Free The Falcon and the Sparrow by M. L. Tyndall

one glimpse of the information within this room—and duplicated on documents locked securely within his study. In the French First Consul’s power-hungry hands, that information could very well turn the tide of the war that Chase knew would soon resume.
    His thoughts drifted to his new governess. It had been nearly two weeks since he had seen Miss Dawson, yet the time had done nothing to erase her from his mind. Ever since that night he had caught her in his bedchamber, he’d been quite successful at avoiding her company. Whenever he had heard her gentle steps in the hallway or her laughter flowing from a room, he had turned the other way, unwilling to face the odd feeling that welled within him in her presence. But what was the cause of it? Though certainly attractive and educated, she possessed no other extraordinary qualities. In fact, she reminded him of a timid sparrow flittering here and there, startled by the slightest movement. So unlike Melody. His wife had faced life—and death—with a stalwart courage he rarely saw, even among his crew at sea. She had never backed down from a challenge, always stood her ground in defense of herself and her family.
    Yet he could not deny there was something within Miss Dawson’s shimmering amber eyes that attracted him—contradictions that baffled him, a hope despite her circumstances, a peace that defied her outward nervousness, and a strength that belied her weakness. Miss Dawson was a mystery, indeed.
    Tonight he would make a point of speaking with her—if only to find out how William was doing. Yes, for William’s sake, of course.

    “No, William, try again,” Dominique urged the young boy as they sat together on the sofa. “The word is maison . It means house. Maison. Like the one you live in.” she gestured around the morning room in which they sat—the coziest room in the pretentious town house, and her personal favorite. Cushioned high-backed chairs, armed settees, and the plush arch-backed sofa she sat upon with William made it a comfortable place for family gatherings—except it was always empty. So in the past week, Dominique and William had taken over the room for their studies.
    The young boy gazed up at her, a perplexed look on his angelic face. “May son,” he uttered with all seriousness.
    Dominique giggled. “Very close. Much better. We’ll have you speaking French in no time. Now try another one.” She took the tablet in her lap and wrote garçon . “Garçon. It means boy.”
    “Like me?” William flashed her a set of sparkling white teeth.
    “Yes, just like you, William.” She smiled and couldn’t resist putting her arm around the boy and drawing him near. He smelled of fresh linen and innocence. How could he have become so dear to her in only two weeks? Yet there was something special about William. His exuberance for life, his unconditional need to give and receive love. And even though he had lost his mother and then apparently several governesses after her, he had opened his heart to Dominique in a way no one ever had, child or adult. He reminded her so much of Marcel—naive, untainted by life’s cruelties, and filled with enthusiasm for everything around him.
    “Gar sin,” the boy shouted, his face glowing with pride.
    “Close, William. Watch my mouth as I say it. It sounds like gar sohn .” She pointed to her face and exaggerated the correct position of her lips. “Practice this shape, then try again.”
    While William contorted his tiny mouth into all sorts of shapes, Dominique gazed out the french doors that led to thesmall garden in the back of the house and thought of the admiral. Evening shadows crept over the last rays of the sun, and she tugged her shawl up over her shoulders. Only a few embers still glowed in the fireplace, and she wished one of the servants would come and spark the coals—and her courage along with them.
    She had not seen the admiral in two weeks, though she had heard the creak of the floorboards as