A Lady at Last (2 page)

She shook her head. “Where is he?”

He sighed—and moved. Before she knew it, he had her wrist in his hand, and an instant later, he had her pistol.

Tears filled her eyes and he knew they were tears of rage. “Damn you!” She struck at him with both fists, pummeling his chest.

He handed the pistol to one of the wary soldiers and caught her wrists again, more gently, not wanting to hurt her. He was surprised by her strength; she was so slender she appeared frail, but she was not. However, she had no power compared to him. “Please, cease. You will hurt yourself,” he said softly.

She was writhing in his grasp like a wildcat, hissing and spitting like one, too, and even attempting to claw at his face.

“Stop,” he ordered, becoming annoyed. “You cannot triumph over me.”

Suddenly her eyes met his and she stilled, panting heavily. And as their gaze held, he felt a stirring of compassion for her. Even if she was eighteen, he sensed she was a child in many ways, due to her unorthodox upbringing. And now he recognized more than desperation in her eyes; he saw her fear.

Tomorrow, her father would hang. Today, she thought to accost the governor. “Surely you do not think to
murder
my friend Woods?”

“I would if I could,” she spat at him. “But no, I will delay his murder for another day!” She began to struggle uselessly again. “I have come to beg him for mercy for my father.”

His heart seemed to break. “If I release you, will you be still? I can arrange an audience with the governor.”

Hope flared in her eyes. She nodded, wetting her lips. “Yes.”

He hesitated, confused by his odd emotions. It wasn't appropriate, but he wondered how old she was. Of course, he was not interested in her, not that way. How could he be? She was too young, and she was a pirate's daughter. His last mistress had been a Hapsburg princess, acclaimed to be the greatest beauty on the Continent. His daughter's mother, who was deceased, had been an exotic and beautiful concubine, enslaved in the harem of a Barbary prince. Rachel had been a Jewess, highly educated and one of the most intelligent women he had ever met. He was very discriminating when it came to the ladies who shared his bed. He could not be interested in a wild-eyed waif brandishing a pistol the way other women carried parasols.

She was regarding him with a very neutral expression now. His instincts sharpened. “You will behave.” It wasn't a question.

Her mouth formed a small, unenthusiastic smile.

Now he was alarmed. Was she hiding another weapon, perhaps beneath that voluminous shirt? While she was not a lady, he did not feel comfortable searching her. “Miss Carre, give me your word that you will behave in a courteous and respectful manner while in the governor's house.”

She gave him a puzzled look, as if she did not understand a word he had said, but she nodded.

He briefly touched her arm, in the hopes of guiding her toward the salon, but she flinched and he did not attempt to touch her again. “Thomas? Would you mind stepping out? I should like to introduce you to Miss Carre.”

Woods strode forward to the threshold of the salon. He was grim, his color now high. “A mere waif got by my guards?” He was disbelieving.

Cliff recognized his rising temper. “She is worried about her father, and rightly so. I promised her you would allow her to speak.”

Woods seemed about to refuse. “She assaulted my men! Robards, are you harmed in any manner?”

The British soldier remained alert and stiffly at attention in the foyer, his fellow officer inside the house by the front door. He was flushed. “No, sir. Governor, I apologize for the terrible intrusion.”

“How did she manage to get past you?” Woods was incredulous.

Robards's high color increased. “Sir, I don't know—”

“I asked them to help me find my little lost puppy dog,” La Sauvage said, her tone absurdly coy, and she batted her lashes at Governor Woods. Then she swung her hips from side to side and shed a tear. “They were
soo
concerned!”

Cliff stared, quickly reassessing La Sauvage. She had known how to use her considerable female allure to entrap the soldiers. She wasn't as innocent, then, as she appeared.

Woods turned a cold regard on her. “Arrest her.”

She gasped, and whirled to gaze at Cliff with shock. The surprise became accusation as the soldiers stepped toward her. “You promised!”

He stepped in front of her, blocking the two soldiers and preventing them from seizing her. “Do not,” he warned very softly. His tone was one he only used when he intended to follow it up with a very dire consequence.

Both soldiers froze.

“Cliff! She assaulted my men!” Woods objected.

She turned to face the governor. “And you are hanging my father!” she shouted furiously.

Cliff took her arm, intending to restrain her if need be, but also aware of the urge to protect her. “Thomas, you owe me more than one favor, if I recall. I am collecting now. Hear her out.”

Woods stared, dismayed. “Damn it, de Warenne,” he said, very low. “Why are you doing this?”

“Hear her out,” Cliff said even more softly. It was a command.

Woods's expression filled with distaste. He gestured for La Sauvage to precede him into the salon.

She shook her head, her beautiful green eyes narrowing shrewdly. “You first.” She smiled coldly. “I never walk ahead of my enemies.”

Silently, Cliff applauded her. He worried again, however, that she might be concealing more weapons.

Woods sighed. “Robards, you may wait where you are. Johns, please return to your post outside of the front door.” As both soldiers obeyed, he strode grimly into the salon.

La Sauvage was about to follow, but Cliff had seen her hide a smile and he seized her arm. “Hey! What do you think you're doing?” she demanded.

Very softly, so Woods could not hear, he murmured, “You are unarmed, are you not?”

She stared into his eyes. “Am I a fool? Of course I'm not armed.”

She did not blink, not once. Her cheeks did not color. Her gaze did not waver. Yet he knew, without a doubt, that she was lying.

His grip tightened. She began to protest, trying to pull back, but he restrained her. “I beg your pardon,” he said grimly, aware that he was flushing. With his free hand, over her shirt, he touched her waist, expecting to find another pistol strapped inside her shirt there. Instead, he was stunned at how narrow her waist was, with no flesh to spare. He could probably close both of his hands around her, if he tried.

“Get your paws off me,” she gasped, outraged.

He ignored her, sliding his hand to the small of her back and trying not to think about drifting it lower. She started to struggle. “Lecher!”

“Be still,” he growled, feeling the other side of her waist.

“Are you happy now?” she demanded, remaining scarlet but wriggling impossibly.

“You are making this difficult,” he said, and then he stopped. Something was strapped beneath her shirt on the left side of her waist.

She started to pull against him.

He gave her a look, slid his hand under her shirt and over the sharp edge of the dagger taped to her ribs.

“Damn you!” she hissed, attempting to twist away.

To his shock, the heavy underside of a full and bare breast bumped into his hand as he seized the knife.

She went still and so did he.

“Bastard!” She pulled free.

He tried to breathe, but he was aroused. Beneath that loose, oversize shirt was an intriguing body, one that belonged to a mature woman. He slid her dagger into his belt. It was a moment before he could speak. “You lied.”

She gave him a furious look and marched after Woods into the salon.

He hoped she did not have another dagger taped somewhere else, perhaps on her hip or her thigh. He could not understand his response to her body, so slim in some places and far too soft in others. He'd had hundreds of beautiful, alluring women. He allowed himself desire when the moment was appropriate or when it suited him. He was not a green boy and he could control his lust. He did not want to feel any stirrings, now or ever, for La Sauvage. But his body had betrayed him.

He was very displeased.

He strode into the salon, leaving the door open. The governor had chosen to sit in a huge armchair, so that he appeared more royalty than royally appointed. He indicated that she might speak, the gesture abrupt and somehow disrespectful.

Cliff didn't care for his manner. Clearly, Woods had made up his mind and nothing La Sauvage could say or do would change it.

But she began to cry, tears running down her breathtaking face. He knew the tears were contrived, born of her fear and desperation.

“Give her a genuine opportunity to speak,” he said to Woods.

“I do not need this,” Woods groused. He was angry.

“Please,” she whispered, the sound soft and feminine, a plea, and she clasped her hands as if in prayer before her chest. The gesture drew her shirt tight, revealing the shape of her surprisingly lush bosom. Cliff stared, instantly distracted, and so did Woods, apparently not oblivious to her allure, either.

“My lord, my father is all I've got. He is a good man, sir, a good father. He's not really a pirate, you know. He's a planter, and you can go to Belle Mer to see for yourself. We have one of our best crops in years!”

“I think we both know he has committed numerous acts of piracy,” Woods said sternly.

Tears streaked her lovely face and she sank to her knees. Cliff tensed. Her face was level with the governor's lap. Did she know how provocative her position was? “He has never been a pirate, you are wrong, sir! The jury was wrong! He has been a privateer. He has worked for Britain, hunting pirates—just like Captain de Warenne. If you will pardon him, he will never sail again, ever.”

“Miss Carre, please get up. We both know your father has nothing in common with Lord de Warenne.”

She didn't move. Her full, lush mouth began to tremble. Even had she been standing, it was so provocative it would have been impossible to ignore. But she was on her knees, as if a skilled whore before a paying client. Woods was staring at her mouth. His face had become taut, his dark eyes turning black.

Cliff did not like what was happening.

“I can't lose him,” she whispered throatily. “If you pardon him, he will obey the law like a saint. And I….” she stopped, licking her lips, “I will be so grateful, sir, forever grateful, no matter what…you ask me…to do.”

Wood's eyes were wide, but he did not move.

She would prostitute herself for her father?
Cliff seized her arm, hauling her to her feet. “I believe that's enough.”

She turned a murderous glare on him. “No one wants you here! Leave me be! I am talking to the governor! Go mind your own affairs!”

“Propositioning him, is more like it,” Cliff said, feeling quite furious himself. He yanked her once. “Be quiet.” He faced Woods. “Thomas, why not pardon Carre? If his daughter is being truthful, he will give up his roving. If not, I promise you I will bring him in myself.”

Woods slowly stood. He briefly glanced at Cliff but then his gaze returned to La Sauvage. Although she stood straight and tall, she was trembling. “I am going to consider your proposal, Miss Carre.”

Her eyes widened. So did Cliff's. “You are?”

“I intend to spend the night doing so.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in.

And Cliff was livid, for he understood.

But La Sauvage was not as experienced as either of the men, and it took her a moment. Then she drew herself up straighter. She was red-faced. “Can I wait here, then, for your decision?”

“Of course.” He finally smiled at her.

Cliff stepped in front of him. “And to think I have thought of you as a friend,” he said tersely.

Woods raised both brows. “I am certain you would avail yourself of such an opportunity, as well. Now you defend her
virtue?
” He was amused.

It seemed that was what he was doing. “May I assume Mrs. Woods remains in London?”

“She is actually in France.” He was not perturbed. “Come, Cliff, do calm down. We shall adjourn to our delayed luncheon, while Miss Carre rests and awaits my decision.”

“I'm sorry, I have lost my appetite.” He turned to La Sauvage. “Let's go.”

She was standing there, appearing very young and very grim—and very resolute. She might have been on the way to the gallows. She shook her head. “I am staying.”

“Like hell,” he said softly and dangerously.

And the tears filled her eyes—real tears. “Go away, de Warenne. Leave me be.”

Cliff fought with himself. Why did he care? She seemed young, but she couldn't possibly be innocent, not having lived the kind of life she had. He wasn't her protector.