A Lady at Last (14 page)

He slowly turned to look at his passenger. It was just past noon and his children and Amanda were on a short recess from their studies. Ariella had gone below to read, and Alexi was in the rigging with the fore topmen. He was prouder of the boy with every passing day, as he could not seem to soak up knowledge of the ship and sailing quickly enough. He might be a poor student when it came to academics, but he was brilliant when it came to seamanship. His passenger, however, was another matter.

According to Michelle she was rapidly proceeding in her studies. The Frenchman waxed poetic over his new charge's intelligence and dedication, boasting she would be reading the
London Times
by the day they arrived in town. As far as Cliff was concerned, the man was quickly falling under her spell. But why not? Even now, having just come out of the schoolroom, so to speak, she was an enchantress with her windblown hair, her exotic green eyes, her slim but voluptuous body.

Amanda met his gaze, glaring.

He stared back, unsmiling. She had not spoken to him in five days.

In fact, all she had done was glare rudely or ignore him as if he was not there.

He understood that he was being punished for his cruelty. But had she wished to be seduced and ruined? Did she understand that he would have taken her in an instant, with her in his bed so scantily attired, already in the throes of pleasure and passion? Did she know what control and discipline he had used to walk away? Did she not understand that he wished to be honorable with her?

His cruel words had been deliberate, a calculated device to push her as far away as he possibly could, and to forestall her ever trying to seduce him again.

He knew that should there be a next time, he would cave in to a monstrous and barbaric desire.

But goddamn it, he had had enough. He felt horrible, he was guilty, he was sorry, she was right! He did not wish to renew their previous camaraderie, as it was far too dangerous, but did she have to act as if she despised him?

Giving him a hateful look, she turned her back to him and waved up at Alexi. Alexi was seated on a yardarm and he grinned at her. “Amanda! Come up!”

What nonsense was this? Women did not climb the rigging, even if Cliff had seen her do so once, years ago, on her father's sloop.

Amanda turned and looked right at him, her challenge clear. Then she whirled and ran to the mainmast, where she quickly leaped into the main shrouds. He stalked down from the quarterdeck as she scrambled up to Alexi, as agile as his best sailors.

The fore topmen did not know what to do, so they looked at each other and then down at the decks, as if pretending a beautiful woman was not in their midst.

“You really can climb rigging,” Alexi said in surprise. “I thought you were joshing me!”

“I've been climbing rigging since I was younger than you,” Amanda boasted. She glanced down, meeting Cliff's gaze, before abruptly looking away.

He snapped. “Amanda, please come down. I wish a word with you.”

She smiled at Alexi. “It is such a fine day. If these winds keep up, we will cut a few good days off of our voyage.”

“I hope our voyage lasts forever. I don't care about England at all,” Alexi declared.

Cliff was incredulous. She was going to ignore him when he gave her a direct command? Perhaps, though, it hadn't really been a command, but a request. “Amanda.”

Her jaw set. She gave him a sullen look.

“Come down. Into my cabin,” he barked. He turned and strode off. If she did not obey, he'd climb up the rigging himself and carry her down over his shoulder, never mind that commanders did not ascend the shrouds.

But he heard her as she landed, soft and catlike, on the deck. She trailed after him, keeping a safe distance, as if he might turn on her like a dangerous predator and bite. But then, he had bitten her, hadn't he, when he'd told her he had no wish to bed her. But damn it, he had not had a choice!

He paused in the center of his cabin as she entered behind him. He decided he would pretend that nothing was amiss, that they had not spent five days with his hoping for a genuine smile and her staring mutely at him with unabashed hostility. He turned, smiling. “I understand you have progressed to a second level reader,” he said.

She stared, mouth firm, eyes hard, absolutely mute.

He sighed. “Are you enjoying your studies?”

She folded her arms across her chest, clearly refusing to speak.

“Well, I believe I have proven my point. You are hardly a grown woman. I have never seen such childish behavior in an adult.”

She smiled grimly at him.

He was incredulous. “Do you intend to ignore me for the next four weeks?”

“Am I ignoring you, Captain, sir?”

He was at a loss. She was angry and he couldn't blame her. What was worse, he knew the anger was a facade to hide her hurt. It was so utterly ironic. He had only wished to shield her from heartache; instead, he had caused more grief. Softly and truthfully, he said, “I am sorry I hurt you, Amanda. I obviously misled you with my earlier behavior. At least now we both know where we respectively stand. It will be a very long voyage if you continue to glare and refuse to speak to me.”

“The voyage is already too long,” she said.

“I am afraid there is nothing I can do about the length of our voyage,” he said.

She shrugged. “Just think, when we do get to England you can go to your fancy whores.”

It was a rare moment, but he felt her pain and did not know how to respond.

“Is that all? I have lessons to finish.”

At least they were speaking, he thought grimly. “Yes, that is all.”

 

A
MANDA AWOKE
,
TENSING
.

Outside of her cabin's porthole, she heard sabers clashing.

They were under attack? And she had slept through the assault and boarding? She leaped from her bunk, reaching for her sack. She quickly loaded the pistol then tucked it into her pants. She seized her sword and shoved open her cabin door.

Her cabin opened onto the starboard side of the ship. No enemy was boarding from that side. In fact, nothing but the iron-gray ocean could be seen. Swords rattled and clashed from the main deck and then she heard de Warenne.

“Thrust true,” he advised. “Steady and true. Do not bend your wrist.”

Beginning to understand, Amanda hurried around the cabin. She halted, seeing de Warenne and Alexi fencing. De Warenne was allowing the small boy to test his skills, she realized, and he was very agile for a boy of eight.

De Warenne was a good teacher, pushing his son but not so much that he would tire and despair. Her heart ached. She remained motionless, watching him now that he was thoroughly occupied and could not remark her interest. She had to ignore the hurt. The anger was so much easier, so much better—it was what he deserved.

He was a bastard, a cad; he was a fancy, snooty gent with snobby airs; he wasn't kind, he was mean and cold and cruel; she
hated
him.

If she told herself often enough, maybe she would eventually believe it.

He saw her and signaled to his son to desist. Alexi put the sword down, breathing hard but grinning. De Warenne's gaze took in the pistol in her waistband and the saber she held. Then his gaze lifted.

I hate him
, Amanda thought.
He would take a fancy lady to bed, but not me; I'm not good enough for him
. She strolled forward. “Your son will be a good swordsman one day.”

His eyes were guarded. “Yes, he will. What is that?”

She slowly raised the saber. “My sword.” She smiled at him. She was very adept with a saber—she could beat Papa. Fencing wasn't only about strength; it was about balance, agility and skill.

“Do you wish to fence?”

“I heard the blades, and I thought we were under attack.” She took her pistol and laid it aside on the deck.

His eyes widened. “So you came up here to help my men defend the ship?”

“Of course,” Amanda said. “I am no weak-kneed gentlewoman to swoon at the sight of battle. But I am rusty—I haven't had a chance to fence in a very long time. Do you care to engage?” she asked. Not giving him a chance to respond, she stepped forward and aggressively thrust her blade.

He reflexively blocked the blow. “Your sword is not blunted, Amanda,” he said carefully.

She felt her lips widen. She thrust again—he parried. “I won't draw blood, de Warenne,” she said, but she thought maybe she would, just so she could see the look in his eyes. A terrible excitement consumed her. With it was her rage. She thrust and he parried, but took a step back. Elated, Amanda went on the offensive. His eyes widened but he merely blocked each blow, allowing her to drive him ruthlessly and rapidly back into the larboard railing.

She laughed, triumphant. “You can do better than that, de Warenne! Surely you are not afraid of my naked blade?”

“You remain very angry with me. I understand,” he began.

She was furious. He knew nothing! She thrust and he parried; she feinted and then slipped through his defenses, instantly cutting a long line into his fine, fancy shirt. She withdrew, heady with the scent of victory. “You understand what?” she asked sweetly.

He glanced at the long tear, very surprised, and then he slowly looked up at her.

“I did not draw blood,” she said, exhilarated now. She laughed at him.

“You were fortunate,” he said, color flooding his cheeks.

“No, I was careful. I chose
not
to take your blood, de Warenne!” She thrust so swiftly that, before he could defend himself, she had taken the top three buttons off his shirt, causing it to gap open, revealing the two thick muscles of his chest.

Above them, someone laughed.

De Warenne was disbelieving.

“Fight, de Warenne,” she said fiercely, panting. She was determined to savagely exchange blows—she would ruthlessly engage, there would be no quarter! “Or show your men that you can be outplayed and outfought by a
child.
”

He suddenly thrust.

Amanda blocked the blow, but barely. He thrust again and again, driving her back across the ship before she even knew what was happening. In mere seconds, she had her back at the rail and sweat was pouring down her body, pooling between her breasts and legs. She was even more furious than before at his display of skill.

He smiled. “Come now, darling. I have no wish to fight with you, especially as your blade is not blunted. Besides, we both know you cannot best me.”

But she would try. She would make him sit up and take real notice of her. She was not a fancy lady, but she could match him in every other way. Amanda growled and attacked. She thrust hard and he met her, taking a step back, a step aside, until they were moving rapidly in a vicious circle of hard blow after hard blow. Iron rang. Sweat burned in her eyes. Of course he was master here. She hadn't expected to win. But she wanted to somehow hurt him. There was nothing she wanted more—she wanted him to feel what she had felt, damn him!

Her arm was aching now. She was at her physical limit, but she would not give up. “Damn you!” she gasped, and she halted, pretending to be exhausted and ready to submit to his mercy.

He bought her game, a grin appearing on his handsome face. “Well done,” he began.

Amanda feinted, thrust and sliced off the rest of his shirt buttons. He was so surprised he simply stared down at his shirt, now shredded in two. Then, slowly, he looked up at her. His blue eyes were brilliant, hot, and he slowly, boldly smiled.

He wasn't angry
. She understood the heat, and a savage sense of triumph rose up in her. He might not want her with his fine intellectual mind, but just now, she had provoked him so thoroughly that he wanted her right then. She knew, beyond any doubt, that reason had been conquered by lust.

“What's wrong, de Warenne?” she murmured seductively. “Maybe it isn't a fancy lady that you really want.”

Before she had even delivered this last call to arms, he attacked. He had the edge of both shirt and chemise hooked over his blade, and with one flick of his wrist, blunted tip or no, her clothes would be ripped in two.

She stilled, breathing hard, her body pulsing in frenzied excitement. “Go ahead,” she managed. “Take my clothes.”

His face hardened. He slowly lowered the big blunted tip of his sword between her breasts. “I believe we are done,” he said harshly.

She stared at the tip, then lifted her gaze. “I am
not
done.”

His brows lifted. “I have my blade against your heart, darling. In actual battle, you would be dead.”

“Most men would prefer me warm and alive in their beds,” she challenged tauntingly.

His eyes blazed. He removed the sword, tossing it aside and it clattered across the deck. “You have won, Amanda,” he said. “I concede defeat.”