A Lady at Last

by Brenda Joyce

  Woods seemed about to refuse. “She assaulted my men! Robards, are you harmed in any manner?”

  The British soldier remained alert and stiffly at attention in the foyer, his fellow officer inside the house by the front door. He was flushed. “No, sir. Governor, I apologize for the terrible intrusion.”

  “How did she manage to get past you?” Woods was incredulous.

  Robards’s high color increased. “Sir, I don’t know—”

  “I asked them to help me find my little lost puppy dog,” La Sauvage said, her tone absurdly coy, and she batted her lashes at Governor Woods. Then she swung her hips from side to side and shed a tear. “They were soo concerned!”

  Cliff stared, quickly reassessing La Sauvage. She had known how to use her considerable female allure to entrap the soldiers. She wasn’t as innocent, then, as she appeared.

  Woods turned a cold regard on her. “Arrest her.”

  She gasped, and whirled to gaze at Cliff with shock. The surprise became accusation as the soldiers stepped toward her. “You promised!”

  He stepped in front of her, blocking the two soldiers and preventing them from seizing her. “Do not,” he warned very softly. His tone was one he only used when he intended to follow it up with a very dire consequence.

  Both soldiers froze.

  “Cliff! She assaulted my men!” Woods objected.

  She turned to face the governor. “And you are hanging my father!” she shouted furiously.

  Cliff took her arm, intending to restrain her if need be, but also aware of the urge to protect her. “Thomas, you owe me more than one favor, if I recall. I am collecting now. Hear her out.”

  Woods stared, dismayed. “Damn it, de Warenne,” he said, very low. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Hear her out,” Cliff said even more softly. It was a command.

  Woods’s expression filled with distaste. He gestured for La Sauvage to precede him into the salon.

  She shook her head, her beautiful green eyes narrowing shrewdly. “You first.” She smiled coldly. “I never walk ahead of my enemies.”

  Silently, Cliff applauded her. He worried again, however, that she might be concealing more weapons.

  Woods sighed. “Robards, you may wait where you are. Johns, please return to your post outside of the front door.” As both soldiers obeyed, he strode grimly into the salon.

  La Sauvage was about to follow, but Cliff had seen her hide a smile and he seized her arm. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

  Very softly, so Woods could not hear, he murmured, “You are unarmed, are you not?”

  She stared into his eyes. “Am I a fool? Of course I’m not armed.”

  She did not blink, not once. Her cheeks did not color. Her gaze did not waver. Yet he knew, without a doubt, that she was lying.

  His grip tightened. She began to protest, trying to pull back, but he restrained her. “I beg your pardon,” he said grimly, aware that he was flushing. With his free hand, over her shirt, he touched her waist, expecting to find another pistol strapped inside her shirt there. Instead, he was stunned at how narrow her waist was, with no flesh to spare. He could probably close both of his hands around her, if he tried.

  “Get your paws off me,” she gasped, outraged.

  He ignored her, sliding his hand to the small of her back and trying not to think about drifting it lower. She started to struggle. “Lecher!”

  “Be still,” he growled, feeling the other side of her waist.

  “Are you happy now?” she demanded, remaining scarlet but wriggling impossibly.

  “You are making this difficult,” he said, and then he stopped. Something was strapped beneath her shirt on the left side of her waist.

  She started to pull against him.

  He gave her a look, slid his hand under her shirt and over the sharp edge of the dagger taped to her ribs.

  “Damn you!” she hissed, attempting to twist away.

  To his shock, the heavy underside of a full and bare breast bumped into his hand as he seized the knife.

  She went still and so did he.

  “Bastard!” She pulled free.

  He tried to breathe, but he was aroused. Beneath that loose, oversize shirt was an intriguing body, one that belonged to a mature woman. He slid her dagger into his belt. It was a moment before he could speak. “You lied.”

  She gave him a furious look and marched after Woods into the salon.

  He hoped she did not have another dagger taped somewhere else, perhaps on her hip or her thigh. He could not understand his response to her body, so slim in some places and far too soft in others. He’d had hundreds of beautiful, alluring women. He allowed himself desire when the moment was appropriate or when it suited him. He was not a green boy and he could control his lust. He did not want to feel any stirrings, now or ever, for La Sauvage. But his body had betrayed him.

  He was very displeased.

  He strode into the salon, leaving the door open. The governor had chosen to sit in a huge armchair, so that he appeared more royalty than royally appointed. He indicated that she might speak, the gesture abrupt and somehow disrespectful.

  Cliff didn’t care for his manner. Clearly, Woods had made up his mind and nothing La Sauvage could say or do would change it.

  But she began to cry, tears running down her breathtaking face. He knew the tears were contrived, born of her fear and desperation.

  “Give her a genuine opportunity to speak,” he said to Woods.

  “I do not need this,” Woods groused. He was angry.

  “Please,” she whispered, the sound soft and feminine, a plea, and she clasped her hands as if in prayer before her chest. The gesture drew her shirt tight, revealing the shape of her surprisingly lush bosom. Cliff stared, instantly distracted, and so did Woods, apparently not oblivious to her allure, either.

  “My lord, my father is all I’ve got. He is a good man, sir, a good father. He’s not really a pirate, you know. He’s a planter, and you can go to Belle Mer to see for yourself. We have one of our best crops in years!”

  “I think we both know he has committed numerous acts of piracy,” Woods said sternly.

  Tears streaked her lovely face and she sank to her knees. Cliff tensed. Her face was level with the governor’s lap. Did she know how provocative her position was? “He has never been a pirate, you are wrong, sir! The jury was wrong! He has been a privateer. He has worked for Britain, hunting pirates—just like Captain de Warenne. If you will pardon him, he will never sail again, ever.”

  “Miss Carre, please get up. We both know your father has nothing in common with Lord de Warenne.”

  She didn’t move. Her full, lush mouth began to tremble. Even had she been standing, it was so provocative it would have been impossible to ignore. But she was on her knees, as if a skilled whore before a paying client. Woods was staring at her mouth. His face had become taut, his dark eyes turning black.

  Cliff did not like what was happening.

  “I can’t lose him,” she whispered throatily. “If you pardon him, he will obey the law like a saint. And I….” she stopped, licking her lips, “I will be so grateful, sir, forever grateful, no matter what…you ask me…to do.”

  Wood’s eyes were wide, but he did not move.

  She would prostitute herself for her father? Cliff seized her arm, hauling her to her feet. “I believe that’s enough.”

  She turned a murderous glare on him. “No one wants you here! Leave me be! I am talking to the governor! Go mind your own affairs!”

  “Propositioning him, is more like it,” Cliff said, feeling quite furious himself. He yanked her once. “Be quiet.” He faced Woods. “Thomas, why not pardon Carre? If his daughter is being truthful, he will give up his roving. If not, I promise you I will bring him in myself.”

  Woods slowly stood. He briefly glanced at Cliff but then his gaze returned to La Sauvage. Although she stood straight and tall, she was trembling. “I am going to consider your p
roposal, Miss Carre.”

  Her eyes widened. So did Cliff’s. “You are?”

  “I intend to spend the night doing so.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in.

  And Cliff was livid, for he understood.

  But La Sauvage was not as experienced as either of the men, and it took her a moment. Then she drew herself up straighter. She was red-faced. “Can I wait here, then, for your decision?”

  “Of course.” He finally smiled at her.

  Cliff stepped in front of him. “And to think I have thought of you as a friend,” he said tersely.

  Woods raised both brows. “I am certain you would avail yourself of such an opportunity, as well. Now you defend her virtue?” He was amused.

  It seemed that was what he was doing. “May I assume Mrs. Woods remains in London?”

  “She is actually in France.” He was not perturbed. “Come, Cliff, do calm down. We shall adjourn to our delayed luncheon, while Miss Carre rests and awaits my decision.”

  “I’m sorry, I have lost my appetite.” He turned to La Sauvage. “Let’s go.”

  She was standing there, appearing very young and very grim—and very resolute. She might have been on the way to the gallows. She shook her head. “I am staying.”

  “Like hell,” he said softly and dangerously.

  And the tears filled her eyes—real tears. “Go away, de Warenne. Leave me be.”

  Cliff fought with himself. Why did he care? She seemed young, but she couldn’t possibly be innocent, not having lived the kind of life she had. He wasn’t her protector.

  “You heard the…lady,” Woods said softly. “She won’t be hurt, Cliff. In fact, she might be pleased.”

  He was blinded by a kind of rage he hadn’t ever experienced. Images danced in his mind. Woods embracing La Sauvage, Woods ruthlessly availing himself of her slender, yet lush body. He fought to breathe, and when he could speak, he looked at the governor. “Don’t do this.”

  “Why? She’s a beauty, even if her odor is offensive.”

  She smelled of the sea and Cliff did not find it offensive at all. “She is expecting a pardon.”

  “And you are her champion?” Woods was amused.

  “I wish to champion no one,” he said sharply.

  “Stop talking about me as if I am not here,” she cried to them both.

  Cliff slowly faced her. “Come with me,” he said. “You do not need to do this.”

  She stared at him, as white as a sheet. “I need to free my father.”

  “Then get a written contract—your services for his pardon.” He was terse.

  She seemed puzzled. “I can’t read.”

  He made a harsh sound and faced the governor. “Will you be able to live with yourself afterward?”

  He shook his head. “Good God, Cliff, she’s a pirate’s daughter.”

  Cliff turned back to her but she refused to look at him, her arms folded across her chest. He was furious with her, with Woods, and even with himself. He stalked out, leaving them to their lurid affair.

  Outside, the clouds were gathering, a fresh breeze of almost twenty knots coming onshore. Spanishtown was a dozen miles from the coast, and he had come by coach, not the river, but he knew that the waves had swells and it would be a good day for sailing. In fact, just then he wished to race the wind, running full sail before it.

  His temples throbbed. Now he wished to run away? He rubbed his forehead grimly. La Sauvage was not his concern.

  But she hadn’t understood, for she was naive in so many ways. She thought to buy her father’s amnesty with her body, but Woods was going to use her and then hang her father anyway.

  Jamaica was his home. And although he only spent a few months of the year there, he was one of the island’s leading citizens and very little happened on the island without his consent. Had he been present during Carre’s capture, he would have made sure his case never came to trial. But it had, and the news had been reported not just in the Jamaican Royal Times but on most of the other islands, too. Even the American newspapers had reported the pirate’s conviction. It was too late now to stop the hanging.

  And Woods was a strong governor. There had been a few better, there had been many worse. Cliff supported his new policy of attempting to quell the Cuban rovers. No matter what happened now, he needed to remain on good terms with him. They had too many interests in common.

  I am begging you, sir, begging you not to take my father from me. He’s a good man, a good father, and he’s all I have in the world!

  She was not going to save her father, and certainly not in Woods’s bed. Cliff turned, staring at the imposing front doors beneath the white temple pediment of King’s House. By damn, he had to act.

  He strode back to the house. “I’m afraid I have need of the governor again.”

  Robards was chagrined. “I’m sorry, Captain. The Governor is not to be disturbed this afternoon.”

  Cliff was in disbelief, but only for a moment. “This cannot wait.” Unconsciously his tone had become soft and so very warning.

  The young soldier flushed. “Sir, I am sorry…” he began.

  Cliff put his hand on the hilt of his scabbard. He gave Robards a look and stepped past him, pushing open the front door. The silence of the house wrapped itself around him and he knew they were together. His heart raced. He knew all the principal rooms were on the ground floor, as was the governor’s private suite. As Woods had decided not to allow La Sauvage an afternoon’s respite, he doubted they were in a guest room. No, he had taken La Sauvage to his rooms. Cliff was certain.

  Robards had followed him to the threshold of the foyer. “Sir! Please!”

  Cliff smiled mirthlessly at him and kicked the door closed in his face. Then he locked it. He strode down the hall, the calm of that moment before a fierce battle settling over him. It was a feeling he relished. The lull before the explosion…

  The house remained stunningly quiet. As he traversed its depths, he could imagine them naked, hot, entwined, Woods overcome with lust. His silent rage grew.

  He had never been to the governor’s private rooms, but King’s House had been built fifty-odd years earlier and he assumed the suite was in the west wing, as it was in so many Georgian homes.

  He tried four doors as he went down the west hall, all opening onto unoccupied guest rooms. And when he came to the door at the end, he heard soft male laughter.

  His blood surged and thickened.

  He turned the knob and pushed open the door.

  Instantly, he saw them.

  Woods stood in the center of the bedroom, a massive canopied bed behind him. He had shed his jacket, waistcoat and shirt, revealing a muscular torso. His trousers were open, revealing his manhood.

  She stood by the bed, clad in a man’s sapphire-blue silk dressing gown, but it was unbelted and open, revealing her lean golden thighs, soft belly and full breasts. Her expression was one of despair, but it was also fierce and determined. She would not stand down.

  Cliff prayed he was not too late.

  He strode to Woods, who was so preoccupied with his victim that he did not see him until Cliff raised his fist. Woods cried out but Cliff knocked him backward into the wall, the blow so stunning he slid down it into a heap, as if unconscious.

  He stepped over him, reaching for his hair, yanking his head back. Dazed eyes met his. “Society would love this bit of gossip, don’t you think?” he snarled. The threat was impulsive but ideal; Woods had a reputation to maintain, and his wife would be livid should she ever learn of his scandalous behavior.

  “We are…friends!” Woods gasped.

  “Not anymore.” Cliff had to fight himself not to hit him again. Then he heard her choke.

  He whirled, hurrying to her. She was on all fours, fighting for composure. He knelt, sliding his arm around her, terribly aware of her exposed body and also aware that Woods had probably used her in the most despicable and disrespectful manner possible. Slowly she looked up at him, her green cat eyes huge
and hurt and beseeching.

  He hoped that what he thought had happened hadn’t. “I’m taking you out of here,” he said softly.

  She shook her head, shocking him. “Leave me…be,” she whispered brokenly.

  He wanted to kill his onetime friend; he cradled her face in his hands. “Listen to me!” he said urgently. “He is not going to pardon your father no matter what you do, or how many times you do it! Do you comprehend me?”

  “But it’s the only chance I have to save him,” she gasped.

  He realized her mouth was bruised. He lifted her into his arms and was surprised again, because she clung. Now there was no mistaking the fact that he wanted to protect her, but he was also aware of her open robe and her soft breasts, pressed to his chest. He had glimpsed the wet treasure between her thighs. “There was never a chance,” he said roughly, carrying her from the room.

  In the hall he paused, suddenly realizing that soldiers were outside the front door, and he had just assaulted the royal governor. They’d have to make a hasty retreat through a window—and he would have quite a bit of political maneuvering to do in the days that followed. Woods might not be a friend anymore, but they needed to work together if he was to remain a viable and influential resident of the island. Suddenly he realized his burden was oddly still.

  He looked at her.

  She looked up at him, her hands remaining looped around his neck. She was blushing.

  His gaze veered to her beautiful breasts, then lower to her slender torso, her rib cage faintly delineated, her small pink navel and the champagne-colored delta below. Buccaneer or not, he was a gentleman, and he jerked his gaze to her face, feeling his own cheeks warm. With one hand, awkwardly, he tugged the wrapper somewhat closed. “How badly did he hurt you?” he asked roughly.

  “Can you put me down?” she asked instead of replying.

  Instantly he complied.

  She smiled at him, and kicked him very hard in the shin. And then she pushed at him and started to run.

  Stunned, he reached for her, but she was agile, swift and determined. She ducked his grasp and raced down the hall, her wrapper flowing behind her nude body like a banner. He started after her more slowly, unhappily aware of a terrible turmoil in him. He almost wished he had not gotten involved, for he sensed this was just the beginning. And when he reached the entry, no one was there.