Scarborough Fair - Chris Scott Wilson [99]
“A most erratic man. He was eventually court-martialled for that and other things. The navy dismissed him in disgrace.” As he completed the explanation, he released the whalebone corset. Deftly, she caught and set it down on the chair before tugging down her pantaloons. Naked but for a garter, she turned to face him. She allowed him a long look, then tiptoed to the bed. Covered by the sheets, chin resting on raised knees, she watched as he undressed.
“You said America has recognized your achievement now. How?”
He faltered, turning to give her a small smile. “I am to receive a Congressional Medal of Honor. It has yet to be designed, but it will be cast in gold.” He brushed a hair from his uniform jacket before hanging it on the chair back. She fell silent as he peeled off his shirt and breeches, folding both carefully before turning toward the bed. She lay back, holding open the covers for him to join her. In bed, he propped himself up on one elbow and looked down into her face.
She peered up, wide-eyed. “And so, if America is now proud of you, what brings you to France?” After a moment she chuckled. “I would like to think you came back for me.”
He smiled gallantly. “Would that I had. No, I am to be attached to the French navy again. It appears La Belle France will soon be at war with England.”
She grimaced. “Not again. War, there is always war.”
Paul Jones pulled her close, kissing her nose. She hooked a leg over his thigh, her body pliant, inviting.
He smiled slowly. “My lady, what else is there but love and war?”
END