A Lady at Last. Brenda Joyce
that’s because of you, of course. And you’ve never lost a battle! I can help with her guns. Your sailmaker is Portuguese, isn’t he? Papa said he’s one of the greatest in the world.”
Cliff’s heart thundered in his chest, preventing speech.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked with a grin, blushing. “I’ve dreamed of riding her decks and racing the wind. This is just like one of my dreams!” She laughed, tossing her hair, which she hadn’t bothered to tie back.
He had to turn away again, his breeches painfully constricting. She’d dreamed of his ship. Had she dreamed of him, too?
“I can’t wait,” she said.
He thought about giving in to insanity; he thought about turning, crushing her to his chest, opening her mouth with his teeth and kissing her. He thought about thrusting his tongue as far as he could.
He heard his children’s footsteps on the stairs and their happy, animated chatter. There was vast relief and bitter disappointment.
He inhaled, smiled in a more genuine manner, and turned away from her. “I see we are all here. To the cutter, then.”
AMANDA GRIPPED the railing and closed her eyes, her face turned up high to the sun and the wind. They’d left Kingston far behind and only a faint pale strip of white sand, framed by jungle-green mountains set against the turquoise water, indicated the island behind them. Ahead, the seas swelled gently. De Warenne was using almost all of his canvas, so the great frigate was rating fifteen knots, racing as fast as she could in such a kind breeze. Amanda opened her eyes and laughed in sheer joy.
She’d known it would be like this, hadn’t she? She felt a fist in her gut and half turned so she could view her captain on the quarterdeck. He stood at the helm with his son, whom she had learned was eight years old, helping the boy steer the ship. He seemed taller, his shoulders wider, his hair more golden, as they raced the wind. Just looking at him made it hard for her to breathe.
She didn’t care. Six weeks lay ahead—the best six weeks of her life.
She wasn’t going to think about arriving at her mother’s, not yet.
De Warenne glanced over his shoulder at her. He had been smiling, clearly filled with the same exhilaration as she, but his smile vanished when their gazes met. He looked back over the prow, his expression terribly serious.
He’d been behaving strangely ever since yesterday, Amanda thought, when she’d interfered in his amorous plans. Oh well. It didn’t matter now. The sun was high, soft cumulous clouds scudded in the sky, and a pair of dolphins were racing the frigate at its larboard side. But unable to stop herself, as if a puppet on someone’s string, she turned to stare at him again.
Neither he nor his son was exchanging words, but the boy was clearly engrossed in steering the ship. He seemed so little in the shadow of his father’s powerful body. She grew sad reminded of how Papa had helped her at the helm when she was so small she’d had to be in his arms in order to grasp the wheel. Then her gaze veered to his daughter, who was seated not far from them, appearing every inch the princess that she probably was in her fine, lacy white dress, a book open on her lap. Her father had given her a velvet pillow to sit on, so she wouldn’t dirty her frilly drawers. She was pretty and pampered and clearly didn’t give a hoot about sailing, for she hadn’t looked up once.
Amanda couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be that rich little girl. But the child could read—and she was only six.
Amanda felt her cheeks warm. She wished she hadn’t admitted to de Warenne that she was illiterate. Did he think her stupid? It had taken her one instant to realize that he adored his fairy princess daughter and was absolutely proud of her. They’d all taken a cutter from the docks below Windsong out to the ship. Ariella had sat in her father’s lap, clutching a book as they were rowed out to the frigate. Her brother had argued with her, telling her the book should have been packed in her bags. Ariella had shot right back at him that he was an idiot, as he could barely read Latin. De Warenne had ended the argument, telling his son that Ariella could bring as many books as she wished and he had better be reading Latin by the time the voyage was done. Through it all, the Armenian servant had been silent.
De Warenne had looked at Amanda, smiling. “My daughter reads better than many grown men.” He’d turned to the child. “What are you reading now, darling?”
“The history of the Pharoahs, Papa.”
Amanda didn’t even know what a fa-ro was.
She was jealous of his daughter, when she owed de Warenne nothing but gratitude. She also wished she had been invited onto the quarterdeck, as his children had, but she had not. She had no reason to speak with de Warenne, so she had no excuse to go over and ask for permission to go up on the deck considered sacred by every sailor and ship’s officer. Maybe he’d invite her to join him there before the voyage was out.
Probably not.
Oddly, she thought of the beautiful cotton-and-lace nightgown. He hadn’t taken it back. It was in her small sack with her father’s cross and chain and her pistol. Her dagger was in her left boot on the inside of her calf and her sword was beneath the pillow on her berth.
“Papa? I don’t feel well,” Ariella said suddenly.
Amanda turned to see the little girl standing, holding her history book. She had that peculiar look which Amanda instantly recognized. The child was sea sick.
“Can I go below and lie down with Anahid?” she asked.
“That is the worst thing you can do.” De Warenne glanced behind him. His gaze slid over Amanda and he seemed to hesitate.
She thought she knew what he wanted, and because she so wanted to repay him for her passage, she jumped forward. Why couldn’t she help with the children? She didn’t know anything about children, but she owed de Warenne and how hard could it be? “De Warenne? I’ll walk her about the deck.”
His gaze softened. “Would you mind, Miss Carre? I believe Anahid is belowdecks arranging the children’s cabins.”
Amanda smiled at him. “Don’t worry. I won’t let her fall overboard.”
He started.
She laughed. “That was a jest, de Warenne!”
“It wasn’t amusing,” he said, unsmiling.
She bit her lip. He was so serious when it came to his daughter! The little princess probably wept buckets when he hit her. She sighed and held out her hand. “Come with me.”
Ariella smiled at her, extending her free hand while clutching the book with her other one. Amanda helped her down the three steps to the main deck. “You’ll feel better in a few days, once you get your sea legs,” she told her.
“Really?” Ariella smiled, then turned green.
Amanda dragged her over to the railing just in time, for the child threw up. She sat with her until she was through, then realized Ariella was very close to crying. She was disgusted. The child was a milksop.
De Warenne lifted her into his arms, having materialized behind them. “You will feel better in a few days,” he said. “That is a promise.”
Ariella fought tears. “I’m fine, Papa. Put me down.”
“Are you certain?” he asked.
She nodded. “I want to walk with Miss Carre. I’m better now, really.” She managed a small smile.
He slid her to the deck and Ariella took Amanda’s hand. Amanda felt like an outsider, her jealousy of the little girl escalating until de Warenne turned his gaze upon her. “Thank you for being so kind to my daughter,’ he said, his blue eyes sweeping over her face.
It felt like a silken caress. Amanda couldn’t smile back and she couldn’t move but she knew that if she wanted him to like her, all she had to do was be good to his children.