A Lady at Last. Brenda Joyce
pistol to one of the wary soldiers and caught her wrists again, more gently, not wanting to hurt her. He was surprised by her strength; she was so slender she appeared frail, but she was not. However, she had no power compared to him. “Please, cease. You will hurt yourself,” he said softly.
She was writhing in his grasp like a wildcat, hissing and spitting like one, too, and even attempting to claw at his face.
“Stop,” he ordered, becoming annoyed. “You cannot triumph over me.”
Suddenly her eyes met his and she stilled, panting heavily. And as their gaze held, he felt a stirring of compassion for her. Even if she was eighteen, he sensed she was a child in many ways, due to her unorthodox upbringing. And now he recognized more than desperation in her eyes; he saw her fear.
Tomorrow, her father would hang. Today, she thought to accost the governor. “Surely you do not think to murder my friend Woods?”
“I would if I could,” she spat at him. “But no, I will delay his murder for another day!” She began to struggle uselessly again. “I have come to beg him for mercy for my father.”
His heart seemed to break. “If I release you, will you be still? I can arrange an audience with the governor.”
Hope flared in her eyes. She nodded, wetting her lips. “Yes.”
He hesitated, confused by his odd emotions. It wasn’t appropriate, but he wondered how old she was. Of course, he was not interested in her, not that way. How could he be? She was too young, and she was a pirate’s daughter. His last mistress had been a Hapsburg princess, acclaimed to be the greatest beauty on the Continent. His daughter’s mother, who was deceased, had been an exotic and beautiful concubine, enslaved in the harem of a Barbary prince. Rachel had been a Jewess, highly educated and one of the most intelligent women he had ever met. He was very discriminating when it came to the ladies who shared his bed. He could not be interested in a wild-eyed waif brandishing a pistol the way other women carried parasols.
She was regarding him with a very neutral expression now. His instincts sharpened. “You will behave.” It wasn’t a question.
Her mouth formed a small, unenthusiastic smile.
Now he was alarmed. Was she hiding another weapon, perhaps beneath that voluminous shirt? While she was not a lady, he did not feel comfortable searching her. “Miss Carre, give me your word that you will behave in a courteous and respectful manner while in the governor’s house.”
She gave him a puzzled look, as if she did not understand a word he had said, but she nodded.
He briefly touched her arm, in the hopes of guiding her toward the salon, but she flinched and he did not attempt to touch her again. “Thomas? Would you mind stepping out? I should like to introduce you to Miss Carre.”
Woods strode forward to the threshold of the salon. He was grim, his color now high. “A mere waif got by my guards?” He was disbelieving.
Cliff recognized his rising temper. “She is worried about her father, and rightly so. I promised her you would allow her to speak.”
Woods seemed about to refuse. “She assaulted my men! Robards, are you harmed in any manner?”
The British soldier remained alert and stiffly at attention in the foyer, his fellow officer inside the house by the front door. He was flushed. “No, sir. Governor, I apologize for the terrible intrusion.”
“How did she manage to get past you?” Woods was incredulous.
Robards’s high color increased. “Sir, I don’t know—”
“I asked them to help me find my little lost puppy dog,” La Sauvage said, her tone absurdly coy, and she batted her lashes at Governor Woods. Then she swung her hips from side to side and shed a tear. “They were soo concerned!”
Cliff stared, quickly reassessing La Sauvage. She had known how to use her considerable female allure to entrap the soldiers. She wasn’t as innocent, then, as she appeared.
Woods turned a cold regard on her. “Arrest her.”
She gasped, and whirled to gaze at Cliff with shock. The surprise became accusation as the soldiers stepped toward her. “You promised!”
He stepped in front of her, blocking the two soldiers and preventing them from seizing her. “Do not,” he warned very softly. His tone was one he only used when he intended to follow it up with a very dire consequence.
Both soldiers froze.
“Cliff! She assaulted my men!” Woods objected.
She turned to face the governor. “And you are hanging my father!” she shouted furiously.
Cliff took her arm, intending to restrain her if need be, but also aware of the urge to protect her. “Thomas, you owe me more than one favor, if I recall. I am collecting now. Hear her out.”
Woods stared, dismayed. “Damn it, de Warenne,” he said, very low. “Why are you doing this?”
“Hear her out,” Cliff said even more softly. It was a command.
Woods’s expression filled with distaste. He gestured for La Sauvage to precede him into the salon.
She shook her head, her beautiful green eyes narrowing shrewdly. “You first.” She smiled coldly. “I never walk ahead of my enemies.”
Silently, Cliff applauded her. He worried again, however, that she might be concealing more weapons.
Woods sighed. “Robards, you may wait where you are. Johns, please return to your post outside of the front door.” As both soldiers obeyed, he strode grimly into the salon.
La Sauvage was about to follow, but Cliff had seen her hide a smile and he seized her arm. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
Very softly, so Woods could not hear, he murmured, “You are unarmed, are you not?”
She stared into his eyes. “Am I a fool? Of course I’m not armed.”
She did not blink, not once. Her cheeks did not color. Her gaze did not waver. Yet he knew, without a doubt, that she was lying.
His grip tightened. She began to protest, trying to pull back, but he restrained her. “I beg your pardon,” he said grimly, aware that he was flushing. With his free hand, over her shirt, he touched her waist, expecting to find another pistol strapped inside her shirt there. Instead, he was stunned at how narrow her waist was, with no flesh to spare. He could probably close both of his hands around her, if he tried.
“Get your paws off me,” she gasped, outraged.
He ignored her, sliding his hand to the small of her back and trying not to think about drifting it lower. She started to struggle. “Lecher!”
“Be still,” he growled, feeling the other side of her waist.
“Are you happy now?” she demanded, remaining scarlet but wriggling impossibly.
“You are making this difficult,” he said, and then he stopped. Something was strapped beneath her shirt on the left side of her waist.
She started to pull against him.
He gave her a look, slid his hand under her shirt and over the sharp edge of the dagger taped to her ribs.
“Damn you!” she hissed, attempting to twist away.
To his shock, the heavy underside of a full and bare breast bumped into his hand as he seized the knife.
She went still and so did he.
“Bastard!” She pulled free.
He tried to breathe, but he was aroused. Beneath that loose, oversize shirt was an intriguing body, one that belonged to a mature woman. He slid her dagger into his belt. It was a moment before he could speak. “You lied.”
She gave him a