by Brenda Joyce
Amanda had never been more nervous as she left the bedroom. De Warenne had stated that his intentions were honorable, and oddly, she had believed him. But surely he would accept the use of her body in exchange for her passage. Every man she knew would accept that kind of offer. She could even sweeten the pot by telling him she was a virgin.
She found herself in a long corridor with white walls; fine, fancy oil paintings; gleaming wood floors and scattered Eastern rugs. At both ends were stairwells with gold brass banisters, each leading to the great hall below. Amanda went to the closest one and started down the stairs.
Her steps slowed. The front hall was the size of their entire house at Belle Mer. For the first time, she looked up at the high ceiling, which held the largest crystal chandelier she had ever seen. Rich tapestries and more oil paintings were on the walls. The furniture—chairs, benches and tables—was all polished mahogany, with claw feet, velvet or damask upholstery and intricate carving. In the middle of one wall was a pair of doors, and Amanda recognized the front entrance of the house. Open arches led to other rooms.
She hesitated, uncertain, and then she saw the butler.
He was entering the hall, an empty silver tray held flat in one hand, as if it still contained refreshments. He saw her at that moment and went pale, halting in his tracks. The tray fell to the floor with a loud clang.
Amanda marched toward him. “Hey. Where is de Warenne?”
He gave her a furious look and picked up the tray. “His lordship is entertaining and is not to be disturbed.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t put on airs with me,” she said flatly. “You’re only a servant.”
He straightened. “I am the butler, miss, and the most important servant in his lordship’s employ.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think so. The most important one he’s got working for him is the ship’s carpenter. You want to make a bet?”
Fitzwilliam huffed. “Might I suggest that you retire to your room and properly clothe yourself?”
Amanda glanced down at her new favorite possession. “I don’t think his lordship will care how I’m dressed,” she said. The nightgown was certainly as decent as any dress.
Fitzwilliam flushed. “If you go to your room, I will inform his lordship that you wish to see him.”
Amanda snorted at him. “You need to take a cruise, my man. That might get that stick out of your arse.” She started toward one of the arches, where she could just barely detect soft conversation. That was where the old fart had come from, too.
“He will not be pleased,” Fitzwilliam said softly to her back.
Amanda thought he sounded smugly pleased himself, but she didn’t care. Now she could make out de Warenne’s drawl—and the soft, coy laughter of a woman.
She paused on the threshold of a large salon with golden walls and more furniture than any one person could possibly use in two lifetimes. Standing at the far end was her host, clad in his usual white linen shirt and a pair of equally white breeches, his high black boots gleaming in shocking contrast. He often wore a heavily embroidered Moorish vest but not that day, and his dagger wasn’t strapped to his belt. He had, however, forgotten to remove his huge gold and ruby spurs.
Looking at him, her mouth became dry.
And then she saw de Warrene’s caller and understood why he would not wish to be disturbed. She could not believe her eyes.
A beautiful, perfectly plump, blond lady was patting his arm and giggling at him. She was elegantly dressed, beribboned and bejeweled. No, she was fat, Amanda decided, but of course, most sailors preferred a meaty woman. And her skin wasn’t porcelain, it was pasty. Her hair was clearly yellow, like straw that had been urinated on.
Amanda’s fists clenched. Dismay immobilized her.
The woman was laughing at whatever de Warenne had just said. He was smiling, his expression noncommittal. His gaze did dip when she moved, for her pale green gown exposed huge cowlike breasts, which were in danger of falling out every time she laughed—something she did all the time. She had a glass of wine or sherry in her other hand. She spoke, tossing her blond, tonged curls. “I am so pleased to find you at home, Captain. It is a long, hot carriage ride from Spanishtown. I was so hoping not to be denied.”
“Yes, it is a very long drive—all eleven miles of it. Do you not care for our Jamaican weather?” he remarked, his tone idle. The gold earring he wore glinted.
She pressed closer to him. “It is so hard to keep one’s gown stiff in such soggy weather. And my hair! It has to be done at least twice a day.”
“I imagine it is difficult for the ladies, living in such a clime,” he said flatly.
“Oh, I am enjoying my visit to the island, Captain. But I should enjoy it so much more if you were to take me aboard your boat.”
Amanda strode forward. “It’s a ship, not a boat, my fine lady—a frigate, in fact. Fifth rate, with thirty-eight guns, not counting any cannonade.”
The lady’s jaw dropped, unattractively.
De Warenne’s eyes widened, their gazes meeting. Amanda wriggled her hips and thrust out her bosom. “Ohh, do take me on your boat, Captain, sir!”
His face broke into a smile and he choked on a laugh. Then he scowled very fiercely at her. “Miss Carre. You are in your nightgown.”
Amanda blinked. He had been amused by her. She softened, smiling back. “It’s not my nightgown. I don’t know whose it is. In fact, I can’t even remember how it got on me.” Her gaze narrowed and she looked right at him. “Did you undress me?”
He turned red.
The woman gasped. “I can see I have made a terrible mistake! You and…the pirate’s daughter?” She was incredulous.
De Warenne gave Amanda an odd, private look. It was filled with warning, but amusement tinged his features, too. Amanda could not comprehend what he was thinking. Then his expression became stern and he faced the woman. “I was just about to introduce you to Miss Carre, Miss Delington. She is my houseguest.”
The woman had turned beet-red. She was no longer very pretty. “I see. I see very well.” She glanced at de Warenne, nodded. “Good day, then.” She left the salon in great haste.
Amanda watched her go, feeling very satisfied.
He said from behind, softly, “Pleased with yourself, are you?”
She whirled and almost jumped into his arms. Instead, she leaped back, strangely nervous now that they were alone. “She’s a fat, pasty sow looking to fuck you,” she defended herself.
He blanched.
Amanda knew she had made a terrible mistake, but she didn’t know just what that mistake was. “I mean, you didn’t really want her, did you? She was a fool! She called the Fair Lady a boat.”
He inhaled, long and deep. Looking shaken, he walked away from her, sliding his large hands into the flat pockets at his narrow hips.
Amanda was very worried. “Are you angry with me?”
It was another moment before he turned to face her. He smiled a little at her. “No, I’m not. I am glad to see you up and about, and apparently feeling better.”
Now she felt even better, she realized, because she had been afraid he was angry with her and that he would boot her from his house. “If you want her,” she said, very reluctantly, “I could go and drag her back here. I’m not stupid. I know she thinks I’m your lover or some such nonsense. I could tell her the truth.”
He stared.
Amanda tensed. Suddenly she was aware of being alone with a huge, powerful and undoubtedly virile man, while clad in a nightgown. She was aware of being absolutely naked behind the single fine layer of cotton.
“I am not interested in Miss Delington.”
Amanda smiled in relief.
“Miss Carre,” he said carefully.
Amanda hurried toward him, interrupting. “No, wait. We both know I’m not a lady. My name is Amanda. Or girl. Papa used to call me girl. Or Amanda Girl.” She stopped, unbearably sad.
Briefly, she had forgotten that he was dead
. It all came rushing back to her now.
“He called you ‘girl.’”
She sat down in a huge, lush chair with all kinds of odd tufts. “Yes.”
He pulled a green-and-gold-striped ottoman forward and sat down next to her. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m not dizzy anymore.”
He smiled slightly. “We made sure you ate before every dose of laudanum.”
She tried to remember. “Have I been sleeping for long?”
“On and off for three days. I had been wondering when you would wake up.” He smiled again, encouragingly.
She found herself smiling back. His eyes met hers and somehow, their gazes locked.
In that moment, something changed. Amanda stared, filled with confusion. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen and he actually seemed kind, genuinely so. He was one of the greatest masters of the sea, and for her, that was better than being a king. When he accepted her offer, she was going to share his bed.
She had never desired a man. But sometimes at night, in her dreams, a faceless golden lover came to her, kissing her with heat, and when she awoke, she was filled with a tension she barely understood. Sometimes she woke up on the verge of discovering great pleasure, only to realize she had been dreaming and she was alone.
She wondered if she would start dreaming about Cliff de Warenne. Because he was exactly like her dream lover, wasn’t he? Big, powerful, golden…
His eyes widened and he leaped to his feet. He paced away from her, pouring himself a drink. His hand trembled.
Amanda didn’t move. How could she be thinking of those very private dreams now? They had business to discuss! But why was he trembling? “Why are you shaking?”
He made a harsh sound, not answering.
She sighed, kicking her feet out. “Maybe you are catching the flu. Some of the sailors have it.”
“It’s not the flu,” he said grimly.
She smiled at him. “That’s good.” She hesitated, because in spite of what she had to do, she was afraid to begin this particular negotiation. Besides, she was enjoying the chair, the room and such noble company. She hedged. “Why do you have so much furniture? And if you didn’t want to fornicate with that woman, why was she here?”
He approached, appearing aghast. “I know you have been through a terrible time, and that we come from different worlds. Amanda, I—someone needs to teach you a few things.”
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, 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.
