A Lady at Last by Brenda Joyce Page A

the island ladies talking about him more times than she could remember. Some of them, the ones who’d shared his bed, had bragged about it to their friends. Somehow, she knew the rumors were true.
    Her skin was tingling now, as if she was in one of her secret dreams, but this time, the aching was more intense. She breathed and nodded. “We can sup…and converse.”
    His gaze narrowed. “My intentions are honorable.”
    She didn’t believe him, not for a moment.

CHAPTER FIVE
    A MANDA STAYED by the railing at the ship’s stern, standing tall and proud, trying to remain utterly composed. It was very hard to do. Six seamen had carried the teakwood coffin with her father’s corpse to the deck, where it now sat, gleaming in the Caribbean sun. The Fair Lady had a crew of close to three hundred men, and every available sailor stood on deck, respectfully silent. DeWarenne was speaking. He held a Bible in his hands and she knew he was reading from it, but Amanda couldn’t comprehend a word he was saying.
    The grief had risen out of nowhere, paralyzing her. A few hours ago, when they had made sail, she had been filled with joy. She had forgotten Papa’s terrible fate. Now she fought to hold the pain of his loss at bay. It seemed a monumental, impossible task. She was overcome by wave after wave of grief.
    She did not want to lose her composure in front of de Warenne, his family and his crew.
    I can’t do this , she thought, the tears finally spilling down her cheeks. I can’t live without Papa. It hurts too much.
    He had been her life. Her mother was a complete stranger and she was never going to take her papa’s place.
    Her knees were weak, her body was trembling, and the tears kept crawling down her face.
    Please make this dream end , she thought in anguish. Please!
    Then she realized that the ship was silent. All that could be heard was the groaning of the masts, the flap of sails, the lapping of water, the sea spray. De Warenne had stopped speaking.
    She didn’t dare look at him. If she did, she’d start shrieking in pain and rage.
    He appeared before her. Speaking low, his tone unbearably kind, he said, “Do you wish to say a few words?”
    How could she say anything when she couldn’t breathe, much less speak? The silence on the ship was simply awful.
    â€œDo you wish to say goodbye, at least?” he asked softly, clasping her shoulder.
    She had to look up. She felt herself drown in both the grief and the compassion in his blue eyes. She nodded, choking on a huge sob.
    He put his arm around her and led her toward the gleaming coffin.
    Amanda fell to her knees. She hugged the waxed wood, laying her cheek on the cold surface. Papa , she thought, I love you. I always have, I always will.
    Be strong, girl. Always be strong. You’re in good hands now.
    Amanda stiffened, because once again it was as if Rodney was right there, speaking to her. “I’m not strong,” she whispered. “It’s a lie. I can’t go on alone.”
    You’re not alone, girl, and you are strong. Strong and brave and don’t you be forgetting it.
    â€œNo, I’m not,” she wept.
    Someone clasped her shoulder.
    I got to be going, girl. Let me go.
    Panic consumed her. “Don’t leave me!” she cried. “Papa!”
    Strong hands pulled her to her feet; a strong arm held her to a powerful body. “Let him go, Amanda.” De Warenne nodded at his men.
    Amanda started to weep as the six seamen lifted the coffin and carried it to the stern. “Don’t leave me,” she gasped.
    â€œGod bless,” de Warenne said.
    â€œAmen,” two hundred men murmured.
    The coffin was heaved into the sea.
    Amanda screamed.
    â€œYou need to lie down,” de Warenne said, pulling her firmly away from the stern.
    She turned and struck at him with both fists, repeatedly, in a frenzy, as hard as she could, as if he had murdered her