A Lady at Last. Brenda Joyce
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She became wary. “Like what? Reading?”
“A tutor can do that. You cannot use certain language in polite company. In fact, you can’t speak of…fornication, ever!”
“Why the hell not?” she asked, genuinely puzzled. “It’s all men do, most of the time.”
He looked at her and finally, he started to smile. “All right,” he said, holding up his hand. “We are victims of our male bodies, I grant you that. Let’s start over. You cannot wander this house in such attire.”
She looked down at the lovely nightgown. He was going to take it back, she realized glumly. She fingered the lace edge of one strap. Then she looked up. She shrugged, so he wouldn’t know that she would care if he took it back.
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.”
CHAPTER FOUR
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,