A Lady at Last

by Brenda Joyce

  Didn’t she love him?

  “Cliff,” the earl tried. “Do not take this literally.”

  Cliff didn’t hear him. It was finally beginning to sink in. “Get me a coach, a hansom, a horse, instantly,” he snarled at the doorman.

  On the front steps, he paced back and forth, now incredulous. Women fell all over themselves for his favors, but she had left him.

  How could Amanda do this?

  So much hurt stabbed through him that he halted in his tracks, incapable of another step. He had suffered sword wounds, pistol shots and knife wounds, but he had never felt this kind of hurt. It wasn’t physical, it was a thousand times worse.

  Hadn’t she been in love with him a few weeks ago, before he left for Holland?

  And finally, the anger began. Cliff cursed. Friendship? Was she insane? He did not want friendship, he wanted a wife…he wanted her love.

  “Sir.” A groom came running up the drive, leading a horse.

  He grabbed the reins and swung into the saddle. He would stop her, if she hadn’t set sail yet. As he galloped into the street, almost causing two carriages to collide, he began to realize it was unlikely that she had left. He was at the wharves and shipping offices every day, attending to his own business affairs, and he was fairly certain that not a single ship was scheduled to depart that day for the islands, although two ships had left yesterday. He spurred the gelding on. Coachmen cursed at him as they were forced to the curb.

  However, he was not completely certain of the schedules, and he was aware that the tides would have been favorable for a departure that afternoon, beginning at 3:00 p.m. He cursed.

  If she had left, he’d ready his ship and chase her down.

  This was not ending her way; in fact, this was not ending at all.

  He was a de Warenne. Amanda belonged to him, now and forever, and he would pursue her until he found her and won her over. If she had loved him once, he would make her love him again.

  But when he got to the wharves, something was wrong. Cliff was halfway to the shipping offices used by his company when he realized, in real disbelief, what that was. He pulled his mount to a sliding halt, whipped it around and gaped in absolute shock at the empty berth where the Fair Lady should have been; where she had been at anchor yesterday and last night.

  For one moment, he stared, pulse pounding, blood roaring in his veins, in his head.

  And his world went still, the vast stillness before great battle. When he spoke, it was so softly, no passerby could hear. “Where the fuck is my ship.”

  TEN DAYS LATER, Amanda sat at the Portuguese desk in Cliff’s cabin, engrossed in a stunning history of Alexander the Great. She was determined not to wallow in grief—or worse, regret—and the only way to do that was to immerse herself in reading. For once in her life, she avoided going on deck. She couldn’t even look at Mac or another officer on the quarterdeck without seeing Cliff there, and remembering in perfect detail all the times they had shared at the helm, under the stars, racing the wind—some of the happiest moments of her life. Once she went back to those days, she would be thrown back to the time shared at Harmon House, to the lovely family suppers with Cliff admiring her from across the dining table, to the afternoon when he had taught her to waltz, and the night of the Carrington ball, a night that remained bittersweet. And she could so easily relive, again and again, their final day and night together, spent passionately and tenderly making love. Once the grief began, it was consuming, a flood tide that was impossible to stop.

  It was better not to think or sleep. Instead, she had read a dozen books in ten days.

  Her eyes hurt and ached, as did her back from being hunched over. She paused for a moment and Cliff’s smile came to mind, as did his beautiful face and his brilliant blue eyes, so soft with warmth and affection. Amanda inhaled, jumped to her feet, pacing, trying to force the image aside and if that did not work, to outdistance it. Instead, his smile vanished and his eyes turned dark with desire.

  She was hot and cold at once. Once a thought of him began, she would want him desperately, and simultaneously, she would become sick with the burden of such a loss. And there would be damnable regret.

  Worse, because she cared so much, she wondered time and again what he had thought and felt when he had realized she was gone, leaving only a letter behind. She knew him well enough to know he would be furious that she had taken his ship, but she also thought he would be hurt, because no matter what else they might be, they had been good friends. She had betrayed him by leaving and by taking the frigate, after all he had done for her, and she knew he would see it that way, in black and white, not gray.

  She wondered if he would even consider her a friend now. She knew she would never be able to stop herself from calling on him at Windsong when he returned to Kingston, but her devastation would be complete if he turned her away.

  Of course, it would be better that way. But she couldn’t imagine her life without Cliff in it somehow.

  A knock sounded on the cabin door. Amanda went to answer it and found a young sailor there. “Miss Carre? Cap asks to speak with you.”

  Amanda swallowed, envisioning Cliff at the helm in his linen shirt, a Moroccan vest and his starkly white breeches and high boots. But when she nodded and stepped onto the main deck, Mac’s lean back faced her. He had not questioned the orders she had forged, although he had admitted that it was unusual to receive written instructions when his captain was in port. Amanda had quickly covered, explaining that Cliff was preoccupied with his children. Mac had accepted that and they had set sail at a few minutes past three in the afternoon.

  She slowly approached the quarterdeck. Mac gave the wheel over to Midshipman Clark and came down to stand beside her. He was grim. “Good day, Miss Carre.”

  “Good afternoon.” She inhaled the fresh salted air, the scent of the sea but could not receive any pleasure from the tang and the brine. “What is wrong?”

  “We are being hunted,” Mac said.

  Amanda tensed. She knew all the slang seamen used. Mac could have said they were being chased or pursued, but each word had different nuances. “Who would be hunting us?” she asked, her heart thundering now.

  “I don’t know. They were espied at sunrise, but by noon, it became clear this is a hunt. Whoever is hunting us, he is light and swift and closing in rapidly. I give him another hour, at best.”

  It was Cliff, she thought, and there was a rush of excitement. Dread instantly followed. If it was Cliff, he probably despised her now. As she looked behind them, she could feel his power, his presence, even though the pursuing ship was but the size of her thumb. He was hunting his ship. Or was he?

  If he was absolutely enraged, he might be hunting her, seeking retribution. Surely, that was not the case, because if so, their friendship was over.

  “No pirate would ever take us on,” Mac shook his head, “unless he was insane—or commissioned to do so. Appears to be a schooner. I’ve taken a good look through the glasses myself, and I am counting fifteen guns. We can’t outrun such a small, light ship, but we can fight. We can easily destroy her. I’m calling action stations.”

  Amanda was shivering now, although she was warmly dressed. “I think I know who it is,” she whispered, staring at the horizon. She thought she could actually feel his seething fury, and her fear and dread escalated.

  Mac started. “Pray tell!”

  Amanda braced herself for Mac’s anger now. “I forged de Warenne’s orders. I have made a terrible mistake!” she added, realizing in horror it was true.

  He simply looked at her. “What?”

  She inhaled. “I forged the captain’s orders. He did not order you to transport me home. I gave those orders. I forged his signature.” She wet her lips as Mac stared in growing disbelief. “He didn’t know what I intended.”

  “Jesus have mercy on us both!” Mac exclaimed. “He will keelhaul me—you are lucky you are a woman!”

  She wet her parched lips again. She was genuinely a
fraid; so much was at stake. Had she destroyed their bond of affection?

  “Sweet Mary!” Mac blanched with utter comprehension. “Of course he’s hunting us. You stole his ship!” Then crimson rushed to his face. “You stole his best ship!”

  Amanda stared at the racing schooner, its two square sails visible. Mac was wrong. Within a half an hour, Cliff would be boarding and they would be face-to-face. She couldn’t breathe adequately. “I borrowed the ship.”

  “That’s not what he will think,” Mac cried. He turned and started bellowing for the royals to come down.

  Mac was right. He was looking at what she had done not just as a man, but as a captain. Amanda realized she had crossed a line, one that might not be repairable. Her fear intensified. Papa would kill anyone, man or woman, for doing what she had done. Cliff would never lay a hand on her, but he would be as enraged as any commander.

  Oh, God, had she finally destroyed the bond they shared?

  Sails were furling in rapid succession. “You had better wait below somewhere,” Mac snapped. “Signal the schooner. Make certain it’s the captain, and we will give him permission to board.” He glared at her and strode back up to the quarterdeck.

  Breathing hard, shaking like a leaf, Amanda rushed into the captain’s cabin, her pale skirts swirling. She slammed the door and debated bolting it, but what was the point? Cliff had come for his ship, and she had no intention of trying to avoid him or even escape his wrath. As sweat began pouring down her body, she realized that what she wanted to do was not to defend herself or explain. She just wanted to go into his arms and take everything back.

  But she had come so far. She had to remain resolved. She couldn’t be his lover, and she couldn’t marry him to uphold his honor. Then she laughed, aware of being in some hysteria. He wasn’t going to think about honor now! He was going to think about punishment and taking his ship back.

  She heard the canvas slapping the masts, waves lapping the hull. The frigate had slowed to a few knots. She trembled. She had to weather the impending storm and repair their relationship, somehow. Except, it was going to be a hurricane.

  And hurricanes destroyed everything in their path.

  I’ll never stop loving him, she thought, no matter what happens next.

  Grappling hooks sounded; metal clawing wood.

  Amanda bit her lip, hard, her underclothes drenched. She wiped perspiration from her face. She had to salvage their friendship, no matter how furious he was, no matter how long it took.

  She heard a cutter butting against the hull, and the men throwing down a rope ladder.

  Amanda ran to the porthole to shove it open. She needed more air, but it was already wide.

  The cabin door blew in off its hinges.

  She cried out as Cliff filled the doorway.

  His face was a tight, hard mask of fury, under absolute control. His legs were braced, but the deck did not roll. Amanda breathed hard. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, but no words would come forth.

  He pointed at her, his eyes glittering savagely. “I have two things to say to you, madam.”

  She nodded, heart lurching. He hated her now.

  “You are coming home with me. And we are getting married.”

  And with a final stare, he stormed out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  AMANDA RAN AFTER HIM, shocked. He still wanted to marry her? She should have known that his sense of honor would far outweigh his anger and her betrayal.

  He strode to the quarterdeck, snarling, “Get me a bottle of whiskey.”

  An officer leaped to obey.

  Amanda hesitated below him on the main deck. He whirled and pointed. “This is not an opportune time.”

  She inhaled, rigid now. She needed to explain, if she could. She could not stand seeing him so angry with her. And what should she do about his statement that they were to wed? The terrible truth was, she did not want to fight him, not now and not ever. She could not triumph over him, anyway, if his mind was made up.

  And clearly, his mind was made up now.

  “Sir!” MacIver was pale.

  Cliff smiled coldly at him. “Do explain your participation in Miss Carre’s games.”

  “There was a letter with your orders, sir. It is in my berth. Your signature was affixed to it. I will get it now,” Mac said tersely.

  For one moment, Cliff stared at him, his expression harsh and uncompromising. Beneath the anger, she realized, he was hurt. Amanda summoned up her courage and said, stammering, “I forged the orders and your signature.”

  He gave her such a chilling look that she decided she was wrong. She hadn’t hurt him—he was furious and he despised her. “How clever.” He turned to Mac. “You will bring the orders to me after your watch.”

  The officer came striding forward, a bottle of Irish whiskey and a glass in hand. Cliff took the bottle, ignoring the glass, tilted his head and drank, long and hard. Amanda shivered, realizing she was hugging herself. She should be terrified of such a man in such a state. If he hated her now—and she thought that he did—how on earth could he even think of marriage?

  Because, she thought sadly, he is noble and good.

  He drank again. Finally, she saw some of the terrible tension in his shoulders and back ease. Then, slowly, he turned to look down at her. His grim countenance wasn’t as tight or as controlled, nor was it quite as hostile. He gestured with a nod at his cabin.

  And Amanda saw the hurt in his eyes.

  His anger was a facade. She hated what she had done, but she’d had to leave him, hadn’t she? She turned and started across the deck, her heart hammering wildly, her shoulders square, trying to keep some composure wrapped about her like a heavy winter cloak. She heard him land catlike behind her and follow. She entered his cabin, walked to the bed and placed her back at the footboard, although she hardly expected an assault from behind. His attack would be direct and brutal. She had not a single doubt.

  He paused in the center of the room, standing as if on a bucking ship. Torn from its hinges, the door lay on the floor, the doorway open.

  “You left me,” he said tersely, his gaze unwavering on hers.

  She exhaled. “I am sorry. I am sorry for borrowing your ship, and I—”

  “You left me after the night we shared.”

  She tried not to think about being in his arms, when he had seemed to love her as much as she loved him. “I told you that morning what I intended. The time we shared didn’t change anything.” She saw him flinch. “It was wonderful, but I meant it when I said I had to go home. I know you are angry. I know I took the coward’s way, and I shouldn’t have conned Mac—”

  “I don’t care about the ship!” he cried, stunning her. “I am glad you took my frigate—at least you would be safe from rovers. Damn it! I made love to you and you left me!”

  She hugged herself harder, trying to ignore that painful figure of speech. “I knew you would want to marry me, Cliff, for all the wrong reasons. How could I accept that? The night we spent together only fueled my desire to leave.”

  “For all the wrong reasons? Our passion fueled your desire to leave me?”

  “You misunderstand me,” she cried. “I do not want to hurt you. But you ruined me, you would decide to marry me. Honor is not the right reason, not for me.”

  He stepped closer, his gaze piercing. “Do you even know my reasons, Amanda?”

  “Yes, I do.” Somehow she tilted up her chin, yet she felt tears falling. “You are the most honorable man I have ever met. I know my letter hardly stated the depth of my feelings, but after all you have done, and all your family has done, you must surely know that leaving you was very difficult.”

  “The depth of your feelings,” he said. His nostrils flared, his gaze brilliant. “Do you refer to the friendship you wish to maintain—and your affection for me?” He was cold and sarcastic, taking a final step toward her.

  He towered over her now. She wanted to step backward, away from him, but she held her ground.
“I didn’t think you would wish to continue our friendship. But it is so important to me. I will beg you to forgive me so we can remain dear friends.”

  “I don’t want to be a dear friend,” he said harshly. “And goddamn it, do not tell me you felt as a friend does when you were in my bed!”

  She stiffened. “That’s not fair.”

  “You left me. That’s not fair,” he shot back, giving no quarter.

  “After all you have done, it wasn’t fair, I agree completely. But I was desperate.”

  He shook his head. “I will never believe you are desperate to be a shopkeeper. And what woman is truly independent? Only a spinster or a widow. You are neither.”

  Slowly, hating her words, she said, “I had planned on the former.”

  “Like hell,” he spat.

  She accepted the dread filling her then. “You despise me now.”

  “Are you truly so ignorant, so oblivious? How on earth could I ever despise you?” he exclaimed, leaning closer. “Would I be standing here demanding marriage if I despised you?”

  She started. Her heart skipped wildly; she tried to ignore it. She whispered, “Why did you really pursue me?”

  “I am a de Warenne,” he said, straightening. “As my father said so recently, there is no stopping us, not if it is a question of love.”

  She gasped. Had she misheard?

  Then he shook his head. “I will never believe you wish to be a shopkeeper! A beautiful lady stands before me, but if I strip away that gown, I know La Sauvage lives.”

  She trembled, afraid she had misunderstood him completely. “I am never giving up the woman I have become. I like her far too much. But you are right, underneath, I still prefer the wind in my hair to a ball. Cliff! What do you mean, a question of love?”

  “It means I must have the truth,” he demanded, his gaze glittering. “Damn it, Amanda, do I not deserve the truth? I have been haunted by your words—you do not wish to be my ward. Is that not what you said? You ran away, not to be a shopkeeper, but to leave me! What have I done to cause you to dislike me so?” His wide eyes flickered with anguish. “I thought the bond we shared was something far different.”