Chapter 6 #3
He tensed, for it was impossible not to recall how she had initially thought to pay him for her passage. “You do not owe me anything, Amanda. It is my pleasure to allow you the use of Michelle. I am pleased you wish to learn to read and that you are already excelling at it.”
He saw her flush with more pleasure. Then, barely looking at him, she whispered, “You did not invite me to dine tonight.”
His tension knew no bounds. His grasp tightened on the huge wheel.
Of course he hadn’t, as he had feared a repeat of the previous evening’s loss of self-control.
He spoke with care. “I am sorry for my behavior last night. It was reprehensible for me to leave you to dine alone. But my daughter had to come first.”
Amanda stared across the bow. After a long pause, she said, “Ariella did not recall having a nightmare and being woken up in the middle of the evening by you.”
He was incredulous. “You questioned her?”
She shrugged, darting a glance at him.
He would never confess that he had lied, and she could not know the real reason he had left her so rudely at his table. “She was half asleep.”
She nodded, clearly not believing him.
He amended, “I thought I heard her cry out.”
She slowly faced him, her eyes trained on his. “I am not stupid, de Warenne. I am not polite company.”
He was shocked. “I enjoy your company very much. If I did not, you would not be sharing this watch with me.”
Her smile flickered, her gaze hopeful and bright. “Really? Because you asked me about my life and I never got to ask you about yours.”
He laughed. “Ask away, Amanda. Please, feel free.”
She smiled eagerly. “Everyone says you are an earl’s son. But you said you are not royalty. Yet your servants call you his lordship.”
“It’s not the same thing.” He smiled. “I am the third and youngest son of the earl of Adare, Edward de Warenne. That makes me a nobleman, not a royal. Being addressed as my lord is a courtesy, as I have no titles.”
Amanda seemed perplexed. “I can hardly see the difference between nobility and royalty—you live like a king! Where is Adare? What is it like?”
He chuckled. “Adare is in the west of Ireland, not far from the sea. It is a land of green hills and green forests, especially in the spring. There is no place where the ocean is as blue. It is often misting and it is often wet.” His smile softened. “It is the most beautiful place in the world.”
Her eyes were shining. “It is wet on the island in the rainy season.”
“Jamaica is a tropical place—Ireland is entirely different. It is somehow wild and untamed, even on a sunny day. Time passes differently there. If the islands are paradise, Ireland is magic and mystery. Perhaps that is due to our history, which is ancient. My people came from France, but they were also Celtic kings on my mother’s side.
In any case, they were all warrior lords.
Ireland is a land with a dark and bloody history. We are also renowned for our ghosts.”
“I should love to see it!” she exclaimed. “And your home at Adare? Is it like Windsong?”
“I was born at Adare, but it belongs to my father, the earl, and one day, it will belong to my oldest brother, Tyrell. It is nothing like Windsong,” he said, and he saw the disappointment on her face.
“It is far grander. It was first built many centuries ago, although it has been renovated several times.”
“It is grander than Windsong?” She was incredulous.
“My island home could fit inside the house at Adare about three times over.” He chuckled.
She gaped. “So you were raised with servants and riches, living very much as you now do?”
“I lacked for nothing,” he admitted. “I know that must be difficult for you to imagine.”
She shrugged, glancing away.
He somehow wished she’d had a different life, one of luxury, not mayhem and madness.
“Do you go home often?”
“Once every year or two,” he remarked, feeling some guilt. “I go as often as I can. My parents have a residence in London, where I frequently put into port, so it is more likely that I should see some of my family there.”
“You have a brother?” Amanda asked, the envy written all over her face.
“I have two brothers, two stepbrothers and a sister,” he said softly. “And when we arrive in London, you shall surely meet some of them.”
Amanda whispered, “I think you are very lucky to have such a grand family and so many places to call home.”
“I am very fortunate,” he agreed, and he realized he fervently hoped Amanda was going to find such a pleasant existence in London, too.
“What was it like, growing up at Adare?” she asked wistfully.
Cliff was swept back in time. He smiled, remembering being on the verge of manhood, desires raging.
“Ah, we were a rowdy, troublesome lot. We avoided our duties and spent as much time as possible racing across the countryside, pursuing light skirts and doing very much as we pleased.” He shook his head.
“We would cut out on our lessons, gallop about the hills, swim in the river or the lake. Of course, when we were caught, there was always hell to pay.”
“The earl must have beaten you,” she remarked.
His eyes widened. “I don’t think he ever hit any one of us. He could make us drown in guilt with a look.”
“He didn’t hit you for skipping your lessons?”
He became disturbed. “No, he did not.”
Amanda folded her arms across her chest. “That is so odd,” she finally said.
“Not every parent uses corporal punishment. I personally think it barbaric,” he said grimly. Surely she had not been punished with the rod?
She held her head high. “Well, that’s what you think. Not everyone would agree with you.”
“No, they would not,” he said slowly. “Did Carre ever hit you?”
She kept her chin up. “Of course he did. How else would I learn right from wrong?”
He had a terrible feeling, answered by a terrible rage. “What did he do? Did he use the rod?”
She shook her head, but his relief was short-lived. “He used his fists,” she said. “He had a temper and he hated disobedience. He’d whack me on the side of my head—usually on my jaw.”
He was aghast. He realized his mouth was hanging open, and he closed it. “Good God! Amanda, you were a child, a female one at that!”
She was wide-eyed. “But that’s what fathers do. They punish—with their fists, a rod, the whip. I didn’t mind. I mean, it hurt, and sometimes I saw stars. Like when he hit me at the prison. But usually he missed, because I was faster than he was and could easily duck the blow.”
Cliff whirled and said, “Howard, take the helm.”
The midshipman rushed to his side, taking the wheel.
Cliff took Amanda’s arm, trying to remain calm when he was blinded by rage.
They moved to the starboard side of the quarterdeck, an area no other sailor or officer would ever dare step upon, as it was, by tradition, reserved exclusively for the ship’s master. “His blows were frequent?”
She said stubbornly, “I told you, he usually missed.”
“You said he hit you at the prison. Surely—surely—you do not mean at the courthouse prison or at Fort Charles. Surely he did not strike you in the past few weeks?”
She stared, refusing to reply.
“He struck you recently? He hit a woman?” Cliff was in more shock than he could manage.
“What do you care?” she said harshly. She was trembling. “Papa loved me. It was his way of making sure I obeyed him. He was furious when I told him I tried to do Governor Woods.”
Cliff let her go, rubbing his face with his hands. It was fortunate that Carre was dead, because otherwise he’d kill the man with his own bare hands. Then he looked grimly at her. “So it was not his idea for you to proposition the governor on his behalf?”
She shook her head. “Papa told me when I was twelve that my maidenhead was for my husband and my husband only.”
He went still. In spite of his shock and horror, his blood heated, filling him. She had never known another man. His instincts had urged him to believe in her innocence, but reason had told him it was unlikely. Now there was no doubt—and he had another barrier to place safely between them.
She said slowly, “You don’t hit or whip your children, do you?”
“No, I do not.”
She bit her lip, looking down.
He touched her. “I would never hit a child or a woman. Amanda, you can choose to believe what you wish, but I cannot accept your father disciplining you with his fists.”
“He loved me,” she insisted, looking up. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears.
He hated himself. “Yes, he did. It was obvious.” He turned slightly away, remaining shaken.
He had no idea how she had managed to maintain her innocence or her faith in her father, but he was not going to take either away from her.
Yet the urge to do both consumed him. He clamped his lips together so he would not tell her what he really thought of Carre.
And he would not pull her against his chest and caress her hair.
His loins were stiff and throbbing; he knew where such a gesture would lead.
“Does Ariella ever disobey you?” she asked, her tone uncertain.
They were on safer ground. He exhaled. “Actually, she does not. And I wish she would.”
“You do?”
He smiled at her, relieved with the innocent subject. “I worry about her. Even when she disagrees with me, she pretends not to in order to please me. I would love to see her object to something dear to her heart.”
“You want her to defy you?” Amanda asked, obviously amazed.
“Alexi defies me all the time.”
“And you don’t hit him.”
“He is punished, but not with a fist or a whip.”
She turned away.
He felt deeply for her and he wished, foolishly, that she could have been spared her childhood. He decided to move the subject along. “I am glad to see you and Ariella becoming friends.”
She glanced at him. “She helped me with my sentences today. She is very clever.”