Brenda Joyce - A Lady at Last

“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 proposal, 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.