A Lady at Last (12 page)

She still saw him without his clothes and her cheeks remained hot. But this subject was more important than anything. “I already know most of the letters,” she said eagerly. “I learned them myself.”

His mouth lifted. “I am certain you will be a capable student, Amanda. Have you ever failed at anything?”

She tried to breathe normally. His look, his tone, even his posture, were potent and seductive, and she felt certain he was as aware of the huge tension that had arisen that morning as she was. It remained now, in the room with them, throbbing and needy, somehow predatory, in spite of his daughter and Anahid. She shook her head.

“We can study together,” Ariella said happily.

A slender gentleman hurried into the cabin, his arms filled with books and papers. “
Ah, bonjour, mes amis
,” he cried. “
Monsieur le Capitaine, bonjour
.”

De Warenne nodded. “
Bonjour,
Jean-Paul,” he said, his accent undistinguishable from the Frenchman's. “Have you met my guest, Miss Carre?”

“
Mais non
,” Monsieur Michelle said, beaming. He placed the books and papers on the table and took Amanda's hand before she even knew it. She stiffened as he tried to raise it to his lips, crying,
“Enchanté, mademoiselle, je suis véritablement enchanté.”

Feeling absurd, she glanced helplessly at de Warenne. The heat had finally left his eyes, which were soft with understanding now. He gave her a slight nod. Continuing to feel clumsy, she let the tutor kiss her hand. Then she jammed it in her pocket, grimacing. Michelle seemed bewildered.

De Warenne clasped the tutor's shoulder. “
Monsieur,
I am giving you the task of teaching Miss Carre to read and write—which I am certain you can accomplish by the end of our voyage.”

Michelle turned white. “I am to teach mademoiselle in six weeks?” He gasped.
“Capitaine, monsieur, c'est impossible!”

“C'est très possible, je suis sûr,”
de Warenne returned swiftly, his tone calm, his smile indicating a sudden good humor.
“D'accord?”

Monsieur Michelle looked at Amanda.
“Oui,”
he murmured, seeming resigned.

Amanda, having grown up in the islands, could understand Spanish, French, Portuguese, Hebrew and Dutch. She could speak a few words in each language, as well, and could get by when she had to. She had understood their entire conversation.
“Monsieur,”
she said, “
Je veux apprendre à lire et je promets d'étudier beaucoup.”

Michelle's eyes lit up.
“Parlez-vous français?”

“A little,” she said, then glanced at de Warenne to see if he was impressed. When he nodded approvingly, a smile on his face and in his eyes, her heart soared and danced.

 

I
T WAS THE MIDDLE WATCH
. Cliff stood on the quarterdeck, the wood of the wheel smooth and sensuous beneath his hands, the decks rocking gently beneath his feet, relishing being one with his ship and God, sailing into what felt like the vast blackness of eternity. The sky was dark and starlit, the breeze gentle and sweet, the ocean a gleam of slick black satin. The hours between midnight and dawn were his favorites. He had taken two hours of rest after his supper and would steal another hour or two before sunrise. Until then, he allowed his mind to drift with his ship, lost in a profound sense of serenity.

“Captain?”

He wasn't alone on the quarterdeck—the officer of the watch was on the larboard rail, and two midshipmen stood below by the mainmast—but it was past midnight, and the last person he expected to see was Amanda. He turned, and she smiled uncertainly at him from the main deck below.

She whispered, “Permission to come up?”

“Granted,” he replied softly. The solitude of this hour was what he enjoyed the most about it and his men knew it. Unless there was an emergency or a call to action stations, he was never to be interrupted on the middle watch. But this distraction was welcome and he was surprised to realize it.

She quickly stepped up to stand beside him. Not looking at him, she faced the bowsprit, lifting her face to the soft caress of the night's breeze. He stared, helpless to look away. His heart lurched and then drummed, his body filling with tension and heat. Why was he so insanely attracted to her? Was it because she was as powerfully affected by the siren call of the sea as he was, or was it simply the primitive lure of wanting a beautiful woman?

But there had been so many beautiful women in his life and she was different. He had never felt such an intense desire before—or such a deep need to shield her from danger and heartbreak. He reminded himself to keep a careful and proper distance at such a dark and dangerous hour. “It's a beautiful night,” he said quietly.

She sighed and smiled at him. “Yes.”

“It's late.”

“I couldn't sleep.”

In the light from the hanging lanterns, he studied her face. He saw no sign of grief. “I understand that you enjoyed your lessons today.” He'd summoned Michelle for a report.

She beamed. “I read three sentences!” Then she flushed. “They were silly, about a cat and a dog and a hat.”

“I know,” he said, impossibly warmed by her excitement and pleasure. “
Monsieur
told me.”

Her smile faltered. She glanced directly ahead. “I owe you so much. I am so grateful.”

He tensed, for it was impossible not to recall how she had initially thought to pay him for her passage. “You do not owe me anything, Amanda. It is my pleasure to allow you the use of Michelle. I am pleased you wish to learn to read and that you are already excelling at it.”

He saw her flush with more pleasure. Then, barely looking at him, she whispered, “You did not invite me to dine tonight.”

His tension knew no bounds. His grasp tightened on the huge wheel. Of course he hadn't, as he had feared a repeat of the previous evening's loss of self-control. He spoke with care. “I am sorry for my behavior last night. It was reprehensible for me to leave you to dine alone. But my daughter had to come first.”

Amanda stared across the bow. After a long pause, she said, “Ariella did not recall having a nightmare and being woken up in the middle of the evening by you.”

He was incredulous. “You questioned her?”

She shrugged, darting a glance at him.

He would never confess that he had lied, and she could not know the real reason he had left her so rudely at his table. “She was half asleep.”

She nodded, clearly not believing him.

He amended, “I thought I heard her cry out.”

She slowly faced him, her eyes trained on his. “I am not stupid, de Warenne. I am not polite company.”

He was shocked. “I enjoy your company very much. If I did not, you would not be sharing this watch with me.”

Her smile flickered, her gaze hopeful and bright. “Really? Because you asked me about my life and I never got to ask you about yours.”

He laughed. “Ask away, Amanda. Please, feel free.”

She smiled eagerly. “Everyone says you are an earl's son. But you said you are not royalty. Yet your servants call you
his lordship
.”

“It's not the same thing.” He smiled. “I am the third and youngest son of the earl of Adare, Edward de Warenne. That makes me a nobleman, not a royal. Being addressed as
my lord
is a courtesy, as I have no titles.”

Amanda seemed perplexed. “I can hardly see the difference between nobility and royalty—you live like a king! Where is Adare? What is it like?”

He chuckled. “Adare is in the west of Ireland, not far from the sea. It is a land of green hills and green forests, especially in the spring. There is no place where the ocean is as blue. It is often misting and it is often wet.” His smile softened. “It is the most beautiful place in the world.”

Her eyes were shining. “It is wet on the island in the rainy season.”

“Jamaica is a tropical place—Ireland is entirely different. It is somehow wild and untamed, even on a sunny day. Time passes differently there. If the islands are paradise, Ireland is magic and mystery. Perhaps that is due to our history, which is ancient. My people came from France, but they were also Celtic kings on my mother's side. In any case, they were all warrior lords. Ireland is a land with a dark and bloody history. We are also renowned for our ghosts.”

“I should love to see it!” she exclaimed. “And your home at Adare? Is it like Windsong?”

“I was born at Adare, but it belongs to my father, the earl, and one day, it will belong to my oldest brother, Tyrell. It is nothing like Windsong,” he said, and he saw the disappointment on her face. “It is far grander. It was first built many centuries ago, although it has been renovated several times.”

“It is grander than Windsong?” She was incredulous.

“My island home could fit inside the house at Adare about three times over.” He chuckled.

She gaped. “So you were raised with servants and riches, living very much as you now do?”

“I lacked for nothing,” he admitted. “I know that must be difficult for you to imagine.”

She shrugged, glancing away.

He somehow wished she'd had a different life, one of luxury, not mayhem and madness.

“Do you go home often?”

“Once every year or two,” he remarked, feeling some guilt. “I go as often as I can. My parents have a residence in London, where I frequently put into port, so it is more likely that I should see some of my family there.”

“You have a brother?” Amanda asked, the envy written all over her face.

“I have two brothers, two stepbrothers and a sister,” he said softly. “And when we arrive in London, you shall surely meet some of them.”

Amanda whispered, “I think you are very lucky to have such a grand family and so many places to call home.”

“I am very fortunate,” he agreed, and he realized he fervently hoped Amanda was going to find such a pleasant existence in London, too.

“What was it like, growing up at Adare?” she asked wistfully.

Cliff was swept back in time. He smiled, remembering being on the verge of manhood, desires raging. “Ah, we were a rowdy, troublesome lot. We avoided our duties and spent as much time as possible racing across the countryside, pursuing light skirts and doing very much as we pleased.” He shook his head. “We would cut out on our lessons, gallop about the hills, swim in the river or the lake. Of course, when we were caught, there was always hell to pay.”

“The earl must have beaten you,” she remarked.

His eyes widened. “I don't think he ever hit any one of us. He could make us drown in guilt with a look.”

“He didn't hit you for skipping your lessons?”

He became disturbed. “No, he did not.”

Amanda folded her arms across her chest. “That is so odd,” she finally said.

“Not every parent uses corporal punishment. I personally think it barbaric,” he said grimly. Surely she had not been punished with the rod?

She held her head high. “Well, that's what you think. Not everyone would agree with you.”

“No, they would not,” he said slowly. “Did Carre ever hit you?”

She kept her chin up. “Of course he did. How else would I learn right from wrong?”

He had a terrible feeling, answered by a terrible rage. “What did he do? Did he use the rod?”

She shook her head, but his relief was short-lived. “He used his fists,” she said. “He had a temper and he hated disobedience. He'd whack me on the side of my head—usually on my jaw.”

He was aghast. He realized his mouth was hanging open, and he closed it. “Good God! Amanda, you were a child, a female one at that!”

She was wide-eyed. “But that's what fathers do. They punish—with their fists, a rod, the whip. I didn't mind. I mean, it hurt, and sometimes I saw stars. Like when he hit me at the prison. But usually he missed, because I was faster than he was and could easily duck the blow.”

Cliff whirled and said, “Howard, take the helm.”

The midshipman rushed to his side, taking the wheel. Cliff took Amanda's arm, trying to remain calm when he was blinded by rage. They moved to the starboard side of the quarterdeck, an area no other sailor or officer would ever dare step upon, as it was, by tradition, reserved exclusively for the ship's master. “His blows were frequent?”

She said stubbornly, “I told you, he usually missed.”

“You said he hit you at the prison. Surely—
surely
—you do not mean at the courthouse prison or at Fort Charles. Surely he did not strike you in the past few weeks?”