A Lady at Last

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.”