A Lady at Last by Brenda Joyce

gazes were locked. As he released her, she felt him stirring and she gasped, her gaze shooting back to his.
    He blushed. His daughter was right, she thought, stunned. Or was she now as mad as the child?
    He stepped back, grim. “No one enters this cabin without permission.” He half turned, striding to the porthole, where he breathed deeply.
    It was too late. Amanda could clearly see that he had been aroused. She slipped the dagger slowly into its sheath in her boot. He wanted her. She wasn’t really certain why. Was it the brief act of violence? Every sailor she knew enjoyed sex after a bloody battle.
    â€œPapa? It’s my fault. I wanted to come inside,” Ariella whispered from the bed.
    De Warenne turned and smiled at his daughter. The expression, however, was strained. “Even you must ask my permission to enter here.”
    The child nodded, eyes wide, looking back and forth between Amanda and her father.
    Amanda tried to breathe more naturally. “I’m sorry.” She took a careful glance at him and wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed that he seemed to be in control of his amorous nature once more.
    His jaw flexed. He gestured for them both to precede him out of the door. When they had done so, he barked, “Miss Carre. A moment, please.”
    She did not like his tone but she nodded, hoping he wasn’t going to discipline her for her trespass. That was what Papa would do. He’d deliver a quick cuff to the head, at least. Her stomach churned with some fear. Papa had been a big man, but de Warenne was taller, more muscular and far younger. Well, if he hit her she wouldn’t flinch. He’d see that she was strong and brave—she’d make Papa proud.
    â€œAriella, if you are feeling better, I am pleased. But going below is still not a good idea. I have summoned Anahid. The two of you can read together on that bench.”
    â€œYes, Papa,” she whispered.
    â€œGo.” But he smiled now and stooped to kiss her cheek.
    Ariella beamed at him and rushed off to Anahid, who was waiting a discreet distance away.
    Amanda tensed in anticipation of her punishment, watching his shoulders stiffen before he turned. He gestured. “Would you care—”
    Amanda ducked.
    He froze, his hand in the air, poised between them. “What are you doing?”
    She flushed. She had broken his rules, and she should stand firm. “Nothing. I mean, I won’t dodge the blow.”
    His eyes popped. “ What ?”
    â€œGo ahead, just do it. I disobeyed your orders.”
    â€œYou think I mean to strike you?” He dropped his hand.
    She became wary. “That’s what a hand is for, isn’t it?”
    He took a step toward her and she forgot her resolve, backing up. He halted, and so did she. “Miss Carre! I do not strike women,” he said, aghast. “I have never struck a woman in my life, and I never will.”
    She wasn’t sure she should believe him. “Is this a trick?”
    He was incredulous, so much so that it was a moment before he spoke. When he did, she saw pity in his eyes. “I am trying to invite you to dine with me tonight,” he said.
    â€œYou want to sup with me?” This had to be trickery, didn’t it?
    He nodded. “I thought we might converse.”
    Amanda was suspicious. Men had one use for women—and it wasn’t for conversation. Her heart slammed hard. He had changed his mind. He had decided to take her to his bed after all.
    â€œWill you accept my invitation?”
    She didn’t know what to think. Was he now going to allow her to pay for her passage in his bed? Her mind filled with hazy but heated images of her golden dream lover, and suddenly, that lover wasn’t faceless anymore. Instead it was de Warenne stroking her body, causing her skin to tingle and throb. Maybe she wouldn’t mind being in his bed. Everyone said he was a superb lover. She’d heard