Chapter 6 #2
AMANDA LEANED AGAINST the wall, trying to breathe naturally.
She wasn’t ever going to forget the sight of Cliff de Warenne stripping off his clothes in the dawn light, revealing hard planes, taut angles and bulging muscles.
She wasn’t ever going to forget him climbing to the railing and diving into the ocean.
She’d had to clasp her mouth to stop from crying out in fear.
She knew he couldn’t have been in the freezing water for more than sixty seconds, but an eternity had passed before she’d seen him break through the surface.
He had been laughing, dear Lord, as he’d climbed back up to the deck, and then he’d stood there with his arms held high, his face turned to the sun, reveling in his courage, his power, his manhood.
And when he’d looked at her, he’d grown huge instantly.
Amanda gasped, choking on desire. She had thought she understood desire last night, but she hadn’t—she understood it now.
He was the most beautiful, virile, heroic man she had ever laid eyes upon and she was so hollow and faint she could not breathe.
She could not stand the terrible ache and she hugged herself, hard.
A long moment passed, and eventually, the shocking tension in her body eased.
Amanda walked away from the wall and opened the cabin door.
De Warenne was on the quarterdeck with his officers, his back to her.
An image flashed, pagan and godlike, of de Warenne standing naked, worshipping the sun.
Then he’d turned and put his dagger to the sailor’s throat, in retribution for his insult to her.
Amanda inhaled. She had never met a man like this one before.
“Miss Carre?” Ariella smiled up at her, the Armenian woman standing beside her.
Amanda hadn’t seen the child approach. She smiled. Ariella, of course, was clutching a book. “Hello,” she said, wondering what de Warenne would have done if his children had seen him swimming in the nude at dawn.
“I am having my lessons now and Papa said we are to study in his cabin.”
Amanda stepped aside so the child and her servant could pass. Curiously, she said, “And your brother? Isn’t he going to study, too?”
“He’s with the sailmaker, below.” Ariella screwed up her face. “Papa said he could learn how to mend sails.” She shook her head, as if the idea was absurd. She added, “His Latin is terrible—almost as bad as his French.”
Amanda followed the child back inside. “If your brother will one day captain this ship, he’ll have to know everything there is about sailing, and that includes mending sails.”
“If he can’t speak French, he won’t be able to negotiate with traders in France and Morocco.” Ariella shrugged, sitting down at the dining table and opening up her book, instantly engrossed.
Amanda flushed. The child was so intelligent. And de Warenne clearly admired that. “What are you reading?”
Ariella never looked up. “I am reading a guidebook to London.”
“Really?” Curious, Amanda went to look over her shoulder. There was a beautiful sketch of a bridge. “Is that the London Bridge?”
“Yes.” Ariella smiled at her. “Do you want to read my book? I can get another one.”
Amanda flushed.
Ariella waited innocently.
“I can’t read,” Amanda said, her cheeks on fire.
Ariella started to laugh.
“Ariella!” Anahid chastised.
Instantly Ariella was contrite. “I thought she was in jest, Anahid. Why can’t you read?”
Amanda shrugged. “My papa was a pirate, remember?” Too late, she realized she had lied about that yesterday. “He never taught me. He didn’t think it was important.” She stared longingly at the guidebook.
“Do you want to learn to read? I can teach you—or maybe Monsieur Michelle can.”
Amanda met the child’s blue eyes, her heart racing with excitement. “I really want to learn to read,” she whispered unsteadily. “But I am sure your papa won’t allow it. He wants you to learn and your teacher is here to teach you, not me.”
Ariella merely grinned, gazing past Amanda.
De Warenne murmured, “You are wrong.”
Amanda whirled to see him on the cabin’s threshold. Instantly, that potent image assailed her and she saw him standing naked and powerful on the deck, glorying in his body and his life. She flushed. His lashes lowered and he thrust himself off of the door.
“I have no problem with lending you Monsieur Michelle or my daughter, for that matter. Reading is a blessing. I am glad you wish to learn.” He finally lifted his lashes and looked directly at her.
She still saw him without his clothes and her cheeks remained hot. But this subject was more important than anything. “I already know most of the letters,” she said eagerly. “I learned them myself.”
His mouth lifted. “I am certain you will be a capable student, Amanda. Have you ever failed at anything?”
She tried to breathe normally. His look, his tone, even his posture, were potent and seductive, and she felt certain he was as aware of the huge tension that had arisen that morning as she was.
It remained now, in the room with them, throbbing and needy, somehow predatory, in spite of his daughter and Anahid. She shook her head.
“We can study together,” Ariella said happily.
A slender gentleman hurried into the cabin, his arms filled with books and papers. “Ah, bonjour, mes amis,” he cried. “Monsieur le Capitaine, bonjour.”
De Warenne nodded. “Bonjour, Jean-Paul,” he said, his accent undistinguishable from the Frenchman’s. “Have you met my guest, Miss Carre?”
“Mais non,” Monsieur Michelle said, beaming. He placed the books and papers on the table and took Amanda’s hand before she even knew it. She stiffened as he tried to raise it to his lips, crying, “Enchanté, mademoiselle, je suis véritablement enchanté.”
Feeling absurd, she glanced helplessly at de Warenne. The heat had finally left his eyes, which were soft with understanding now. He gave her a slight nod. Continuing to feel clumsy, she let the tutor kiss her hand. Then she jammed it in her pocket, grimacing. Michelle seemed bewildered.
De Warenne clasped the tutor’s shoulder. “Monsieur, I am giving you the task of teaching Miss Carre to read and write—which I am certain you can accomplish by the end of our voyage.”
Michelle turned white. “I am to teach mademoiselle in six weeks?” He gasped. “Capitaine, monsieur, c’est impossible!”
“C’est très possible, je suis s?r,” de Warenne returned swiftly, his tone calm, his smile indicating a sudden good humor. “D’accord?”
Monsieur Michelle looked at Amanda. “Oui,” he murmured, seeming resigned.
Amanda, having grown up in the islands, could understand Spanish, French, Portuguese, Hebrew and Dutch.
She could speak a few words in each language, as well, and could get by when she had to.
She had understood their entire conversation.
“Monsieur,” she said, “Je veux apprendre à lire et je promets d’étudier beaucoup. ”
Michelle’s eyes lit up. “Parlez-vous francais?”
“A little,” she said, then glanced at de Warenne to see if he was impressed. When he nodded approvingly, a smile on his face and in his eyes, her heart soared and danced.
IT WAS THE MIDDLE WATCH. Cliff stood on the quarterdeck, the wood of the wheel smooth and sensuous beneath his hands, the decks rocking gently beneath his feet, relishing being one with his ship and God, sailing into what felt like the vast blackness of eternity.
The sky was dark and starlit, the breeze gentle and sweet, the ocean a gleam of slick black satin.
The hours between midnight and dawn were his favorites.
He had taken two hours of rest after his supper and would steal another hour or two before sunrise.
Until then, he allowed his mind to drift with his ship, lost in a profound sense of serenity.
“Captain?”
He wasn’t alone on the quarterdeck—the officer of the watch was on the larboard rail, and two midshipmen stood below by the mainmast—but it was past midnight, and the last person he expected to see was Amanda. He turned, and she smiled uncertainly at him from the main deck below.
She whispered, “Permission to come up?”
“Granted,” he replied softly. The solitude of this hour was what he enjoyed the most about it and his men knew it. Unless there was an emergency or a call to action stations, he was never to be interrupted on the middle watch. But this distraction was welcome and he was surprised to realize it.
She quickly stepped up to stand beside him.
Not looking at him, she faced the bowsprit, lifting her face to the soft caress of the night’s breeze.
He stared, helpless to look away. His heart lurched and then drummed, his body filling with tension and heat.
Why was he so insanely attracted to her?
Was it because she was as powerfully affected by the siren call of the sea as he was, or was it simply the primitive lure of wanting a beautiful woman?
But there had been so many beautiful women in his life and she was different.
He had never felt such an intense desire before—or such a deep need to shield her from danger and heartbreak.
He reminded himself to keep a careful and proper distance at such a dark and dangerous hour.
“It’s a beautiful night,” he said quietly.
She sighed and smiled at him. “Yes.”
“It’s late.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
In the light from the hanging lanterns, he studied her face. He saw no sign of grief. “I understand that you enjoyed your lessons today.” He’d summoned Michelle for a report.
She beamed. “I read three sentences!” Then she flushed. “They were silly, about a cat and a dog and a hat.”
“I know,” he said, impossibly warmed by her excitement and pleasure. “Monsieur told me.”
Her smile faltered. She glanced directly ahead. “I owe you so much. I am so grateful.”