Chapter 7 #4
“You are penniless.” He stalked away, pouring himself a whiskey. She watched him drain the glass and then pour another one. His hand was shaking.
“We are in close quarters,” he said, glancing at her. “We cannot go on this way. I have already apologized for my behavior. It is time for you to accept my apology. I want a truce.”
She was trembling, too, she realized. She hugged herself. Could she accept his apology? The truth was that she hated fighting with him. She didn’t hate him, not at all.
“You will agree to a truce?” he demanded.
“Yes, I will,” she managed, stunned. Oh, my God, she thought, turning away, shaken to her core. She had fallen in love with Cliff de Warenne.
She was doomed.
He almost smiled but did not approach, as if deliberately keeping a distance between them. He spoke more calmly. “You have given my crew quite a show today, Amanda.”
She bit her lip. She didn’t know what to say, as she was still reeling from the realization that she had fallen in love with the most unattainable man in the world.
When she did not speak, he said softly, “I have missed our time together.”
She jerked, instantly filled with hope, their gazes meeting.
He was the first to look away. “Will you dine with me tonight? We can share a quiet supper and you can regale me with the details of your studies. We can discuss the logistics of your reunion with your mother, too.” He smiled at her.
She had missed him, too, terribly, and if all he could offer her was a few hours each night on deck or dining together, so be it.
Wasn’t that better than nothing at all? In that moment, she would accept crumbs.
Because she hadn’t just missed him—she needed him, too.
“I should like to dine with you tonight.” She hesitated. “What does logistics mean?”
His soft, warm smile reached his eyes, making him beauty incarnate. “There are logical details to discuss, such as the presentation I will help you make at Belford House.”
Amanda did not want to discuss her fate in London. She was deeply and irreversibly in love. “That will be fine.”
His gaze slid over her face. “You were very bold today, Amanda,” he said. “And you are very skilled with a sword. I have never known any woman to wield a blade as you do.”
She inhaled, overcome by his praise. There was no mistaking the admiration in his eyes. “Thank you.” And she prayed she could settle for his admiration, as there was no chance of ever having his love.
AMANDA WAS LATE.
Cliff paced restlessly in his cabin, the dining table elegantly set for the intimate supper he had arranged.
He knew he was treading dangerously—while a truce was requisite for his peace of mind, considering the duration of the voyage, dining tête à tête was testing his character, his honor, his resolve.
He had not been able to stop thinking about her magnificent display with a sword earlier that day.
She could have been a Celtic warrior princess from an ancient time when women were brave and fearless, fighting alongside their men.
And the heat and violence of the battle they had shared had only escalated every primitive male instinct in him, when those instincts were already so greatly endowed in his nature.
He wished he had really answered her call to arms, for he would have shredded her clothing, forced her to her knees and then taken her in his arms and into his cabin and his bed.
He tried to recover some gracious composure, running a hand through his hair.
To force aside his recollection of her stunning swordsmanship, all he had to do was brood over her future fate.
He had been thinking long and hard about her arrival at Belford House ever since he had discovered the true identity of her mother.
Amanda had no idea she was a bastard, as she must be—he could hardly imagine Dulcea Belford having been briefly married to a young naval officer and then obtaining an expensive divorce.
He knew Amanda was going to be shocked and hurt by the truth of her birth.
He felt like cursing Carre for his lies, but he understood what the man had been trying to do.
As for Lady Belford, he knew her well enough to know she would not be overcome with joy to be reunited with her long-lost daughter.
No lady of her stature would openly claim a bastard child, as it meant ruin and disgrace.
However, bastards were a part of society—every family had them, often living side by side with their legitimate siblings.
These illegitimate offspring were usually labeled long-lost godchildren or cousins, and after a brief period of voracious gossip, no one really cared.
Dulcea would probably claim her daughter as a distant cousin.
That way, she could take Amanda into her family without jeopardizing her own life.
It had become obvious that he would have to meet with her before ever bringing Amanda to call.
He would have to make certain the reunion went well and that Dulcea would acknowledge her as her cousin, at least. Once they had come to terms, he would approach Amanda and tell her the truth as gently as he possibly could. He dreaded that particular interview.
And between now and then, he had to encourage her to make every effort to refine her behavior, otherwise she was truly doomed.
Where was she? Had she had a change of heart since they had declared a truce?
He realized she was forty minutes late. He finally strode from his cabin to see what was keeping her. Cliff was about to knock when he heard her speaking so passionately that he froze. Who was with her in her berth?
“What should I do?” she demand, sounding terribly distressed. “I am at a loss, a complete loss!” Her tone dropped, anguished. “Please help me.”
Confused and even jealous, Cliff pushed quietly on the door. As he did so, he saw Amanda standing in the center of the small cabin, her back to him. She cried out, “Papa! If you do not advise me now, who will? Dear God, I need you now!”
His sympathy arose, blended with pity. Amanda was speaking to her dead father? Was she seeing his ghost? Did she really think he would answer her? Did she converse with Carre frequently?
He had assumed her to be well on her way to recovery from her loss. Clearly, her grief remained as strong as ever. He felt like a callous cad for not realizing sooner.
He was about to call to her when she said brokenly, “You are probably angry with me. I haven’t forgotten that you wanted me to become de Warenne’s mistress, but he is really a gentleman, Papa. I did try to entice him, I really did.”
He reeled, as if she had just stabbed him in the chest with the plain little dagger she kept in her boot.
She had been playing him to honor some insane request made by her father?
Instantly, he understood why Carre had wanted his penniless daughter to become his mistress, but that comprehension changed nothing.
She wiped at tears. “Papa, please forgive me for failing. At least I am on my way to Mama…Papa? I don’t know what to do. I am so in love.”
There had been no time to recover from the first shock. There had been no time for any anger. In disbelief, praying he had misunderstood her, he opened the door fully.
She shook her head, as if speechless. “I know,” she whispered, as if her father had spoken to her.
“I know I am a fool, I know he will break my heart—but I have never met a man like him before. No one is like de Warenne! Oh, God. I am trying to convince myself to settle for his companionship, but it is so hard! I am so deeply in love. If he would have me, I would gladly be his lover, and I wouldn’t care if I received nothing else from him! ”
A huge fist had struck him in the gut, knocking the wind out of his lungs. How had this happened? How in hell had Amanda Carre, the wild and free La Sauvage, so independent that she didn’t need anyone, fallen in love with him?
But hadn’t he already guessed? The way she looked at him, her eyes alternately shining with hope and admiration or turning sultry with hunger, was so revealing. Had he misled her even more than he had previously thought? He only wanted to protect her.
He attempted to speak, but his voice refused to work.
“At least I am going to England, to Mama, because that is what you really wanted,” she suddenly said.
She was shaking, fighting tears. “I couldn’t deny you that.
But Papa? I am afraid.” She wiped her face with her sleeve.
“I am really a coward. Now I have let you down, because I am so afraid of England, of Mama. I am more afraid of her than I ever was of the cutthroats who would board our ship and try to kill us. I wish you could come back and tell me I didn’t have to go. ”
Cliff backed out of the cabin. He closed his eyes, unbearably overcome with compassion. This circumstance he could manage; her feelings for him were something else.
He silently walked back to his cabin.