Читать книгу A Lady at Last - Бренда Джойс, Brenda Joyce - Страница 8

SLEEP 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.”

AMANDA 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.

De Warenne had looked at Amanda, smiling. “My daughter reads better than many grown men.” He’d turned to the child. “What are you reading now, darling?”

“The history of the Pharoahs, Papa.”

Amanda didn’t even know what a fa-ro was.

She was jealous of his daughter, when she owed de Warenne nothing but gratitude. She also wished she had been invited onto the quarterdeck, as his children had, but she had not. She had no reason to speak with de Warenne, so she had no excuse to go over and ask for permission to go up on the deck considered sacred by every sailor and ship’s officer. Maybe he’d invite her to join him there before the voyage was out.

Probably not.

Oddly, she thought of the beautiful cotton-and-lace nightgown. He hadn’t taken it back. It was in her small sack with her father’s cross and chain and her pistol. Her dagger was in her left boot on the inside of her calf and her sword was beneath the pillow on her berth.

“Papa? I don’t feel well,” Ariella said suddenly.

Amanda turned to see the little girl standing, holding her history book. She had that peculiar look which Amanda instantly recognized. The child was sea sick.

“Can I go below and lie down with Anahid?” she asked.

“That is the worst thing you can do.” De Warenne glanced behind him. His gaze slid over Amanda and he seemed to hesitate.

She thought she knew what he wanted, and because she so wanted to repay him for her passage, she jumped forward. Why couldn’t she help with the children? She didn’t know anything about children, but she owed de Warenne and how hard could it be? “De Warenne? I’ll walk her about the deck.”

His gaze softened. “Would you mind, Miss Carre? I believe Anahid is belowdecks arranging the children’s cabins.”

Amanda smiled at him. “Don’t worry. I won’t let her fall overboard.”

He started.

She laughed. “That was a jest, de Warenne!”

“It wasn’t amusing,” he said, unsmiling.

She bit her lip. He was so serious when it came to his daughter! The little princess probably wept buckets when he hit her. She sighed and held out her hand. “Come with me.”

Ariella smiled at her, extending her free hand while clutching the book with her other one. Amanda helped her down the three steps to the main deck. “You’ll feel better in a few days, once you get your sea legs,” she told her.

“Really?” Ariella smiled, then turned green.

Amanda dragged her over to the railing just in time, for the child threw up. She sat with her until she was through, then realized Ariella was very close to crying. She was disgusted. The child was a milksop.

De Warenne lifted her into his arms, having materialized behind them. “You will feel better in a few days,” he said. “That is a promise.”

Ariella fought tears. “I’m fine, Papa. Put me down.”

“Are you certain?” he asked.

She nodded. “I want to walk with Miss Carre. I’m better now, really.” She managed a small smile.

He slid her to the deck and Ariella took Amanda’s hand. Amanda felt like an outsider, her jealousy of the little girl escalating until de Warenne turned his gaze upon her. “Thank you for being so kind to my daughter,’ he said, his blue eyes sweeping over her face.

It felt like a silken caress. Amanda couldn’t smile back and she couldn’t move but she knew that if she wanted him to like her, all she had to do was be good to his children. And she wanted him to like her, very badly in fact.

She wet her lips and tried to smile. “She’ll get her sea legs soon. After all, she’s your daughter.”

He gave her a look that said he didn’t quite think Ariella would adjust well to the sea and then he returned to the quarterdeck. Amanda stared after him. How did he keep his clothes so clean, she wondered. He smelled more strongly of the sea than ever, but he still smelled of mango and Far Eastern spices.

“You like Papa.”

Amanda jerked. She tugged the girl down the deck and out of earshot. “De Warenne has been good to me and he is taking me to my mother.”

“I know. He told us. She’s in England.” Ariella’s eyes were searching, and far too curious for a child of six.

“She’s a great lady,” Amanda bragged. “Terribly beautiful and she lives in a big fancy house with a rose garden.”

“Really?” Ariella thought about that. “Was your papa really a pirate?” she asked seriously as they strolled hand in hand down the deck.

Amanda hesitated. Then she decided there was no way she was going to admit to the truth. “He was falsely accused and falsely hanged,” she lied. “He was a planter and a real gentleman. But,” she added, veering to some of the truth, “a long time ago he was an officer in the British navy.”

Ariella was quiet and Amanda knew she was thinking intensely. What a strange girl! Then the child said, “Why aren’t you happy to be going to see your mama? Is it because your papa is dead?”

Amanda stopped in her tracks. She was about to cut the child, but then she saw de Warenne watching them from the quarterdeck. She forced a smile. “I am very happy to be going to see my mother. I haven’t seen her since I was even younger than you.” But her insides curdled as she spoke. If only she could believe that Mama would be overjoyed to see her.

“Really?” Ariella smiled, but then sobered. “My mama is dead. She was murdered when I was born.”

Amanda couldn’t help being curious. “Was she a princess?”

Ariella’s eyes widened and she laughed. “No. There are no Hebrew royals.”

“She was a Jew?” Amanda asked, surprised. She’d met Jewish people before, of course—she’d been to Curaçao once and it was mostly a Jewish island. Papa had said the Jews had come long ago from Spain.

“Papa fell in love with her and they had me. But it was forbidden and a Barbary prince ordered her death. Do you know where Barbary is?”

Amanda stared. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for the child but she was very dismayed to learn that de Warenne had been in love with her mother. She had been very beautiful, if Ariella took after her.

“Do you?”

“Yes.” Amanda tugged on her and they continued down the deck.

“Papa likes you, too,” Ariella said abruptly.

Amanda tripped. “What?”

Ariella smiled at her. “He stares at you all the time and he turns red. He never blushes, except when you are in the room.”

Amanda was disbelieving. “I doubt anyone or anything could make your father blush.”

“You make him blush. I saw him, this morning when we left the house, and he was blushing on the cutter.”

“It’s hot,” Amanda said irritably. She did not want to discuss Cliff de Warenne with his pampered daughter who had fancy airs and could read a grown-up’s history book. By now, they had taken an entire turn of the deck, coming up the port side, and they stood not far from the subject of their conversation.

“I feel better. I want to lie down,” Ariella said with a yawn. She turned, releasing Amanda’s hand, and pushed open the door to the captain’s cabin.

Amanda didn’t object, because she felt certain Ariella was allowed to come and go there as she pleased. She herself had never been permitted to enter Papa’s cabin without knocking, but he’d often had a trollop in there with him. She’d always assumed that all fathers were the same, but she was beginning to think that de Warenne treated his children very differently from the way Papa had treated her. Papa hadn’t cared that she couldn’t read and he’d never petted and coddled her, the way de Warenne did Ariella.

Ariella rushed into the cabin. Amanda couldn’t help herself; she was faint with curiosity now. She took one step inside so she could peek at his private room, all the while pretending that she had to keep an eye on his daughter, as she had promised.

The cabin was red.

The walls were painted a dark Chinese red and three scarlet rugs were on the floor, one Tibetan, one Chinese, one a fine, thin Aubusson. Amanda knew the differences, because the rugs she and her father had plundered over the years were some of their most valuable booty. A huge ebony bed with four thick, carved posters was against one wall. The covers were red-and-gold damask, the sheets striped in red silk. Red-and-gold pillows leaned against the huge headboard with thick, fat tassels and fringe.

A very fine English table, with curved legs and four chairs upholstered in burgundy velvet were in the room’s center. Beneath several portholes was a huge desk, covered with maps and charts. The entire room was filled with odd treasures—an Arabian brass chest with lock and key, African masks, intricately designed and colorful Moroccan vases, Waterford crystal, gold candlesticks. And there was a bookcase, crammed with hundreds of books. Amanda shivered.

She had just stepped inside de Warenne’s private lair. It reeked of the man’s exotic tastes, his erotic nature, his intelligence, power and virility. She shouldn’t be there, she somehow thought.

Someone seized her from behind. “What are you doing in here?”

Amanda reacted on instinct but the moment she drew her blade and pressed it against his chest, she realized her mistake. De Warenne’s eyes went wide. She froze, her heart hammering madly, as she was in his arms.

“What is that?” he asked very calmly.

His thighs were thick, bulging muscle, she realized inanely as he held her body completely against his. “It’s a dagger,” she breathed. “I am sorry…I’ll put it down, but you must let me go.”

Their gazes were locked. As he released her, she felt him stirring and she gasped, her gaze shooting back to his.

He blushed. His daughter was right, she thought, stunned. Or was she now as mad as the child?

He stepped back, grim. “No one enters this cabin without permission.” He half turned, striding to the porthole, where he breathed deeply.

It was too late. Amanda could clearly see that he had been aroused. She slipped the dagger slowly into its sheath in her boot. He wanted her. She wasn’t really certain why. Was it the brief act of violence? Every sailor she knew enjoyed sex after a bloody battle.

“Papa? It’s my fault. I wanted to come inside,” Ariella whispered from the bed.

De Warenne turned and smiled at his daughter. The expression, however, was strained. “Even you must ask my permission to enter here.”

The child nodded, eyes wide, looking back and forth between Amanda and her father.

Amanda tried to breathe more naturally. “I’m sorry.” She took a careful glance at him and wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed that he seemed to be in control of his amorous nature once more.

His jaw flexed. He gestured for them both to precede him out of the door. When they had done so, he barked, “Miss Carre. A moment, please.”

She did not like his tone but she nodded, hoping he wasn’t going to discipline her for her trespass. That was what Papa would do. He’d deliver a quick cuff to the head, at least. Her stomach churned with some fear. Papa had been a big man, but de Warenne was taller, more muscular and far younger. Well, if he hit her she wouldn’t flinch. He’d see that she was strong and brave—she’d make Papa proud.

“Ariella, if you are feeling better, I am pleased. But going below is still not a good idea. I have summoned Anahid. The two of you can read together on that bench.”

“Yes, Papa,” she whispered.

“Go.” But he smiled now and stooped to kiss her cheek.

Ariella beamed at him and rushed off to Anahid, who was waiting a discreet distance away.

Amanda tensed in anticipation of her punishment, watching his shoulders stiffen before he turned. He gestured. “Would you care—”

Amanda ducked.

He froze, his hand in the air, poised between them. “What are you doing?”

She flushed. She had broken his rules, and she should stand firm. “Nothing. I mean, I won’t dodge the blow.”

His eyes popped. “What?”

“Go ahead, just do it. I disobeyed your orders.”

“You think I mean to strike you?” He dropped his hand.

She became wary. “That’s what a hand is for, isn’t it?”

He took a step toward her and she forgot her resolve, backing up. He halted, and so did she. “Miss Carre! I do not strike women,” he said, aghast. “I have never struck a woman in my life, and I never will.”

She wasn’t sure she should believe him. “Is this a trick?”

He was incredulous, so much so that it was a moment before he spoke. When he did, she saw pity in his eyes. “I am trying to invite you to dine with me tonight,” he said.

“You want to sup with me?” This had to be trickery, didn’t it?

He nodded. “I thought we might converse.”

Amanda was suspicious. Men had one use for women—and it wasn’t for conversation. Her heart slammed hard. He had changed his mind. He had decided to take her to his bed after all.

“Will you accept my invitation?”

She didn’t know what to think. Was he now going to allow her to pay for her passage in his bed? Her mind filled with hazy but heated images of her golden dream lover, and suddenly, that lover wasn’t faceless anymore. Instead it was de Warenne stroking her body, causing her skin to tingle and throb. Maybe she wouldn’t mind being in his bed. Everyone said he was a superb lover. She’d heard the island ladies talking about him more times than she could remember. Some of them, the ones who’d shared his bed, had bragged about it to their friends. Somehow, she knew the rumors were true.

Her skin was tingling now, as if she was in one of her secret dreams, but this time, the aching was more intense. She breathed and nodded. “We can sup…and converse.”

His gaze narrowed. “My intentions are honorable.”

She didn’t believe him, not for a moment.