A Lady at Last. Brenda Joyce

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      “I’m sorry, I have lost my appetite.” He turned to La Sauvage. “Let’s go.”

      She was standing there, appearing very young and very grim—and very resolute. She might have been on the way to the gallows. She shook her head. “I am staying.”

      “Like hell,” he said softly and dangerously.

      And the tears filled her eyes—real tears. “Go away, de Warenne. Leave me be.”

      Cliff fought with himself. Why did he care? She seemed young, but she couldn’t possibly be innocent, not having lived the kind of life she had. He wasn’t her protector.

      “You heard the…lady,” Woods said softly. “She won’t be hurt, Cliff. In fact, she might be pleased.”

      He was blinded by a kind of rage he hadn’t ever experienced. Images danced in his mind. Woods embracing La Sauvage, Woods ruthlessly availing himself of her slender, yet lush body. He fought to breathe, and when he could speak, he looked at the governor. “Don’t do this.”

      “Why? She’s a beauty, even if her odor is offensive.”

      She smelled of the sea and Cliff did not find it offensive at all. “She is expecting a pardon.”

      “And you are her champion?” Woods was amused.

      “I wish to champion no one,” he said sharply.

      “Stop talking about me as if I am not here,” she cried to them both.

      Cliff slowly faced her. “Come with me,” he said. “You do not need to do this.”

      She stared at him, as white as a sheet. “I need to free my father.”

      “Then get a written contract—your services for his pardon.” He was terse.

      She seemed puzzled. “I can’t read.”

      He made a harsh sound and faced the governor. “Will you be able to live with yourself afterward?”

      He shook his head. “Good God, Cliff, she’s a pirate’s daughter.”

      Cliff turned back to her but she refused to look at him, her arms folded across her chest. He was furious with her, with Woods, and even with himself. He stalked out, leaving them to their lurid affair.

      Outside, the clouds were gathering, a fresh breeze of almost twenty knots coming onshore. Spanishtown was a dozen miles from the coast, and he had come by coach, not the river, but he knew that the waves had swells and it would be a good day for sailing. In fact, just then he wished to race the wind, running full sail before it.

      His temples throbbed. Now he wished to run away? He rubbed his forehead grimly. La Sauvage was not his concern.

      But she hadn’t understood, for she was naive in so many ways. She thought to buy her father’s amnesty with her body, but Woods was going to use her and then hang her father anyway.

      Jamaica was his home. And although he only spent a few months of the year there, he was one of the island’s leading citizens and very little happened on the island without his consent. Had he been present during Carre’s capture, he would have made sure his case never came to trial. But it had, and the news had been reported not just in the Jamaican Royal Times but on most of the other islands, too. Even the American newspapers had reported the pirate’s conviction. It was too late now to stop the hanging.

      And Woods was a strong governor. There had been a few better, there had been many worse. Cliff supported his new policy of attempting to quell the Cuban rovers. No matter what happened now, he needed to remain on good terms with him. They had too many interests in common.

      I am begging you, sir, begging you not to take my father from me. He’s a good man, a good father, and he’s all I have in the world!

      She was not going to save her father, and certainly not in Woods’s bed. Cliff turned, staring at the imposing front doors beneath the white temple pediment of King’s House. By damn, he had to act.

      He strode back to the house. “I’m afraid I have need of the governor again.”

      Robards was chagrined. “I’m sorry, Captain. The Governor is not to be disturbed this afternoon.”

      Cliff was in disbelief, but only for a moment. “This cannot wait.” Unconsciously his tone had become soft and so very warning.

      The young soldier flushed. “Sir, I am sorry…” he began.

      Cliff put his hand on the hilt of his scabbard. He gave Robards a look and stepped past him, pushing open the front door. The silence of the house wrapped itself around him and he knew they were together. His heart raced. He knew all the principal rooms were on the ground floor, as was the governor’s private suite. As Woods had decided not to allow La Sauvage an afternoon’s respite, he doubted they were in a guest room. No, he had taken La Sauvage to his rooms. Cliff was certain.

      Robards had followed him to the threshold of the foyer. “Sir! Please!”

      Cliff smiled mirthlessly at him and kicked the door closed in his face. Then he locked it. He strode down the hall, the calm of that moment before a fierce battle settling over him. It was a feeling he relished. The lull before the explosion…

      The house remained stunningly quiet. As he traversed its depths, he could imagine them naked, hot, entwined, Woods overcome with lust. His silent rage grew.

      He had never been to the governor’s private rooms, but King’s House had been built fifty-odd years earlier and he assumed the suite was in the west wing, as it was in so many Georgian homes.

      He tried four doors as he went down the west hall, all opening onto unoccupied guest rooms. And when he came to the door at the end, he heard soft male laughter.

      His blood surged and thickened.

      He turned the knob and pushed open the door.

      Instantly, he saw them.

      Woods stood in the center of the bedroom, a massive canopied bed behind him. He had shed his jacket, waistcoat and shirt, revealing a muscular torso. His trousers were open, revealing his manhood.

      She stood by the bed, clad in a man’s sapphire-blue silk dressing gown, but it was unbelted and open, revealing her lean golden thighs, soft belly and full breasts. Her expression was one of despair, but it was also fierce and determined. She would not stand down.

      Cliff prayed he was not too late.

      He strode to Woods, who was so preoccupied with his victim that he did not see him until Cliff raised his fist. Woods cried out but Cliff knocked him backward into the wall, the blow so stunning he slid down it into a heap, as if unconscious.

      He stepped over him, reaching for his hair, yanking his head back. Dazed eyes met his. “Society would love this bit of gossip, don’t you think?” he snarled. The threat was impulsive but ideal; Woods had a reputation to maintain, and his wife would be livid should she ever learn of his scandalous behavior.

      “We are…friends!” Woods gasped.

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