A Lady at Last. Brenda Joyce

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      “Miss Carre,” he said carefully.

      Amanda hurried toward him, interrupting. “No, wait. We both know I’m not a lady. My name is Amanda. Or girl. Papa used to call me girl. Or Amanda Girl.” She stopped, unbearably sad.

      Briefly, she had forgotten that he was dead. It all came rushing back to her now.

      “He called you ‘girl.’”

      She sat down in a huge, lush chair with all kinds of odd tufts. “Yes.”

      He pulled a green-and-gold-striped ottoman forward and sat down next to her. “How are you feeling?”

      “I’m not dizzy anymore.”

      He smiled slightly. “We made sure you ate before every dose of laudanum.”

      She tried to remember. “Have I been sleeping for long?”

      “On and off for three days. I had been wondering when you would wake up.” He smiled again, encouragingly.

      She found herself smiling back. His eyes met hers and somehow, their gazes locked.

      In that moment, something changed. Amanda stared, filled with confusion. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen and he actually seemed kind, genuinely so. He was one of the greatest masters of the sea, and for her, that was better than being a king. When he accepted her offer, she was going to share his bed.

      She had never desired a man. But sometimes at night, in her dreams, a faceless golden lover came to her, kissing her with heat, and when she awoke, she was filled with a tension she barely understood. Sometimes she woke up on the verge of discovering great pleasure, only to realize she had been dreaming and she was alone.

      She wondered if she would start dreaming about Cliff de Warenne. Because he was exactly like her dream lover, wasn’t he? Big, powerful, golden…

      His eyes widened and he leaped to his feet. He paced away from her, pouring himself a drink. His hand trembled.

      Amanda didn’t move. How could she be thinking of those very private dreams now? They had business to discuss! But why was he trembling? “Why are you shaking?”

      He made a harsh sound, not answering.

      She sighed, kicking her feet out. “Maybe you are catching the flu. Some of the sailors have it.”

      “It’s not the flu,” he said grimly.

      She smiled at him. “That’s good.” She hesitated, because in spite of what she had to do, she was afraid to begin this particular negotiation. Besides, she was enjoying the chair, the room and such noble company. She hedged. “Why do you have so much furniture? And if you didn’t want to fornicate with that woman, why was she here?”

      He approached, appearing aghast. “I know you have been through a terrible time, and that we come from different worlds. Amanda, I—someone needs to teach you a few things.”

      She became wary. “Like what? Reading?”

      “A tutor can do that. You cannot use certain language in polite company. In fact, you can’t speak of…fornication, ever!”

      “Why the hell not?” she asked, genuinely puzzled. “It’s all men do, most of the time.”

      He looked at her and finally, he started to smile. “All right,” he said, holding up his hand. “We are victims of our male bodies, I grant you that. Let’s start over. You cannot wander this house in such attire.”

      She looked down at the lovely nightgown. He was going to take it back, she realized glumly. She fingered the lace edge of one strap. Then she looked up. She shrugged, so he wouldn’t know that she would care if he took it back.

      He regarded her closely. “Amanda.” He sat once more on the ottoman, although he’d moved it a bit farther away. “We do need to discuss something else.”

      He was very serious. Was he going to give her an overdue boot after all?

      “I hope I was not presumptuous, but I thought you would prefer a burial at sea.”

      Amanda stiffened. “I hadn’t thought about it! Where is Papa?” she cried in alarm.

      “He is in the Kingston funeral parlor. We can bury him at sea. I have arranged it.”

      Amanda nodded, incapable of speech.

      “I was thinking tomorrow,” he said, his eyes soft with sympathy. “Can you manage? I can say a few words as ship’s captain, or I can summon a minister, or even a naval chaplain.”

      Papa wasn’t buried yet, she managed to think. She would be able to attend his funeral. She met his searching gaze. “I’d like you to bless him.”

      “Then it is as good as done,” he said softly.

      He was being so kind again, and he was so impossibly handsome that her heart turned over as hard as a dory being flipped in high seas. She looked up into his brilliantly blue eyes and felt impossibly reassured, impossibly safe, as if she had just crept into harbor with all sails shortened after a raging storm. Maybe she didn’t have to be afraid of this man, she thought.

      He stood up. “Did you wish to see me for a reason? If not, it’s my children’s bedtime and I need to go upstairs.”

      She took a breath for courage, refusing to think about what would happen after he accepted her deal. Instead, she saw herself standing on the deck of the Fair Lady in heavy seas filled with white horses. She’d be at the bow; he’d be on the quarterdeck with his officers. They’d press on with a mass of canvas that no sensible seaman would ever attempt in such foul weather. He wouldn’t care; he’d be laughing, and so would she. She smiled.

      “Amanda?”

      She came back to her senses, her smile vanishing. She bit her lip, hesitating.

      His gaze veered to her mouth and then back to her eyes. “What is it that you wish to ask me?”

      There was no choice now but to plunge forward. Amanda stood up. “I’ll do anything—anything—if you will take me to England.”

      He simply stared.

      Amanda had no idea what that fixed gaze meant. He was very smart, so he had to catch her meaning. Didn’t he? She smiled brightly at him. “I can’t pay for a passage, not with coin, anyway. But there are other ways I could pay.” And she waited.

      He began to shake his head. The odd motion seemed to be a “no,” and his expression seemed to be tinged with disbelief. “I see.”

      Amanda stood, starting to panic. She had to get to England! She had promised. “I said I’d do anything. You know what I mean, don’t you?”

      Now he had that flush on his high cheekbones as he sometimes did, the color of anger. But why would he be mad? Didn’t he understand what she was saying? “De Warenne, I am offering you my body. It’s the only way I can pay for—”

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