by Brenda Joyce
As he had guessed, Lady Belford did not mind the interruption. She appeared within minutes of her butler’s exit with his card.
He stared as she came into the entry. Now, he could not mistake the resemblance between mother and daughter. They could have been sisters, although Dulcea was a far less striking version of Amanda, and most strangers would think them related.
Considering the scheme at hand, he wasn’t all that pleased.
Dulcea was obviously happy to see him. She wore a sleeveless burgundy gown with a faint gold floral pattern, a ruby pendant at her throat and she was smiling as she approached. “My lord de Warenne!” she cried. “This is the most welcome surprise. But I should have so wished for advance notice—I would have set an extra place at the table.” Her hand fluttered up and down his sleeve.
Her desire to bed him hadn’t changed, he thought, repulsed, but he smiled slightly and bowed. “Thank you for receiving me, Lady Belford. I am aware the hour is an inopportune one.”
“It is never an inopportune hour for you, my lord,” she said, her lashes lowering as she curtsied.
She was socially far superior to him, and he found her use of a courtesy title obsequious. “Then I am very fortunate.”
“Have you just arrived in town? Would you care to join us for supper? We have only just sat down.” She smiled, touching his arm.
“I am afraid I cannot stay long,” he said. “And I do not wish to keep you from your guests. But there is an extremely urgent matter that we must discuss. I beg you for a private word.”
She smiled, giving him a sidelong look, and took his arm. Cliff fought not to pull away and she led him into a small salon with green fabric walls, gilded furniture and green-and-gold upholstery. The upholstery was very worn and faded, increasing his belief that the Belfords were in some financial straits. She released him to close the door. Then she leaned on it, smiling at him. “Then you must come for supper another time, before Belford returns,” she murmured.
Cliff stepped back, hesitating. There was no easy way to break such news. “Why don’t you sit down, Lady Belford. I have news I wish to impart.”
She smiled, taking the chair he offered her. “Good news, I hope?” Her brown lashes fluttered again.
“I believe so,” he said, but even as he spoke, he had very little doubt that she would not be pleased. “I have brought your daughter to London, madam.”
She smiled still, clearly not comprehending him. “What?”
“Your maiden name is Straithferne, is it not?”
Her smile faded and she paled. “What is this?”
“Your daughter, Amanda Carre, is currently my guest here in London, at Harmon House,” he said, watching her closely for her reaction.
Her eyes bulged with shock. She just sat there, staring at him, stunned.
In a way, he did feel sorry for her. He glanced around, found the sideboard with the decanters and poured her a sherry. He handed it to her.
She shook her head, setting the glass down. “I beg your pardon. My daughter is upstairs, with my son, and her name is Margaret. She is thirteen years old.”
He felt all sympathy vanish. A cold, hard feeling filled him, similar to that he so often experienced when facing an adversary he did not care for. This woman, however, he had a use for. This woman owed her daughter a proper life. “Lady Belford, let us cease all pretense. It will take a runner no more than a day or two to determine if your maiden name is Straithferne, but I will not even bother, as your daughter resembles you very closely. I am sure you do not know, but Rodney Carre was hanged in June. I have brought Amanda to London so she might be reunited with you, her only living family.”
Lady Belford cried out, sagging against the chair. And when she looked up at him, he saw tears filling her green eyes, which were nowhere as exotic or vivid as her daughter’s. “You are right,” she gasped. “My maiden name is Straithferne.” She stood, trembling.
Cliff leaped forward, helping her to stand upright. She leaned against him, shaking, instantly clinging to his shoulders. The moment she did so, he knew she was hoping to soften him with her feminine ways. “You must sit down,” he said grimly, attempting to disengage.
But she clung, avoiding his eyes so he could not look into her face too closely. “Oh, God. I am in shock…I cannot believe it…She is here, in London?”
“Very much so. I comprehend your shock. But madam, your long-lost daughter has returned and she is eager to be reunited with you.” He set her firmly apart.
Finally she looked up at him. “You must not speak so openly or I will be ruined.”
Their gazes met. Hers remained moist, but he saw a hard light there now. “And your daughter?” he asked, despising her intensely.
She produced a kerchief from her bodice and used it on her eyes. “You must not speak in such a manner,” she said. “Why did you bring her here?”
“So she might reside with you, her only living family!” he exclaimed. “It was that or send her to the Sisters of St. Anne’s on the island!”
She stared. “What is she like?” she finally, carefully, asked.
He didn’t hesitate. “She is beyond beautiful, with green eyes very much like yours. Her hair is the color of the rising moon and her figure is perfection. She is very clever—she is learning to read and doing well, I might add,” he said. Dulcea’s eyes widened even further. “And she is brave. I have never met such courage, not even in a man. She risked her life aboard my ship to save a young lad, and she can wield a saber almost as well as I can.”
Dulcea cried out.
“What did you expect,” he asked coldly, furiously. “You have allowed your daughter to be raised by a pirate, madam, depriving her of a life of gentility, of this!” His arm swept the room.
Dulcea covered her face with her hands, weeping. “How can you blame me?”
Cliff recognized that Dulcea wished to manipulate him, but he was not exactly sure what else she intended now. “Your tears do not move me, madam. However, your daughter’s plight moves me very much. What will you do now? She is at Harmon House, expecting a warm reunion.”
Her eyes lifted to his and turned to ice. “Surely, surely, you do not expect me to take such a child in!”
“Your daughter needs a home,” he said harshly, his worst fears coming true. “She needs a mother. She needs you. I thought it prudent to meet with you first and advise you that she is here, and I can see that I am right. The ton is filled with bastards, Lady Belford. We both know many couples who are raising their illegitimate offspring alongside their heirs. I have brought my own two children here and I shall take them into society with pleasure, not fear.”
She shook her head in negation, seizing his arms. “You are not a married woman with two legitimate children! Belford will never understand and he will never forgive me, even if my faux pas occurred before we ever met!”
“Au contraire. You lead him about by the nose—and else-where—and I feel certain you can convince him of anything you wish.”
“Why are you doing this? Why did you determine to bring her here?”
“Why am I behaving like a gentleman?” he asked sarcastically. “Your daughter is an orphan and she is no child. She is seventeen, a woman ready for marriage! Surely you wish to have a hand in her future.”
“You are no gentleman!” she said, her pale face so taut it could have been cast from plaster. “Can you not see how distressing this is for me?”
“Your distress it is nothing compared to what your daughter has suffered in her short life.” He lost all patience now.
She had become still, staring. Finally she said, “You are acting as if you despise me.” Her eyes were hard and riveted to his. “But you, of all men, should understand how something like this could happen. You, my lord de Warenne, understand passion as well as anyone.”
“We have nothing in common, Lady Belford, except for your daughter!” He laughed coldly. “And I know exactly how you conceived Amanda. You were very young, yo
u were swept off your feet by a dashing naval officer, perhaps while on holiday, and now there is so much regret.”
She stiffened. “You are correct. I was very young—I was Amanda’s age—and I was swept off my feet and taken advantage of! Carre was a very dashing young naval officer when we met,” she said harshly.
Cliff stepped closer and leaned down, their faces almost touching. “You did not raise her, did you, until she was four? Amanda wasn’t torn out of your arms by her thieving father, was she?”
Her eyes widened. “Is that what Carre told her?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “I was sent to a convent to have her, as all unwed young ladies are. My parents intended to give her up to an adoptive family, but one of the sisters there notified Carre and he came and took her some time after she was born. I do not know precisely when.” Dulcea took a breath, and touched his arm. “Cliff, even you know that is the way of the world. I could not ruin my future before it even began.”
“Did you ever care about your child?” he demanded.
“Of course I did! But I knew her father was caring for her. There was no other choice.”
He leaned over her. “There were many other choices, if you had a mother’s heart. Tell me. You will not even tell Belford that she is your cousin, will you? You do not wish the inconvenience—or is it a matter of finances? Do not tell me it is Belford you fear. You control him and we both know it.”
Her face became hard, almost ugly. “I made a mistake many years ago,” she said slowly. “But you would not understand, as you’re a de Warenne, born with a silver spoon to dine with and too many estates to count! I made a mistake, but Belford came along and I have a proper life now. Come, de Warenne. Surely you do not expect me to take my long-lost daughter in and suffer the vicious gossip, the attacks on my character, the loss of my reputation?” She paused for breath. “You have pushed me to the wall and I must admit it, our finances are strained. We cannot afford to launch a young woman into society right now. We are living on credit. It will be difficult enough to launch my own daughter when she is of age.”
“Then maybe you are taking the wrong lovers,” he said softly.
She slapped him.
He deserved it, he decided, but Amanda did not deserve such a mother. She would be miserable in this home. “You have no heart, madam,” he said, preparing to leave. “Not only do you refuse to take her in, you offer no solution to her dilemma.”
She seized his sleeve. “What will you do?”
“I will not tell the ton the truth, if that is what you are thinking.” But what would he tell Amanda?
“Can she not stay at Harmon House? Surely there is room. Perhaps you can employ her, so she might earn her meals and the roof over her head.”
He began to shake with rage and knew he must leave before he placed his hands around her pretty little throat and began choking her. “Amanda will become a lady,” he managed. “It is her due, her right!”
He saw some of her tension ease. “I am not heartless, Cliff,” she finally said. “If you intend to present her, then you mean to find her a husband. But she has no dowry,” she said carefully.
He had never been more revolted. “Madam, do not concern yourself with Amanda’s prospects. It is the height of hypocrisy. Good day.” Incapable of bowing, he strode for the door. He had to leave her presence before he gave in to his rage.
But at the door, he whirled. She stood, as still as a statue in the center of the room. “You have relinquished all maternal rights this night, as far as I am concerned.”
She stiffened.
He held up his hand, which was shaking. “I would not send her here, to such an uncaring, unkind person, under any circumstance. Understand this. She has been in my protection since she left Jamaica Island, and she will remain in my protection until she is wed. Good night.”
And not giving her a chance to respond, he stormed from the house.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HE HAD NOT RECOVERED his composure by the time he reached Harmon House. Cliff stormed inside, aware that he was late for supper. But the house was oddly quiet, and he realized the ladies were not in. They must have had supper plans.
Rex limped out of the library, clad in evening clothes. “I thought we were in a hurricane, from the sound of the front door slamming. What is wrong?”
Cliff glanced up the winding staircase, wincing. How was he going to tell Amanda the truth? She was going to be crushed and he did not want her to suffer over her despicable mother. He turned and went into the library. “I just spoke with Lady Belford. She is far more than a whore. She is a bitch.”
Rex’s eyes went wide. He closed the door behind them. “I have never heard you speak of a woman in such a manner!”
Cliff faced him. “She is the most selfish person I have ever met. She doesn’t care at all that her daughter is here—she is far more interested in her own comfort and care and that of her legitimate children. And that was said while she was trying to seduce me to her bed.”
After a pause, Rex said, “Are you certain you did not misconstrue her actions and words? I imagine she was shocked by the news you brought.”
Cliff laughed. “Trust me, I did not misconstrue anything. It doesn’t matter. After spending a half an hour with her, I would not send Amanda to her, not under any circumstance. Amanda is better off without her mother. The woman is heartless.”
Rex was gaping. “Cliff, you can’t mean what you have just said.”
“Oh, I mean every word.” He stomped to the sideboard and poured a double shot of whiskey. Downing it, he downed another one.
“Slow down!” Rex exclaimed. “I see you are very upset, and all this over the fate of a woman you barely know.”
That annoyed him even more. “I know Amanda better than I know anyone.” He poured another drink, but cradled this one in his hands.
“Really? You have known her for exactly six weeks,” Rex said, staring closely.
“I have known her for most of her life,” he returned, thinking about all the times he had seen her roaming the island and swimming in the sea. “And we are mates. She has shared the middle watch with me every night. She rode the storm with me. A voyage changes men, Rex. Bonds are forged that can last a lifetime.”
“Apparently it has changed you,” he murmured.
“You wouldn’t understand…I am her protector, but it is more than that.” He walked over to the window and stared outside at the night. It continued to rain.
Rex came to stand beside him. “You are going to tell her that her mother is at Belford House? You are going to tell her the truth?”
He slowly turned, feeling dread. “How can I? How can I not?”
“You do not want to hurt her with the sordid truth, yet you do not want to lie,” Rex remarked.
“Precisely.”
“Cliff, do you care for any advice?”
Cliff sipped. “I should love your advice.”
Rex smiled. “Then this is a rare moment, because no one is as headstrong as you, except for Devlin. If you lie to her, you will regret it. I am certain. She has every right to know who her mother is, and that Dulcea Belford does not care to be responsible for her.”
Cliff had already reached that conclusion. “She has suffered so much. She continues to grieve for her father. Amanda is one of the strongest women I have ever met, yet she is also, conversely, so vulnerable, so emotionally fragile. She deserves to be loved. I do not want her hurt another time!” he exclaimed. “I cannot stand the idea that she will shed a single tear over that selfish woman.”
“Are you really certain Lady Belford is so black hearted? Perhaps she is really afraid of her husband and the scandal. Perhaps she does care for Amanda, in her own way.”
“And what way is that? To put her own welfare over that of her daughter? I am a parent. I would die for my children, Rex. And I would certainly suffer some scandal if that is what I had to do to provide for them.”
“Well,
you do not have to decide what to say tonight,” Rex said. “Will you be all right? I am to join the countess, Lizzie and Eleanor at the McBanes’. I delayed going over only in the hopes of learning what happened at Belford House.”
“I am beyond disgust, but I am fine. Go, enjoy yourself, and give Rory and his wife my regards.”
Rex smiled. “Proceed with care, Cliff,” he said cryptically, and he limped out of the room.
Cliff finished his drink, debating whether to tell Amanda the truth about her mother or not. If he withheld the truth, she would continue to grieve the loss of her father, and in time, she would be better able to withstand another blow. On the other hand, London society was very small and Dulcea Belford lived a few blocks away. It was inevitable that, at some point in time, Amanda would find herself in the same room with her mother, or with someone who knew her. If only they did not resemble one another so greatly, he thought. But someone was going to make the connection, and when that happened, Amanda was going to learn that her mother was Dulcea Belford, not Dulcea Carre.
It was better coming from him.
AMANDA HAD FALLEN ASLEEP. She dreamed of the great frigate, the storm and Cliff de Warenne, and in her dreams, she was fantastically free, riding the Fair Lady’s decks, soaring over the waves, with Cliff at her side, powerful and beautiful, a force of nature, absolute and relentless. She was thrilled that they were at sea again, but then her dream became confusing…. a beautiful lady was there, beckoning to her. But whenever she turned to try to find the lady, the woman disappeared, as if a ghost. Yet Amanda knew she wasn’t a ghost. And then she heard her whisper, “Amanda.”
Amanda turned, becoming frightened, for she was no longer on the deck of the ship but in a grand and empty ballroom, and she was alone. Worse, she was supposed to be in a ball gown, but instead, she was in her ragged breeches and one of Cliff’s shirts.
