiling at him coyly while making sure he was in the best position for a view of her charms so amply displayed by the low neckline of her gown. He turned to smile wanly, nothing lost on him.
    â€œUntil I hear of a ship, I do as I have done. I wait.”
    ***

    Knuckles rattled at the bedroom door.
    Therese was seated at her dressing table, brushing the short mousy hair she always hid beneath her ash blonde wigs. Fresh from her bath, the water only just emptied and carried away by the maid, she was dressed only in her negligee.
    â€œOne moment!” she called. Quickly, she retrieved a powdered wig from its stand and carefully eased it over her own hair. Though she wore no rouge, she knew her skin glowed from the hot bath. With a glance to reassure herself she was presentable, she shifted position on the stool, presenting a half profile to the door, her best angle. “ Entrez !”
    The brass handle twisted and a moment later her husband was in the room, face flushed, brow furrowed in an anger she recognized as all too familiar, advancing toward her flapping a sheet of parchment in an outstretched hand.
    â€œThe man is insufferable, I tell you. But what can one expect of these foreigners, these jumped-up Americans? Do they think we all hold office merely to serve them? That all of Belle France hangs on their every whim? The man is a guest in my house, too, and he has the effrontery…If I had my way I would pack the scoundrel off on the next ship across the Atlantic and good riddance. I would even pray for storms.”
    As he came to a panting stop Therese hoped her alarm at his outburst did not show. So her husband had found out after all. Her little affaire was over. She had enjoyed Paul Jones in all senses of the word and was reluctant to let him go. But then Donatien always found out in the end. At least this time there had been something to discover, not like that time with the cavalry officer, the cuirassier , with his polished breastplate. A strutter and braggart, all mouth and no finesse. No, perhaps she could correct that: all talk and no finesse. That’s all he knew how to do with his mouth—talk. Precious little had occurred before Donatien had come into her bedchamber just like this, demanding truth and fidelity. Now she gazed impassively at him. He was dressed in a dark frock coat and knee breeches so he had come straight from his offices in the city. Her thoughts raced madly but she could find no excuses to