by Brenda Joyce
He was beginning to have a distinct sense of dread about taking her to England.
He knew he could control and hide his lust. It would be unpleasant and difficult, but he was a disciplined man. And she was too young! He need only recollect that. Because he had shortened his time at home, he would bring his children with him. Alexi had already sailed the islands with him and had been demanding a “real” cruise for some time now. Ariella had been dropping hints and he knew she wished to travel abroad and see the sights she had been reading about. He was acutely aware that his children would provide a distraction for him. They would be a buffer zone.
But there was more. Cliff sat down with a cognac in the dark. Rumor had it that Rodney Carre had once been in the Royal navy. Was it true? Because if so, Amanda’s mother might be from a genteel background.
And that worried him terribly.
La Sauvage had no sense of modesty, no sense of shame and no manners whatsoever. If her mother was well-bred, their reunion would be a disaster.
Yet he didn’t want her to discover that her mother was a whore or a pockmarked hag, either. The pirate’s daughter had had a difficult life, he didn’t need to know the details to be certain of that. She deserved some of life’s luxuries and that would require a fine family from her mother’s side.
In six weeks, she might be able to acquire some airs and a sense of propriety, just enough not to be so shocking. Anahid could teach her. But he wasn’t confident. He wasn’t even certain La Sauvage wished any instruction in decorum, and he had only agreed to transport her, not to transform her into a young lady. Besides, it wasn’t his affair.
Cliff gave up thinking of sleep. It was almost dawn and he had a voyage to make. His children’s baggage had been readied last night, and he had decided to bring their language tutor, as well. That decision had been made with Miss Carre in the back of his mind.
He almost felt as if he had acquired another child, but he had only to recall her in her nightgown to know he had not.
Cliff drained the cognac and dressed. The sky was stained fuchsia over indigo seas when he left his suite. He went directly to the children’s wing. Alexi’s door was open and he was already dressed and standing at the washbasin, brushing his teeth. He turned and grinned at his father, his mouth full of water.
Cliff’s heart softened. He tossed a cloth at him. “Is your sister ready, too?”
“I heard her complaining about the hour to Anahid. Papa, we have good winds today.”
Cliff winked. “I know. Do not rush. Miss Carre is undoubtedly still asleep.”
He left his son spitting out his rinse water and paused at his daughter’s door. “Ariella? Anahid?”
A moment passed and the Armenian opened the door. He felt her smile. “My lord?”
He glanced past her and saw that Ariella remained in her nightshirt, bleary eyed. She was clutching a book to her chest. He had to smile. “Good morning. Don’t worry, Anahid packed dozens of books for you. And if you manage to get through all of that, there is always my Bible.”
She yawned.
“We will be downstairs in ten minutes, my lord,” Anahid said quietly.
He left. Cliff hurried downstairs and strode into the great hall, an age-old excitement upon him now. He was happiest when making sail. All the demons he had been wrestling with in the course of the night were gone. Within two hours, he would have the wind at his back, the open sea ahead of him, and his children would be with him. Life could not be better, he thought.
Wall sconces had been lit by the servants and the hall was partially illuminated, some early-morning shadows playing across the marble floors. Cliff suddenly spied his houseguest sitting in a studded Spanish chair not far from the front doors. He had certainly not expected her to be up. She saw him, too, and leaped to her feet, her eyes wide.
His steps slowed as he approached her. He refused to recall his brooding of just an hour ago. “Good morning. It is barely dawn. Could you not sleep?” Although he had passed by her door once last night and had overheard her weeping, there was no sign on her face of having spent a terrible night. He had ordered her clothing laundered while she grieved, and she was wearing the loose shirt and breeches now, but she had added a thick gold cord as a belt. It looked suspiciously as if it had come from a drapery tieback.
“We set sail this morning,” she said, smiling. “Why would I want to stay abed?”
He felt his world still. Surely her excitement had to do with being reunited with her mother. Surely she did not feel the powerful lure of the sea as he did. “It is a six-week voyage. It will be some time before you can renew your relationship with your mother.”
“What are you talking about? I know how long the voyage is.” She began to fidget. “The winds are fresh. Do we set sail now?”
Was it possible that she was as excited as he was to be embarking?
“You are staring at me as if I am a loon!” she exclaimed. “It’s been so long!” She started to hop from foot to foot. “Is there any reason to delay? I saw your men hoisting sail from my window. De Warenne—I mean, Captain—I need to have a rolling deck under my feet and a good wind in my hair.”
And staring at her, impossibly surprised, he felt himself stiffen. Shaken, he quickly turned aside so she wouldn’t see how he had physically reacted to her excitement. He wasn’t sure he had ever been so aroused.
“De Warenne? I mean, Captain, we are ready to go, aren’t we?”
He didn’t answer. A six-week voyage loomed. His response was simply unacceptable. As ship’s captain, his duty was to protect her and see her safely to her destination, not to ravage her in a moment of madness.
Thank God, he had decided to bring his family with him on this voyage, he thought.
“Are you ill?” she demanded, tugging on his vest from behind.
He made sure he was completely composed before turning. Slowly, he faced her. “I am bringing my children on this voyage and they are on their way downstairs. As soon as they are ready, we will depart.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I started sailing with Papa from the time I was six,” she said. “Isn’t that about your daughter’s age?”
“Yes.”
Her green eyes narrowed. “You are behaving so oddly! Is something wrong?”
He folded his arms across his chest, keeping his eyes trained on her face. “When was the last time you were at sea? And I do not mean paddling your canoe.”
“There was a short cruise to Barbados—Papa had affairs there, legitimate ones. That was last spring.”
He would die, he thought, to be denied a real cruise for such an interminable length of time. “You seem to be in very good spirits today, Miss Carre.”
“You mean Amanda.” She sobered a bit. “I haven’t forgotten about Papa, if that is what you mean. I spent most of last night thinking about him. I don’t have any tears left.” Then she brightened. “The Fair Lady is my favorite ship. There’s just something haunting about her. Everyone knows she’s the fastest fifth rate on the high seas—but that’s because of you, of course. And you’ve never lost a battle! I can help with her guns. Your sailmaker is Portuguese, isn’t he? Papa said he’s one of the greatest in the world.”
Cliff’s heart thundered in his chest, preventing speech.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked with a grin, blushing. “I’ve dreamed of riding her decks and racing the wind. This is just like one of my dreams!” She laughed, tossing her hair, which she hadn’t bothered to tie back.
He had to turn away again, his breeches painfully constricting. She’d dreamed of his ship. Had she dreamed of him, too?
“I can’t wait,” she said.
He thought about giving in to insanity; he thought about turning, crushing her to his chest, opening her mouth with his teeth and kissing her. He thought about thrusting his tongue as far as he could.
He heard his children’s footsteps on the stairs and their happy, animated chatter. There was vast relief and bitter disappointment.
He inhaled, smiled in a more genuine manner, and turned away from her. “I see we are all here. To the cutter, then.”
AMANDA GRIPPED the railing and closed her eyes, her face turned up high to the sun and the wind. They’d left Kingston far behind and only a faint pale strip of white sand, framed by jungle-green mountains set against the turquoise water, indicated the island behind them. Ahead, the seas swelled gently. De Warenne was using almost all of his canvas, so the great frigate was rating fifteen knots, racing as fast as she could in such a kind breeze. Amanda opened her eyes and laughed in sheer joy.
She’d known it would be like this, hadn’t she? She felt a fist in her gut and half turned so she could view her captain on the quarterdeck. He stood at the helm with his son, whom she had learned was eight years old, helping the boy steer the ship. He seemed taller, his shoulders wider, his hair more golden, as they raced the wind. Just looking at him made it hard for her to breathe.
She didn’t care. Six weeks lay ahead—the best six weeks of her life.
She wasn’t going to think about arriving at her mother’s, not yet.
De Warenne glanced over his shoulder at her. He had been smiling, clearly filled with the same exhilaration as she, but his smile vanished when their gazes met. He looked back over the prow, his expression terribly serious.
He’d been behaving strangely ever since yesterday, Amanda thought, when she’d interfered in his amorous plans. Oh well. It didn’t matter now. The sun was high, soft cumulous clouds scudded in the sky, and a pair of dolphins were racing the frigate at its larboard side. But unable to stop herself, as if a puppet on someone’s string, she turned to stare at him again.
Neither he nor his son was exchanging words, but the boy was clearly engrossed in steering the ship. He seemed so little in the shadow of his father’s powerful body. She grew sad reminded of how Papa had helped her at the helm when she was so small she’d had to be in his arms in order to grasp the wheel. Then her gaze veered to his daughter, who was seated not far from them, appearing every inch the princess that she probably was in her fine, lacy white dress, a book open on her lap. Her father had given her a velvet pillow to sit on, so she wouldn’t dirty her frilly drawers. She was pretty and pampered and clearly didn’t give a hoot about sailing, for she hadn’t looked up once.
Amanda couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be that rich little girl. But the child could read—and she was only six.
Amanda felt her cheeks warm. She wished she hadn’t admitted to de Warenne that she was illiterate. Did he think her stupid? It had taken her one instant to realize that he adored his fairy princess daughter and was absolutely proud of her. They’d all taken a cutter from the docks below Windsong out to the ship. Ariella had sat in her father’s lap, clutching a book as they were rowed out to the frigate. Her brother had argued with her, telling her the book should have been packed in her bags. Ariella had shot right back at him that he was an idiot, as he could barely read Latin. De Warenne had ended the argument, telling his son that Ariella could bring as many books as she wished and he had better be reading Latin by the time the voyage was done. Through it all, the Armenian servant had been silent.
De Warenne had looked at Amanda, smiling. “My daughter reads better than many grown men.” He’d turned to the child. “What are you reading now, darling?”
“The history of the Pharoahs, Papa.”
Amanda didn’t even know what a fa-ro was.
She was jealous of his daughter, when she owed de Warenne nothing but gratitude. She also wished she had been invited onto the quarterdeck, as his children had, but she had not. She had no reason to speak with de Warenne, so she had no excuse to go over and ask for permission to go up on the deck considered sacred by every sailor and ship’s officer. Maybe he’d invite her to join him there before the voyage was out.
Probably not.
Oddly, she thought of the beautiful cotton-and-lace nightgown. He hadn’t taken it back. It was in her small sack with her father’s cross and chain and her pistol. Her dagger was in her left boot on the inside of her calf and her sword was beneath the pillow on her berth.
“Papa? I don’t feel well,” Ariella said suddenly.
Amanda turned to see the little girl standing, holding her history book. She had that peculiar look which Amanda instantly recognized. The child was sea sick.
“Can I go below and lie down with Anahid?” she asked.
“That is the worst thing you can do.” De Warenne glanced behind him. His gaze slid over Amanda and he seemed to hesitate.
She thought she knew what he wanted, and because she so wanted to repay him for her passage, she jumped forward. Why couldn’t she help with the children? She didn’t know anything about children, but she owed de Warenne and how hard could it be? “De Warenne? I’ll walk her about the deck.”
His gaze softened. “Would you mind, Miss Carre? I believe Anahid is belowdecks arranging the children’s cabins.”
Amanda smiled at him. “Don’t worry. I won’t let her fall overboard.”
He started.
She laughed. “That was a jest, de Warenne!”
“It wasn’t amusing,” he said, unsmiling.
She bit her lip. He was so serious when it came to his daughter! The little princess probably wept buckets when he hit her. She sighed and held out her hand. “Come with me.”
Ariella smiled at her, extending her free hand while clutching the book with her other one. Amanda helped her down the three steps to the main deck. “You’ll feel better in a few days, once you get your sea legs,” she told her.
“Really?” Ariella smiled, then turned green.
Amanda dragged her over to the railing just in time, for the child threw up. She sat with her until she was through, then realized Ariella was very close to crying. She was disgusted. The child was a milksop.
De Warenne lifted her into his arms, having materialized behind them. “You will feel better in a few days,” he said. “That is a promise.”
Ariella fought tears. “I’m fine, Papa. Put me down.”
“Are you certain?” he asked.
She nodded. “I want to walk with Miss Carre. I’m better now, really.” She managed a small smile.
He slid her to the deck and Ariella took Amanda’s hand. Amanda felt like an outsider, her jealousy of the little girl escalating until de Warenne turned his gaze upon her. “Thank you for being so kind to my daughter,’ he said, his blue eyes sweeping over her face.
It felt like a silken caress. Amanda couldn’t smile back and she couldn’t move but she knew that if she wanted him to like her, all she had to do was be good to his children. And she wanted him to like her, very badly in fact.
She wet her lips and tried to smile. “She’ll get her sea legs soon. After all, she’s your daughter.”
He gave her a look that said he didn’t quite think Ariella would adjust well to the sea and then he returned to the quarterdeck. Amanda stared after him. How did he keep his clothes so clean, she wondered. He smelled more strongly of the sea than ever, but he still smelled of mango and Far Eastern spices.
“You like Papa.”
Amanda jerked. She tugged the girl down the deck and out of earshot. “De Warenne has been good to me and he is taking me to my mother.”
“I know. He told us. She’s in England.” Ariella’s eyes were searching, and far too curious for a child of six.
“She’s a great lady,” Amanda bragged. “Terribly beautiful and she lives in a big fancy house with a rose garden.”
“Really?” Ariella thought about that. “Was your papa really a pirate?” she asked seriously as they strolled hand in hand down the deck.
Amanda hesitated. Then she decided there was no way she was going to admit to the truth. “He was falsely accused and falsely hanged,” she lied. “He was a planter and a real gentleman. But,” she added, veering to some of the truth, “a long time ago he was an officer in the British navy.”
Ariella
was quiet and Amanda knew she was thinking intensely. What a strange girl! Then the child said, “Why aren’t you happy to be going to see your mama? Is it because your papa is dead?”
Amanda stopped in her tracks. She was about to cut the child, but then she saw de Warenne watching them from the quarterdeck. She forced a smile. “I am very happy to be going to see my mother. I haven’t seen her since I was even younger than you.” But her insides curdled as she spoke. If only she could believe that Mama would be overjoyed to see her.
“Really?” Ariella smiled, but then sobered. “My mama is dead. She was murdered when I was born.”
Amanda couldn’t help being curious. “Was she a princess?”
Ariella’s eyes widened and she laughed. “No. There are no Hebrew royals.”
“She was a Jew?” Amanda asked, surprised. She’d met Jewish people before, of course—she’d been to Curaçao once and it was mostly a Jewish island. Papa had said the Jews had come long ago from Spain.
“Papa fell in love with her and they had me. But it was forbidden and a Barbary prince ordered her death. Do you know where Barbary is?”
Amanda stared. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for the child but she was very dismayed to learn that de Warenne had been in love with her mother. She had been very beautiful, if Ariella took after her.
“Do you?”
“Yes.” Amanda tugged on her and they continued down the deck.
“Papa likes you, too,” Ariella said abruptly.
Amanda tripped. “What?”
Ariella smiled at her. “He stares at you all the time and he turns red. He never blushes, except when you are in the room.”
Amanda was disbelieving. “I doubt anyone or anything could make your father blush.”
“You make him blush. I saw him, this morning when we left the house, and he was blushing on the cutter.”
“It’s hot,” Amanda said irritably. She did not want to discuss Cliff de Warenne with his pampered daughter who had fancy airs and could read a grown-up’s history book. By now, they had taken an entire turn of the deck, coming up the port side, and they stood not far from the subject of their conversation.