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By Root 926 0

Serapis? The battle at Flamborough Head had been eight long years ago. And little thanks he’d had at the time. While the king of France had presented him with a magnificent gold hilted sword, inscribed: Louis XVI, the rewarder of the valiant avenger of the sea, and a decoration, l’Order du Merite Militaire that accorded him the title Chevalier, Congress had offered nothing. Only praise. He had even had to beg them for permission to accept the French medal, and still they had offered him nothing more than verbal reward. He fingered the dark blue ribbon in his buttonhole with a touch of bitterness. On his return to America, Benjamin Franklin and Jefferson had recommended him for the rank of rear admiral, but two of the captains above him on the seniority list had succeeded in having his appointment suppressed. The irony was that both of them had never achieved the open sea in their ships, landlocked throughout the entire war.

At the sound of a footstep in the hallway he turned from the window. The door handle rattled, then she was in the room. Just the sight of her awoke his hunger. The widow Therese Townsend. Flawless skin and wide dark eyes that held all the promise of night. They contrasted vividly with her silvered wig, that touch of aristocracy she affected to endorse her claim as cousin to Louis XVI. She wore a green velvet dress, cut to emphasize her slim neck and ample bosom. Her waist was barely a hand span and she stood now, one hand on hip, appraising him from the doorway, mouth curved into a smile.

How like a cat she looks, he thought. A cat who has its paw on the mouse’s tail, relishing the anticipation of games to come. She reminded him of another Therese, a confrontation much the same as this but in a room far more elaborate. But then, M’sieur de Chaumont had earned considerably more than a naval officer. And how many ladies had there been since that Therese? He smiled. A gentleman does not keep count.

“I am happy, Commodore, you are pleased to see me,” Therese Townsend smiled. “I am flattered to be the first person you asked to see since you arrived back in Paris.”

He held open his arms. “Do I get a Parisian welcome?”

She came into his embrace, lips soft and yielding, her body a mold for excitement. Her scent invaded his very mind, an aperitif to the afternoon. The kiss was long and deep before she drew back, pouting, to study his face.

“Chevalier, the Knight.” She raised a teasing eyebrow. “A pun, or deliberate?” When he laughed, she touched the ribbon in his buttonhole. “And this is your medal?” He nodded and she pressed close. “I think I could give you a medal too. No wonder half the ladies in Paris titter when your name is mentioned.” She freed herself from his hold and began to peel off her gloves. “And what of America? Did they welcome you as I did?”

He chuckled. “At last America has recognized my achievement.”

“Help with my dress, please.” As he moved behind her to loosen the fastenings she looked over her shoulder with a frown. “I do not understand these things. Tell me, exactly what was so special about what you did?”

He stepped back as she wriggled free of the emerald velvet. He watched as she hung the dress over a chair then kicked off her shoes and began to roll down her silk stockings. His mouth was suddenly dry. She paused. “Well, what was so special?”

He cleared his throat, hands gesturing. “I challenged the ocean supremacy of the English in their own waters, within sight of England. The locals, you know, lined the cliffs at Flamborough Head and watched the battle. But most importantly, I won. And against a far superior ship, a brand new frigate when my own ship was a converted old East India merchantman.”

“Bonhomme Richard? My stays, please.” She turned her back to him again. He stroked her bare shoulder, his other hand beginning to unwind the stays of her corset. “But surely you had a whole squadron?”

He snorted. “Yes, but they refused my order to engage. One ship, Alliance, even fired into me at the height of the battle.”

“Alliance? I have heard of her captain, Pierre Landais.