A Lady at Last (8 page)

He regarded her closely. “Amanda.” He sat once more on the ottoman, although he'd moved it a bit farther away. “We do need to discuss something else.”

He was very serious. Was he going to give her an overdue boot after all?

“I hope I was not presumptuous, but I thought you would prefer a burial at sea.”

Amanda stiffened. “I hadn't thought about it! Where is Papa?” she cried in alarm.

“He is in the Kingston funeral parlor. We can bury him at sea. I have arranged it.”

Amanda nodded, incapable of speech.

“I was thinking tomorrow,” he said, his eyes soft with sympathy. “Can you manage? I can say a few words as ship's captain, or I can summon a minister, or even a naval chaplain.”

Papa wasn't buried yet, she managed to think. She would be able to attend his funeral. She met his searching gaze. “I'd like you to bless him.”

“Then it is as good as done,” he said softly.

He was being so kind again, and he was so impossibly handsome that her heart turned over as hard as a dory being flipped in high seas. She looked up into his brilliantly blue eyes and felt impossibly reassured, impossibly safe, as if she had just crept into harbor with all sails shortened after a raging storm. Maybe she didn't have to be afraid of this man, she thought.

He stood up. “Did you wish to see me for a reason? If not, it's my children's bedtime and I need to go upstairs.”

She took a breath for courage, refusing to think about what would happen after he accepted her deal. Instead, she saw herself standing on the deck of the
Fair Lady
in heavy seas filled with white horses. She'd be at the bow; he'd be on the quarterdeck with his officers. They'd press on with a mass of canvas that no sensible seaman would ever attempt in such foul weather. He wouldn't care; he'd be laughing, and so would she. She smiled.

“Amanda?”

She came back to her senses, her smile vanishing. She bit her lip, hesitating.

His gaze veered to her mouth and then back to her eyes. “What is it that you wish to ask me?”

There was no choice now but to plunge forward. Amanda stood up. “I'll do anything—
anything
—if you will take me to England.”

He simply stared.

Amanda had no idea what that fixed gaze meant. He was very smart, so he had to catch her meaning. Didn't he? She smiled brightly at him. “I can't pay for a passage, not with coin, anyway. But there are other ways I could pay.” And she waited.

He began to shake his head. The odd motion seemed to be a “no,” and his expression seemed to be tinged with disbelief. “I see.”

Amanda stood, starting to panic. She had to get to England! She had promised. “I said I'd do anything. You know what I mean, don't you?”

Now he had that flush on his high cheekbones as he sometimes did, the color of anger. But why would he be mad? Didn't he understand what she was saying? “De Warenne, I am offering you my body. It's the only way I can pay for—”

“Cease!” His tone was a command.

She cringed in disbelief. “I know I'm not fancy enough for you—” she began, about to tell him that she was a virgin.

He grasped her arm and their bodies collided. “Is this what you do when you need something? Offer your body in exchange for some goods or service?” he demanded. Instantly he released her, stepping away from her. “I may chase pirates, but I am a gentleman, and a de Warenne,” he ground out, his eyes blazing.

She was trembling and her heart raced with fear. She couldn't understand his anger. “I have to get to England. Papa said I should go with you. I just want to pay you!”

He held up both hands. “Enough! Is your mother there?”

Amanda nodded, incapable of looking away. Was he refusing her because she wasn't a fancy, fat beauty? And why wasn't she relieved?

He inhaled. “I had already planned to take you to London, assuming you did have family there.”

He had? She was stunned. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you need to go to family,” he said harshly.

“But how will I pay for my fare? I am not a beggar, to be tossed a crumb!”

“You won't pay!” He was abrupt. “And I have never once indicated that I think you a beggar. The truth is, I was leaving at the end of the month, but considering all that has happened, we'll leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” She started backing up. All dismay was gone—there was only gut-curdling fear. “That's too soon! And what about Papa's burial?” How could they leave tomorrow? “The end of the month is better.” She had just lost Papa, she wasn't ready to meet her mother.

“We will bury your father at sea after we set sail. We leave tomorrow,” de Warenne snapped. He pointed at her. “And you will not be dressed like that. I prefer you in a boy's clothing.”

S
LEEP ELUDED HIM
.

Huge, almond-shaped green eyes held his. Masses of pale, almost silvery hair framed an equally exotic and beautiful face. Long wild strands twirled past her full breasts, clearly visible beneath the fine cotton nightgown. How could she have appeared in the public rooms of his house, clad in such intimate and revealing attire?

He jerked at his loins, which were full. He debated behaving like a schoolboy, but he hadn't done so since the age of twelve, and felt ashamed to even contemplate the act of masturbation. How could he be this attracted to, and this worried about, the pirate's daughter? Even though he knew her name now, he refused to think of her as Amanda. It must be La Sauvage or the pirate's daughter or even Miss Carre, just as he must fight such an insane attraction.

He turned onto his belly, trying to ignore the raging blood in his loins. He must never forget that she was very young, absurdly young…too young. And she wasn't his type of woman! By the time he had run away from home at the age of fourteen, he had been seducing the daughters of his father's friends. He had always looked older than he actually was and there were many beautiful, elegant older noblewomen to choose from. When the choice was between a wildflower or a hothouse rose, he had always turned toward the latter.

But she was entirely different from them all. He had only to think of her barging into King's House with a loaded pistol or riding her canoe in frothing seas to know that. Then his smile vanished and he cringed, recalling her language in the gold salon. But a moment later he almost chuckled, thinking of how she had deliberately chased Miss Delington out of his house. Aruptly his thoughts veered. Cliff lunged from the bed for a drink.

Was she even innocent? She certainly knew what she was offering. Considering the culture she had been raised in, it was unlikely she was inexperienced. Why else would she so readily bargain with her body? Of course, it was an ancient ploy for women without power or means. She had nothing else to barter with. That dismayed him and saddened him immensely.

He was beginning to have a distinct sense of dread about taking her to England.

He knew he could control and hide his lust. It would be unpleasant and difficult, but he was a disciplined man. And she was too young! He need only recollect that. Because he had shortened his time at home, he would bring his children with him. Alexi had already sailed the islands with him and had been demanding a “real” cruise for some time now. Ariella had been dropping hints and he knew she wished to travel abroad and see the sights she had been reading about. He was acutely aware that his children would provide a distraction for him. They would be a buffer zone.

But there was more. Cliff sat down with a cognac in the dark. Rumor had it that Rodney Carre had once been in the Royal navy. Was it true? Because if so, Amanda's mother might be from a genteel background.

And that worried him terribly.

La Sauvage had no sense of modesty, no sense of shame and no manners whatsoever. If her mother was well-bred, their reunion would be a disaster.

Yet he didn't want her to discover that her mother was a whore or a pockmarked hag, either. The pirate's daughter had had a difficult life, he didn't need to know the details to be certain of that. She deserved some of life's luxuries and that would require a fine family from her mother's side.

In six weeks, she might be able to acquire some airs and a sense of propriety, just enough not to be so shocking. Anahid could teach her. But he wasn't confident. He wasn't even certain La Sauvage wished any instruction in decorum, and he had only agreed to transport her, not to transform her into a young lady. Besides, it wasn't his affair.

Cliff gave up thinking of sleep. It was almost dawn and he had a voyage to make. His children's baggage had been readied last night, and he had decided to bring their language tutor, as well. That decision had been made with Miss Carre in the back of his mind.

He almost felt as if he had acquired another child, but he had only to recall her in her nightgown to know he had not.

Cliff drained the cognac and dressed. The sky was stained fuchsia over indigo seas when he left his suite. He went directly to the children's wing. Alexi's door was open and he was already dressed and standing at the washbasin, brushing his teeth. He turned and grinned at his father, his mouth full of water.

Cliff's heart softened. He tossed a cloth at him. “Is your sister ready, too?”

“I heard her complaining about the hour to Anahid. Papa, we have good winds today.”

Cliff winked. “I know. Do not rush. Miss Carre is undoubtedly still asleep.”

He left his son spitting out his rinse water and paused at his daughter's door. “Ariella? Anahid?”

A moment passed and the Armenian opened the door. He felt her smile. “My lord?”

He glanced past her and saw that Ariella remained in her nightshirt, bleary eyed. She was clutching a book to her chest. He had to smile. “Good morning. Don't worry, Anahid packed dozens of books for you. And if you manage to get through all of that, there is always my Bible.”

She yawned.

“We will be downstairs in ten minutes, my lord,” Anahid said quietly.

He left. Cliff hurried downstairs and strode into the great hall, an age-old excitement upon him now. He was happiest when making sail. All the demons he had been wrestling with in the course of the night were gone. Within two hours, he would have the wind at his back, the open sea ahead of him, and his children would be with him. Life could not be better, he thought.

Wall sconces had been lit by the servants and the hall was partially illuminated, some early-morning shadows playing across the marble floors. Cliff suddenly spied his houseguest sitting in a studded Spanish chair not far from the front doors. He had certainly not expected her to be up. She saw him, too, and leaped to her feet, her eyes wide.

His steps slowed as he approached her. He refused to recall his brooding of just an hour ago. “Good morning. It is barely dawn. Could you not sleep?” Although he had passed by her door once last night and had overheard her weeping, there was no sign on her face of having spent a terrible night. He had ordered her clothing laundered while she grieved, and she was wearing the loose shirt and breeches now, but she had added a thick gold cord as a belt. It looked suspiciously as if it had come from a drapery tieback.

“We set sail this morning,” she said, smiling. “Why would I want to stay abed?”

He felt his world still. Surely her excitement had to do with being reunited with her mother. Surely she did not feel the powerful lure of the sea as he did. “It is a six-week voyage. It will be some time before you can renew your relationship with your mother.”

“What are you talking about? I know how long the voyage is.” She began to fidget. “The winds are fresh. Do we set sail now?”

Was it possible that she was as excited as he was to be embarking?

“You are staring at me as if I am a loon!” she exclaimed. “It's been so long!” She started to hop from foot to foot. “Is there any reason to delay? I saw your men hoisting sail from my window. De Warenne—I mean, Captain—I need to have a rolling deck under my feet and a good wind in my hair.”

And staring at her, impossibly surprised, he felt himself stiffen. Shaken, he quickly turned aside so she wouldn't see how he had physically reacted to her excitement. He wasn't sure he had ever been so aroused.

“De Warenne? I mean, Captain, we are ready to go, aren't we?”

He didn't answer. A six-week voyage loomed. His response was simply unacceptable. As ship's captain, his duty was to protect her and see her safely to her destination, not to ravage her in a moment of madness.

Thank God, he had decided to bring his family with him on this voyage, he thought.

“Are you ill?” she demanded, tugging on his vest from behind.

He made sure he was completely composed before turning. Slowly, he faced her. “I am bringing my children on this voyage and they are on their way downstairs. As soon as they are ready, we will depart.”

Her eyes sparkled. “I started sailing with Papa from the time I was six,” she said. “Isn't that about your daughter's age?”

“Yes.”

Her green eyes narrowed. “You are behaving so oddly! Is something wrong?”

He folded his arms across his chest, keeping his eyes trained on her face. “When was the last time you were at sea? And I do not mean paddling your canoe.”

“There was a short cruise to Barbados—Papa had affairs there, legitimate ones. That was last spring.”

He would die, he thought, to be denied a real cruise for such an interminable length of time. “You seem to be in very good spirits today, Miss Carre.”

“You mean Amanda.” She sobered a bit. “I haven't forgotten about Papa, if that is what you mean. I spent most of last night thinking about him. I don't have any tears left.” Then she brightened. “The
Fair Lady
is my favorite ship. There's just something haunting about her. Everyone knows she's the fastest fifth rate on the high seas—but that's because of you, of course. And you've never lost a battle! I can help with her guns. Your sailmaker is Portuguese, isn't he? Papa said he's one of the greatest in the world.”

Cliff's heart thundered in his chest, preventing speech.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked with a grin, blushing. “I've dreamed of riding her decks and racing the wind. This is just like one of my dreams!” She laughed, tossing her hair, which she hadn't bothered to tie back.

He had to turn away again, his breeches painfully constricting.
She'd dreamed of his ship. Had she dreamed of him, too?

“I can't wait,” she said.

He thought about giving in to insanity; he thought about turning, crushing her to his chest, opening her mouth with his teeth and kissing her. He thought about thrusting his tongue as far as he could.

He heard his children's footsteps on the stairs and their happy, animated chatter. There was vast relief and bitter disappointment.

He inhaled, smiled in a more genuine manner, and turned away from her. “I see we are all here. To the cutter, then.”

 

A
MANDA GRIPPED
the railing and closed her eyes, her face turned up high to the sun and the wind. They'd left Kingston far behind and only a faint pale strip of white sand, framed by jungle-green mountains set against the turquoise water, indicated the island behind them. Ahead, the seas swelled gently. De Warenne was using almost all of his canvas, so the great frigate was rating fifteen knots, racing as fast as she could in such a kind breeze. Amanda opened her eyes and laughed in sheer joy.

She'd known it would be like this, hadn't she? She felt a fist in her gut and half turned so she could view her captain on the quarterdeck. He stood at the helm with his son, whom she had learned was eight years old, helping the boy steer the ship. He seemed taller, his shoulders wider, his hair more golden, as they raced the wind. Just looking at him made it hard for her to breathe.

She didn't care. Six weeks lay ahead—the best six weeks of her life.

She wasn't going to think about arriving at her mother's, not yet.

De Warenne glanced over his shoulder at her. He had been smiling, clearly filled with the same exhilaration as she, but his smile vanished when their gazes met. He looked back over the prow, his expression terribly serious.

He'd been behaving strangely ever since yesterday, Amanda thought, when she'd interfered in his amorous plans. Oh well. It didn't matter now. The sun was high, soft cumulous clouds scudded in the sky, and a pair of dolphins were racing the frigate at its larboard side. But unable to stop herself, as if a puppet on someone's string, she turned to stare at him again.

Neither he nor his son was exchanging words, but the boy was clearly engrossed in steering the ship. He seemed so little in the shadow of his father's powerful body. She grew sad reminded of how Papa had helped her at the helm when she was so small she'd had to be in his arms in order to grasp the wheel. Then her gaze veered to his daughter, who was seated not far from them, appearing every inch the princess that she probably was in her fine, lacy white dress, a book open on her lap. Her father had given her a velvet pillow to sit on, so she wouldn't dirty her frilly drawers. She was pretty and pampered and clearly didn't give a hoot about sailing, for she hadn't looked up once.

Amanda couldn't imagine what it must be like to be that rich little girl. But the child could read—and she was only six.

Amanda felt her cheeks warm. She wished she hadn't admitted to de Warenne that she was illiterate. Did he think her stupid? It had taken her one instant to realize that he adored his fairy princess daughter and was absolutely proud of her. They'd all taken a cutter from the docks below Windsong out to the ship. Ariella had sat in her father's lap, clutching a book as they were rowed out to the frigate. Her brother had argued with her, telling her the book should have been packed in her bags. Ariella had shot right back at him that he was an idiot, as he could barely read
Latin
. De Warenne had ended the argument, telling his son that Ariella could bring as many books as she wished and he had better be reading Latin by the time the voyage was done. Through it all, the Armenian servant had been silent.