A Lady at Last

by Brenda Joyce

  Amanda doubted that. She recalled being alone on the island while her father cruised, trying to attend to their farm, and she thought about the six-week voyage aboard Cliff’s ship. It was becoming hard to visualize that ragged waif in breeches and boots who had lied and stolen to survive. She glanced down at her beautiful dress, recalling the brief conversations she had shared with Blanche Harrington and all the lovely suppers at Harmon House. She thought about strolling down Bond Street with the countess and the drive through the park with Lizzie and Eleanor. She wasn’t really sure who she was anymore but she was not La Sauvage.

  “Here she is,” Lizzie cried excitedly, pulling Amanda into the hall with her.

  A tall, slender woman with dark blond hair instantly came forward, followed by a handsome blond man. “I have heard so much about you,” Georgina McBane said welcomingly. “It is such a pleasure to meet you. How do you like London? Do you need someone to show you around? I would love to do so.”

  Amanda was surprised by her enthusiasm. No two sisters could look less alike. But Georgina McBane was smiling so warmly that Amanda realized she was genuinely excited to make her acquaintance. She really was very much like her sister—a kind woman without pretense. “The pleasure is mine,” she managed, about to curtsy.

  “Oh, we do not stand on formalities,” Georgina laughed. “Besides, I am just Mrs. McBane. I do not outrank you, Miss Carre.”

  Her husband was bowing, however, in a very gallant manner, his green eyes twinkling. He seemed torn between amusement and horror. “So I finally meet Cliff’s ward. This is an astonishing development,” he said, grinning, “but now that we have finally met, maybe I am not all that surprised. Cliff has always had an eye for the most beautiful ladies!”

  Amanda blushed, aware that Rory was handsome and flirting with her. “Cliff has been very kind, as has the entire family,” she said. “Had he not taken me in, I fear I might have been sent to an orphanage.” Then she realized that was not a proper greeting at all. But before she could correct the omission, Rory and Georgina exchanged glances.

  “Well, the Cliff de Warenne we know is honorable, perhaps, but he is hardly renowned for his kindness,” Georgina said tartly. “Where is the cad, anyway?”

  Rory muttered, “And he is renowned.”

  Georgie poked him in the ribs.

  “Georgie,” Lizzie said, “I promise to tell you everything.” The sisters exchanged smiles.

  Briefly, Amanda felt left in the dark. She had been astounded at first by the intimacy in the de Warenne family, and the genuine affection they all shared, and now she could not help but envy the intimacy between the two sisters.

  The third member of their party was standing somewhat behind Georgie and Rory, almost in shadow. She turned to face him. And the moment she did so, she met a pair of emerald-green eyes framed by thick black lashes—beautiful eyes that were fixed intently upon her. She curtsied; her heart skipped.

  The gentleman was staring at her the way Cliff so often did.

  “Our friend, Garret MacLachlan,” Rory said, chuckling. “Garret, do meet Miss Carre.”

  Amanda straightened, flustered, as she had hardly expected a handsome male caller. For another moment, MacLachlan simply stared at her as if he could not tear his gaze away, his interest shockingly direct. And in that moment, she understood that he was admiring her.

  It was almost unbelievable. First her success yesterday, and now this, an admiring caller! She almost had to pinch herself to see if she was dreaming. She reminded herself that he was not, exactly, calling on her.

  “A pleasure, sir,” she said softly.

  “I fear I ha’ lost my wits,” he said even more softly, his brogue heavy and seductive. “Miss Carre, ’tis an honor. I ken you are from the islands?”

  She knew she must avoid any discussion about her real past. “Yes, I am, but my father has recently passed. It is hard for me to talk about my previous life there.”

  “I dinna ken. I am so sorry!” he exclaimed. “Forgive my faux pas. I could na’ help noticin’ yer beauty,” he added. “No Englishwoman I ha’ ever met has such radiance.”

  Amanda blushed, thinking about her sun-kissed complexion. He would surely look at her differently if he knew the reason for her wholesome appearance. “Englishwomen are very beautiful,” she managed. “The ladies here are so well dressed and so very elegant. I hope to be as elegant, one day.”

  “Why?” he asked with genuine surprise. “I think they must imitate you, lass.”

  Amanda blinked in surprise. “I hope they do not!” She had to smile. “If you saw my poor dancing, sir, you would never make such a statement.”

  He laughed. “I ha’ nay doubt that yer dancing is as extraordinary as the color of yer eyes. Ye ken that they are the green o’ the Irish spring.”

  He was flirting, she thought, thrilled.

  “An’ perhaps, one day, when ye be feelin’ a wee bit better, ye will tell me about the West Indies? Having never been across that ocean, I be very curious, indeed.” He sent her a soft smile.

  Amanda felt herself nod, some of her caution vanishing. She had the odd notion that he was genuinely interested in the island—and in her. Of course, she had been advised to never speak of her life there, and she had no wish to reveal too much of herself to him. “One day, perhaps,” she finally murmured vaguely.

  “Would ye care to stroll in the gardens? I ha’ never been to Harmon House, but the Countess de Warenne is famous fer her gardens. An’ I can tell ye about my country. Scotland makes London seem tropical,” he laughed.

  He did like her, she thought, amazed. She had been told that when a gentleman invited a lady to stroll outside, his intentions were serious—if he was not a cad. Amanda glanced quickly at Lizzie. Lizzie was beaming and she said, “Go, dear, enjoy yourself. Garret is a gentleman and he has many interesting anecdotes.”

  Garret offered her his arm, his unusual green eyes warm. Amanda hesitated. Cliff’s handsome image had come to mind and strangely, she felt as if in taking Garret’s arm she was betraying Cliff somehow. But that was impossible, as he only wished to stroll and converse. And Cliff had made himself very clear—he was looking for a husband for her. Perhaps he would be pleased if she mentioned Garret MacLachlan as a possible suitor.

  She had just placed her hand in the crook of his arm, as Monsieur Michelle had taught her to do, when she heard her guardian stride into the room, his spurs jangling behind them.

  “I beg your pardon?” Cliff said in a dangerous tone she instantly recognized.

  Amanda’s heart leaped uncontrollably. She and Garret turned.

  Cliff’s face was dark as he strode forward, his eyes flashing. “And you are?” he demanded coldly.

  Lizzie hurried between them. “Cliff, this is Garrett MacLachlan, the Earl of Bain’s son.”

  Cliff’s face darkened even more, telling Amanda that he was very displeased. His gaze swept Garret from head to toe, and it was terribly condescending.

  Amanda tensed as Garret released her hand, his own eyes turning the dark black-green of wet, sea-swept rocks. “And you are?” he asked as coolly.

  “I am Miss Carre’s guardian,” Cliff snapped. “And I do not recall giving you permission to stroll alone with her outside.”

  Amanda winced. “Cliff,” she began in protest, surprised by his manner.

  But neither man seemed to hear her. To his credit, Garret did not seem in the least bit shaken by being confronted in such a hostile manner. His smile was cold and dangerous. “So ye be Miss Carre’s guardian?” he asked. He looked Cliff up and down from head to toe. “I am a gentleman, sir, an’ I ha’ asked yer ward to show me the gardens in the light o’ day. I hardly realized I needed yer permission fer a proper stroll.”

  Cliff was flushed. He glanced at Amanda and she knew he was going to deny her. She was disbelieving. “Now you know that you do,” he said to Garret.

  But Rory rushed between both men to save the day. He clasped Cliff on the shoulder. “Clif
f! I vouch for Garret’s integrity. You have nothing to fear, especially as Georgie and Lizzie have decided to take some air, as well.” He smiled at everyone present.

  Cliff looked ready to draw his dagger from his belt. He gave Amanda an odd look, then gave Garret a threatening one. Abruptly, he turned and strode out.

  It was a moment before Garret tore his gaze from his departing back. He looked at Amanda, and she finally saw his expression soften. “Is he always so protective?” he asked her. “I have nay dishonorable intentions!”

  Amanda tensed, instantly defending Cliff. “He is very protective,” she said firmly. “I don’t mind. If it weren’t for Cliff, I wouldn’t even be here.”

  He started, his gaze searching hers.

  She managed a smile. “He escorted me to London at his own expense, sir. I am very grateful for that, and more. I don’t know why he is in such a temper, but I do know it will pass.” Then the added shyly, “I would like to show you the countess’s gardens, if you still wish to walk outside. I have never been to Scotland, and I am interested in learning all about your country.”

  His green eyes softened. “I hope ye ha’ the entire day,” he murmured.

  CLIFF STOOD at the windows in the smaller salon, the velvet draperies pushed aside, staring at Amanda and MacLachlan. He despised the other man, and he refused to consider why. Amanda seemed to like her caller—but then, why shouldn’t she? He knew a rival when he saw one, and MacLachlan would make a worthy adversary. He wasn’t just a pretty face, he was a man who had fought his share of battles with his fists, his wits and his sword. MacLachlan had strength of character, power, a title and arrogance, and Cliff had known it the moment he laid eyes on him.

  The Scot and Amanda had been strolling about for over an hour, arm in arm the entire time, and he was ready to go outside and tear them away from one another. Enough was enough. He told himself he was not jealous. But just as he prepared to leave the house and end this absurd flirtation, they separated and stood facing one another, all conversation having ceased.

  Cliff was shocked, instantly recognizing the impending kiss. He strode for the terrace doors, reaching for his dagger.

  “Whoa, my good friend, whoa,” Sean O’Neill said, entering the room with Rex. “Whose throat are you about to slit?”

  Cliff paused but did not tear his gaze from the couple, who had not yet embraced. “Who the hell is Garret MacLachlan, other than a Scot?”

  Rex chuckled. “He is the son of an earl, Cliff.” He swung on his crutch to stand beside him, Sean joining them.

  Sean drawled, “Ah, I begin to understand. He is pursuing the beautiful Miss Carre?”

  Cliff whirled on them both. “He is impoverished—his clothes are threadbare.”

  “He is the son of an earl,” Rex repeated, laughing.

  Cliff said tightly, “He undoubtedly steals cattle from his neighbors.”

  Sean laughed. “He is a Scot, Cliff, not a cattle thief.”

  “It is one and the same,” Cliff growled. “Now, excuse me.”

  “What’s wrong?” Sean taunted. “Afraid there will be a wedding at gunpoint? Perhaps MacLachlan is looking for a wife. Elle tells me you are looking for a husband for Miss Carre, as well. This seems to be a stroke of good fortune.”

  “She is not marrying the Scot,” Cliff ground out, leaving the salon. He descended the stairs three at a time.

  Amanda and MacLachlin turned to face him as he approached. He set his face into an expressionless mask. “Amanda, the countess wishes a word with you,” he lied.

  Amanda’s gaze riveted on his and he was fiercely pleased to have her entire attention again. “Of course.” She faced MacLachlan, smiling far too prettily, causing Cliff’s temper to soar. “Thank you for the lovely stroll, and the information,” she exclaimed. “The Highlands sounds like a beautiful place.”

  “There be nay place on this earth quite like it,” MacLachlan returned. “I be sorry our stroll has to end, Miss Carre.” He bowed. “I ha’ enjoyed the gardens immensely—an’ yer company.”

  She continued smiling. “So have I.” She curtsied and hurried away toward the house, not looking back once.

  Cliff noticed and was savagely pleased, but he was as displeased that Garret stared after her, clearly lusting for her. “State your intentions, MacLachlan,” he said softly, throwing down a verbal gauntlet.

  MacLachlan faced him. “It be Lord MacLachlan to ye. An’ by the by, yer reputation precedes ye. ’Tis shocking that ye be the lass’s guardian.”

  “I do not care if you are shocked, MacLachlan. I have asked you a question and I demand a response.”

  Garret made a sound of disgust. “’Tis fortunate fer ye that I admire yer father, Adare, as well as I do.”

  “Really? And why is that?”

  “Ye need a lesson in manners,” Garret said.

  Cliff laughed, enjoying the impending battle. “How old are you, my boy? Because you do not wish to test your strength against me—or anything else, for that matter.”

  “I be twenty-four,” he shot. “I ken ye rule the main. But be warned, I ha’ seen my share of battles on land and sea, an’ I am not afraid of ye.”

  “You should be. You are not welcome here.”

  Garret started. “I wish to call on yer ward again. She is delightful—a breath of fresh air in this town.”

  “I suggest you take your fresh air in Scotland,” Cliff said coldly.

  Garret’s hand went to the hilt of the dagger he wore. “My father is Alexander the Ironheart, Earl of Bain, an’ I am unwed. Ye canna refuse my suit.”

  “I can and I am. Amanda is not going to be tossed off to a heathen Scot. Besides, you are clearly a fortune hunter.”

  He flushed with anger. “I ken that Miss Carre’s dowry is a modest one. If I were t’ seek a fortune, I wouldna be askin’ permission to court yer ward.”

  “Ah, so now we speak of a courtship? My answer stands,” Cliff said harshly. “And I will not be moved.”

  Garret stared, flushed with rage. He finally said, “Ye be Irish. Damn it, we are brothers.”

  “My brothers are in that house,” Cliff said, gesturing at the mansion behind them. “My word is final. Good day.”

  Garret turned and strode across the lawns, his every stride filled with heat and anger.

  Satisfied, Cliff watched him go.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  DULCEA BELFORD ARRANGED her face into a pleasant smile as she paused before the front door of Harmon House. She tugged her immodest bodice lower, then lifted the knocker.

  Her daughter had been in town for well over a week, but she had not had a single glimpse of her. She had, however, run into Blanche Harrington last night at a soiree and had learned that Amanda had called on her, with the Countess of Adare, upon first arriving in London. Dulcea wasn’t really surprised. Everyone knew that the Countess of Adare remained on good terms with the woman who had almost become her daughter-in-law, and if Amanda was as unpolished as Cliff had suggested, of course her first call would be prearranged. How clever of de Warenne.

  Thinking of him now infuriated her when previously his mere appearance in the same salon had been enough to make her tingle with delicious lust. She had tried to seduce him last year, but he had politely rejected her overtures. Dulcea had not been able to believe it then and she really couldn’t believe his callous behavior toward her now—she had never been denied before, or so abused. How dare he scorn her, as if she owed Amanda Carre something. Carre had raised her and if her current plight was not satisfactory, the blame belonged on her father, not on her!

  De Warenne’s reputation as a masterly and insatiable lover was well-known, and now he had taken up with her daughter. Dulcea had become wet and hot between her thighs but she remained furious. She had quite a few doubts about the liaison. He was a conscienceless rake and he could not possibly be a fit guardian for any young woman, much less a beautiful one. Blanche had confirmed that Amanda was a great beauty. She had refused to confirm t
hat she was at all rough about the edges, however.

  Dulcea had sensed that, for some reason, Blanche Harrington was protecting Amanda. But why on earth would she do that?

  Dulcea intended to discover what was truly transpiring. But even if Cliff was in bed with his ward, and even if Blanche had some kind of interest in her, the real and shocking news was that Amanda had a dowry. Apparently Carre had left her a small but lucrative estate near the village of Ashton.

  How small was the estate, Dulcea wondered. Were there any tenants and if so, how many? If it was lucrative, just how lucrative was it? What if there was a mine?

  Dulcea wet her lips, her pulse pounding. She had carefully reconsidered her position toward Amanda since learning of her dowry. Living on credit was horrid. Dulcea did not know how they would launch her own daughter in a few years. Worse, if Belford passed, as he surely would, as he was so much older than she, how would she ever pay off his debts? Of course, she would have to remarry a fortune. But now, there might be a solution for the moment, and that solution was her bastard daughter.

  She did not dare acknowledge Amanda openly. She had debated claiming her as a cousin, but if Belford ever learned the truth, he would boot her at once. But she was Amanda’s natural mother. As such, shouldn’t she be involved in Amanda’s prospects? Dulcea hated the notion of groveling before Cliff de Warenne, but she must convince him of her right to participate in the decisions affecting her daughter’s future. Surely, she must be the one to control the estate.

  She thought her plan was infallible. If he was in her daughter’s bed, she could blackmail him into handing over control of the estate.

  A doorman escorted her into a salon, taking her calling card and placing it on a silver tray. Dulcea was calling very early—unfashionably so—in the hopes of catching de Warenne before he went out for the day.

  She heard his footfall approaching and fought her anger toward him, rearranging her expression into one that was demure and seductive. Seduction would be her first course of action; blackmail the last.