Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
THE brEEZE HAD NOT picked up and he’d ordered most sail reefed.
The great ship had slowed to a few knots and now the sun was rising and staining the sky over the ocean crimson and pink.
One of his officers was at the helm as Cliff ripped off his shirt at the railing.
In light winds or a lull, it was not unusual for him to take a predawn swim.
His men thought him insane, and maybe he was, because he found the brief plunge into the frigid Atlantic waters exhilarating.
He was preoccupied as he swiftly stripped down.
Inviting Amanda to dine with him last night had clearly been a mistake.
Her every innocent look, smile and word enticed him.
He had never met a woman like her before.
Perhaps it was the combination of innocence and courage, naiveté and boldness, ignorance and wisdom that was so powerfully alluring.
She was a stunning portrait of beauty and contradictions.
Or maybe it was the compassion she aroused in him that was so effective.
He wanted to protect her and to make love to her, all at once.
Last night he had been afraid that he might throw all propriety to the wind and take her to his bed, as she so clearly wished for him to do.
He had not heard his daughter crying; that had been an excuse to leave her company and find some composure—and common sense.
But there wasn’t any composure and nothing made any sense. In a few short days, somehow, she had become the focus of his life.
Of course, she needed his protection. That had been clear from the moment they had first met at King’s House, when she had come inside, waving a loaded pistol and demanding to see the governor.
He had quickly seen that she was her own worst enemy—that had been obvious when she had thought to seduce Woods.
Leaving her to her own devices was something he could not do.
She was entirely alone in the world and grieving the loss of her father.
She had no one to turn to but him. He had enough strength to add her to the roster of his responsibilities and duties; therefore, he would.
Last night he had invited her to dine not because he wished her company, although he had enjoyed it immensely until his own lusty nature interfered, but because he was determined to discover some facts about her life.
She had been painfully easy to manipulate and she had revealed all that he needed to know, at least for the moment.
The mother she was traveling to meet was well-bred, apparently a gentlewoman.
She might even be nobility. He wanted Amanda to have a financially secure family, but he was dismayed.
Mother and daughter had been apart for at least ten years.
Common sense and every instinct that he had told him that this reunion was not going to be easy or pleasant.
Worse, her story was not quite right. He knew she believed it, but his instincts clamored that there was more to the tale than she had been told. And his instincts were usually right.
But even if her story was as she had told it, Amanda was in for more hurt and even humiliation, he was certain.
He hoped, very much, that her mother would be thrilled to be reunited with her, but he had no reason to believe that she would be happy to have her pirate’s daughter appear in her life.
And even if she was thrilled, her friends and family were going to regard Amanda with far less tolerance.
The ladies he knew, while beautiful and elegant and excellent in bed, were all rabid snobs.
There was no room for eccentricity. How in God’s name would Amanda ever fit into her mother’s life?
Even a beautiful gown was not going to disguise her speech, her manners and the deprived background she had come from. While he might find her manner charming at times, she had actually shocked him badly once or twice. And he was not easily shocked.
Society was not going to accept La Sauvage and he was certain of it.
He could not understand or accept his desire for her.
The lusting had to cease. Nor could he understand the overwhelming urge to protect her from any more hurt, but that was an inclination he could accept.
It was, after all, honorable. He was violently aware, however, that protecting Amanda Carre might enmesh him very deeply in her life.
He could only hope that her mother was truly gracious, but not immersed in society.
If she was a kind and welcoming woman, he would be able to deposit Amanda at her mother’s door and walk away, secure in the knowledge that her future would be a good one.
He did not want to dwell on the far more likely possibility that Dulcea Carre might be shocked by her daughter’s sudden reappearance into her life and unfavorably disposed toward her.
He suddenly recalled the look on Miss Delington’s face when she had thought he was Amanda’s lover and winced.
The reaction of that “sow” was typical of the prejudice and bigotry rampant in high society and he couldn’t help fearing the worst for Amanda.
Yes, she was a pirate’s daughter and she could be uncouth and crude, but she was clever, witty and resolute.
She was also one of the most vulnerable human beings he had ever met.
He recalled how he had found her last night, curled up on one of the rugs on the floor of his cabin, soundly asleep and impossibly beautiful, but so desperately lacking an anchor in her life.
In that moment, he understood why he needed to protect her.
Every ship was adrift without an anchor.
“Cap? You sick or something?”
Cliff jerked. He was standing in the buff at the rail, staring at the horizon, so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn’t even been aware of where he was. He didn’t bother to respond to the seaman. Instead, he stepped onto the rail and dived into the ocean.
The waters were ice-cold and shock briefly paralyzed him.
The ice water closed over him, around him, and he began to sink.
His mind came to life first, understanding that he must swim in order to live, and then his heart began to beat again, hard and too fast, fueled by adrenaline.
He began to swim. It took every ounce of strength he had to powerfully propel himself through the freezing water.
For one moment, he thought he might fail.
His muscles screamed at him, as did his mind—why?
Then he burst through the ceiling of water to the warmer air above and exhaled loudly, and a line was tossed down. He seized it, laughing.
Cliff quickly climbed up the line, invigorated and exultant, and two men helped him easily over the railing. He shook the water from his hair with more laughter, his heart still racing madly from the fight to beat an icy death.
“Cold enough for you, Cap?” MacIver said from the quarterdeck, his tone sly.
Still grinning, Cliff straightened, allowing the early-morning sun to wash over him.
He upturned his face for a moment and spread his arms, feeling powerful and pagan, at one with the sun and the sea.
Finally, his heart slowed, his shivering ceased, the euphoria dulled.
He glanced towards his mate. “You should try it some time,” he said, turning for a cotton towel.
He froze. Amanda stood not far from his cabin. He had no idea how long she had been on deck, but there was no mistaking how she was looking at him. She was staring at him as if she had never seen a naked man before.
No, she was staring at him as if she wished to see more of him, now.
His loins filled, instantly rising to her wish.
It was a moment before he could turn away.
In that moment, time ceased and there was no thought, no reason, just desire.
Her lips moved. His heart thundered and he turned away, aware of one of his men snickering.
He seized the towel, intending to wrap it around his waist, but he remained painfully thick, a reminder of what he really wanted.
Instead, he used the cloth to dry his hair.
He took his time. Then he tossed it aside and casually stepped into his breeches, as if she weren’t there.
But he could feel her heat and smell her desire.
She was quivering, too.
As he pulled on each stocking, he reminded himself that she was forbidden. His body protested: why? In that instant, he couldn’t remember why he had decided that this particular woman was not allowed to him.
And then, before he’d had a chance to tug on his boots, he knew she was gone. Still bare-chested, he turned and glimpsed her hurrying inside his cabin, where she’d spent the night alone. One seaman said, “Guess we know what she’s sniffing for.” He snickered again.
Cliff reached for his boot and put the dagger he kept there against the sailor’s throat. “You don’t know anything,” he said, and he sliced through his flesh.
The sailor choked in horror, but the wound was only a scratch. “Lock him up,” Cliff said through his teeth.
Two of his officers rushed down from the quarterdeck, seizing the seaman, who started blubbering in protest. Cliff turned his back on him, as nothing could make him change his mind.
There was no quarter given to insolence, not on his ship, and the sailor had insulted Amanda.
He’d maroon the man off Spain, where there were some rocky islands that no one could survive on for long.
The sailor was fortunate he’d be marooned instead of keelhauled.
If he was truly fortunate, another ship would rescue him.
He sat down to put on his boots, incapable of calming the savage in him.