A Lady at Last (18 page)

Lowering her eyes, she pulled shirt and chemise up her torso, over her breasts and over her head. Half-naked, she sent him another seductive smile, leaning back into the many red-and-gold velvet pillows against the headboard of the bed. Cliff did not move as she lay there, a Venus in repose, a Venus waiting for him.

No siren could be as fatal
, he thought. He had wanted her for far too long and perhaps her courage was what had pushed him to this moment. Her long, curly platinum hair streamed over and around her breasts, framing each full globe, taut nipples jutting. He felt himself move forward. He sat slowly at her hip; he lifted her breasts in his hands. A still but savage excitement consumed him.

She gasped in pleasure.

Her weight was undoing his control. “You are more than brave and so terribly beautiful,” he said harshly. “How can I refuse this magnificent offer? I am only a man,” he said, but his mind was shrieking at him in protest. Some sanity, therefore, remained.

She laid her hand on his arm. “Please.”

And he struggled, conscience and honor battling his body, but it was too late. Her simple touch had a profound effect. Lust exploded, unleashed. He hadn't wanted to kiss her, for it was far too intimate, but he caught her face in his hands and did just that, filling her with his tongue. He had wanted to taste her for so long, but his greed demanded instant gratification now. He forced his tongue deeper. When she began to weep in pleasure, he found her breasts, stroking them frantically, tearing his mouth from hers. He pulled her nipples into tighter, harder points and she gasped wildly. He began kissing her breasts, rubbing his face there, and finally he found her nipple with his tongue. Amanda moaned. His other hand crept between her thighs.

Palming her, he felt her spasm through her breeches.

He gulped in air. The pressure in his loins became impossibly painful, too, and the fabric there had become a vice, choking him.

And there was no more thought, no more reason; only lust, desire and emotions he dared not comprehend. Already he had her breeches open and his hand was stroking over hot, wet, throbbing flesh. Amanda cried out, spreading wide for him, arching for his touch, his taste, his manhood. He did as she demanded, stroking her until she sobbed in pleasure.

He was her first lover, he thought, somehow knowing it, and the savage excitement became a maelstrom of possession and need.

He tugged off her breeches, her drawers. She lay panting in the pillows, hardly recovered from her climax, but he could no longer wait. Cliff bent over her, sending his tongue against her distended flesh.

And as he licked her turgid body, his entire being filled with blood. It roared not just in his loins but in his head. She wept wildly, in more pleasure, in more ecstasy, and he reached between them to grip himself. As her cries eased he fought his need, bucking against her.

And then he gave in. He leaped from the bed, strode behind the screen and jerked on his breeches. They opened. He leaned his forehead against the wall and flicked his wrist. Release was instantaneous.

When he was done, he did not move, his wits returning rapidly. He was grim and disbelieving.

What had he done?

He inhaled harshly and pushed off the wall, fixing his clothing. He wiped sweat from his face, his eyes. Unfortunately, he could think of nothing he wished to do more than to leap into his bed with her and continue what they had begun.

But he hadn't ruined her—not yet.

He tore off his wet shirt and stepped out from behind the screen. Amanda lay where he had left her. She was soundly asleep.

He stared. She hadn't had the strength to move; she remained on top of the covers, stark naked, her cheeks flushed, but breathing deeply and evenly. Very slowly, he approached.

He could tell himself she was a child until hell froze over, but she was not a child and he knew that now. She was so hauntingly beautiful that his heart began to ache. And she was as passionate as he had dreamed—and they had barely begun.

Instantly he stiffened. They had begun nothing! There was nothing to begin! His intention was to be her protector, not her lover, not a conscienceless cad.

He knew that even if she awoke, she was so exhausted she would fall asleep instantly again. He lifted her so he could slide her under all of the covers. She sighed, her lashes barely fluttering. He went to his chest and withdrew one of his shirts. When he had slipped it over her head, he pulled the covers up to her chin. She smiled very softly in her sleep. Briefly, he wondered if she were half-awake.

He paced away and sat, tugging off his boots. He then stripped off his soaking breeches, unfortunately aroused. After he had donned dry attire, he poured himself another scotch. As he drank, he sat in one of the high Spanish chairs at his table, staring at her.

What was he going to say to her on the morrow?

He was a clever and honest man, but in that moment, he could not come up with a single explanation for what he had done.

If he were very fortunate, she might not remember what had happened, he thought. But his ego was rather large and he wasn't sure he would really like that, either.

How, in God's name, would he manage the rest of the cruise, now that they had been so intimate? If they remained on course, a full two weeks lay ahead of them. No answer came to mind.

And as the sun rose, he sat there staring and he wrenched at his loins again.

A
MANDA AWOKE IN
de Warenne's bed. She did not move, surprised, the silk sheets stunningly sensual against her bare skin. What was she doing in his bed, she wondered, yawning. And then she recalled a golden lover kissing her, touching her and using his tongue upon her.

She sat up, her heart racing wildly. And she recalled the storm.

Amanda glanced at the open portholes to get her bearings. The skies were brilliantly blue with just a few puffy white clouds and she realized it was late afternoon. She glanced down and saw that she was not in her lace nightgown, but in a man's fine linen shirt. She swallowed, knowing it belonged to de Warenne.

She tried to recall the entire evening. Just before dawn, soaking wet and exhausted, they had gone into his cabin. She vaguely recalled lying in his bed and conversing with him as he stood not far from its foot. She could not really grasp what had happened next, because all the images in her head were a blur of heated kisses, silken caresses and an explosion of ecstasy. But those images all contained de Warenne.

Had he made love to her last night? Or had she been dreaming?

She was in his bed, she was clad in his shirt, she was naked otherwise—which led her to one conclusion. Excitement began.

However, she was not bruised or sore. She felt certain she would be aching if they had made love.

She slipped from the bed. Someone had laid out that awful caftan for her, her boots beside it. There was no sign of her clothes, but they were probably still damp and hanging out to dry. She went straight to the washstand and using a soft cloth, cleansed herself. There was no blood.

Disappointment began. She sat down, realizing that if she hadn't bled he hadn't made love to her and she was still a virgin. She must have been dreaming, only this time the dream had been so very different from any other one, for she had never dreamed of such carnally explicit behavior before. The parts of the dream that she remembered were terribly vivid, enough so to make her breathless.

She shook her head to clear it. She might be in love, but de Warenne was not for her. He had spent the past month proving that. He had also shown her genuine honor, when she had never met anyone capable of any kind of nobility before.

Well, it was late and it had only been a dream. She finished washing, combed her hair, braided it and donned the hateful caftan over his shirt. She wondered if she might, somehow, assume possession of the latter.

The moment she stepped from the cabin, she saw him. He and Alexi were on the quarterdeck, focused on the compass there. She assumed he was giving his son a lesson in navigation.

She stared, admiring the way the sun glinted on his sun-streaked hair, admiring the vast breadth of his shoulders, the strong lines of his thighs. She began to recall the night they had shared, battling the storm together, and her yearning increased. He was a great and powerful commander, and while she had already known that, she had witnessed it firsthand. She wanted him so much it almost hurt.

“Mademoiselle Carre!” Michelle cried, pleased to see her.

Amanda turned, dismayed. She felt certain that she knew what was coming, but she wanted to joined de Warenne and his son.
“Bonjour,”
she said reluctantly.

“Good day,” he replied with a bow. He waited.

Amanda sighed. After last night, she had no wish to ever attempt a lady's genteel manners again; she wanted to go up on the quarterdeck and join de Warenne and his son. She pinched herself. She was on her way to London and the clock was ticking. Her behavior was hardly that of a lady and she had very little time left to improve it.

“
Mademoiselle?
Your curtsy? Monsieur le Capitaine has been most explicit. I am to expedite your lessons and you are to succeed. The storm blew us days ahead of schedule, for we stayed on course. A miracle, I think.” He smiled. “
Mademoiselle?
”

She curtsied and said, “
Monsieur
, I must speak with de Warenne.”

He nodded. “If you insist, Miss Carre. But please hurry.”

“Thank you,” she said. And because she was so happy, she curtsied again. Then she rushed away from him, lifting the skirt of her caftan to do so.

“Walk, do not run!” Michelle exclaimed. “Ladies do not run!”

“This one does!” Amanda laughed over her shoulder. Before she had even reached the steps leading up to the quarterdeck, de Warenne turned. He smiled briefly at her, an odd smile, for it did not seem to reach his blue eyes. He nodded at her. “Hello, Amanda.”

She became confused. His greeting seemed wary and cautious, almost distant, and she did not understand. “Permission?”

He glanced past her shoulder. “Denied.”

She gaped. He would not allow her to join him? But last night in the storm, they had shared more than most people ever shared in a lifetime. Something had changed between them last night; she was certain they had become true shipmates. “I cannot come up?”

“You have lessons to complete today, Amanda, and as it is almost sunset, you will hardly be finished by midnight if you do not begin now.” He sent her another strained smile. Then he turned his brilliant blue eyes on her, and his gaze was searching.

“Can they not wait until tomorrow?” she tried, her heart hammering with confusion and hurt.

“Why?” he asked mildly. “You do not seem ill. You appear to have weathered the storm very well. How are you feeling?” he added.

His question had an innuendo she could not decipher. “I feel fine.” She smiled at him, wanting him to smile warmly at her, the way he so often did.

He kept staring. “Did you sleep well?”

How odd his questions were! “I slept very well,” she said. She thought about waking up in his shirt. “Thank you for lending me some dry clothing.” She hesitated. “I can't remember putting it on or falling asleep, or anything really, other than the storm and the rain.” And her vivid dream, she thought, but she would never mention it, especially not to him.

He continued to stare; and then shrugged.

She bit her lip. “Are you angry that I overslept?”

“No.” He didn't smile. “However, we stayed on course and I reckon we are two or three days ahead of schedule. Unless, of course, we become becalmed. In any case, I am giving Alexi some instruction now.”

She was being dismissed
. Dismayed, Amanda felt as if a cool and distant stranger had taken over his hard body and his beautiful face. “You are angry with me,” she whispered. “But I do not know why.”

“Why would I be angry with you?” His eyes flashed with impatience now, and he had never been impatient with her before. “We have an agreement, you and I, or have you forgotten? You are to dedicate yourself to self-improvement while I dedicate myself to securing your reunion with your mother. And we are running out of time.”

She felt crushed. She tried to tell herself that he had not become a cold, uncaring stranger, that their friendship remained. Maybe he was still tired after the long night. She slowly nodded, never taking her gaze away from his face. “All right. I understand. And you are right. If I am to make a good impression on Mama and your family and anyone else, I have much to do and only ten days left.” Fear tightened her stomach. How could she become a lady in ten mere days?

He hesitated and softened. “I have faith in you, Amanda.”

She closed her eyes in relief, for here was the man she loved and so desperately needed. Then she met his gaze. “When I have completed all of my lessons, can I join you on the middle watch?” She could not help being eager.

His face tightened. In disbelief, she realized he was going to refuse her. “Ladies don't share the middle watch.”

She was becoming incredulous. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I have begun to think that I have encouraged your more wayward manners. It is best if you throw yourself entirely into ladylike behavior.”

“But I have!” she gasped. “De Warenne, please! I live for moments like those last night. I love sailing beneath the stars, and you know it. Tonight we will have clear skies and moderate winds. It will be a fine night for a cruise.”

He held up his hand to silence her. “How will you study all day and share the watch with me through half the night?”

“I can do it,” she cried frantically. “And if you deny me the middle watch, then damn it, I don't want to be a lady!”

His face was rigid. “You will only sabotage yourself if you think to withdraw from your lessons now.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “If you let me join you, I will apply myself doubly, de Warenne, I swear. If you think my schoolroom efforts lacking because of the watch, I will quietly give it up. But until then, don't punish me when I have been trying so hard to do as you have asked.” She swiped at sudden tears. “We are mates! I know you know it, too.”

He was pale and he inhaled. “I am not trying to punish you. Very well. As long as you keep up every effort, as long as you do not become too tired to excel at your lessons, you may join me.”

Amanda clutched the railing for support, overcome with relief. “I am going to be the best student you have ever seen!”

His expression finally gentled. “Then I suggest you delay no more.”

She smiled, almost kissed him, thought the better of it and leaped to the deck, shouting for Michelle.

 

A
MANDA HURRIED
to the quarterdeck where de Warenne stood alone at the helm, a towering man bathed in starlight. She had never applied herself with more energy and she was exhausted, but she refused to go to bed. She wanted to spend another night sailing the great ship, at one with him and the sea. All day, anticipation of the watch she would share had filled her.

Oddly nervous, she paused below the quarterdeck. “De Warenne?”

It was a moment before he glanced at her. Before she could catch his eye, his gaze slid away. “Granted.”

His behavior was strange, she thought, hurrying up the three steps to pause breathlessly beside him. His powerful presence wrapped itself around her. With it, there was a throbbing heat. Amanda tensed, acutely aware of the man's mesmerizing force.

I must be mad
, she thought. She inhaled deeply, but the night was scented with him as well as the stars and the sea. He
must
be feeling what she felt. But if he did, wouldn't he turn to her and pull her into his arms? Or was that wishful thinking?

Slowly she faced him, but she couldn't summon up a smile.

He was staring so intently her breath caught. Instantly, he looked away. Confused and shaken, Amanda faced the bowsprit, hollowed now with raw hunger. Clearly the dream she had had last night had been her undoing.

There was no denying it, his humor was dark and grim. Was he displeased with her? Or had something happened that she did not know about?

“I studied very hard today,” she tried. She would do anything to make him smile.

He nodded, not looking at her. “So Anahid said. I am pleased.”

She suddenly shivered. He was this cold stranger again, but why? “I thought you would be happy.”

He seemed reluctant to look at her. “I am very pleased with the progress you made today.”

Amanda stared at his taut profile. Last night, in her dream, he had kissed her as if he was drinking from the well of her soul. She could almost feel his tongue in her throat. And then he had buried his face between her breasts, caressing them until she found pleasure. The urge to lean toward him and demand his touch, his kiss, was unbearable.

He suddenly said, clearing his throat, “Michelle says tomorrow you will be choosing a book from my library.”

She nodded, hoping he would be pleased enough to smile at her. “He says it will be a struggle for me, but we will do one paragraph and sound out the words together.”

He turned to stare. “What do you wish to read?”

She wet her lips, her heartbeat accelerating. “I want to read about Ireland.”

Their gazes were locked. “Why?”

“I know all about the islands and sailing,” she said, unable to contain her excitement. She smiled. “I can name all the continents, all the oceans, all the seas. Papa taught me. Now, I want to know about the world.”

His glance slid over her. “Ireland is not the world.”

“I know. But I will start with Ireland, with its history and culture, and then I will move on to England and then France.” She smiled. “What do you think?”

His gaze slid to hers and then past. “I think it is an admirable goal. But why start with Ireland?”

Because I love you
, she thought,
and you are an Irishman who loves his home. You said it is the most beautiful place on the earth!
She thought about how to reply. “You've told me a little bit about what it was like to grow up at Adare. It sounded so wonderful…I will probably never have a chance to visit there, but at least I can read about it.”