A Lady at Last by Brenda Joyce Page B

father.
    He lifted her into his arms and started down the deck, but she kept hitting him and hitting him, hating him and Woods and all the British and the whole world until the anger vanished and there was only exhaustion.
    Â 
    A MANDA AWOKE a few hours later. She stared up at the ceiling of the captain’s cabin, grimly aware that she was in de Warenne’s four-poster, which was where he had placed her after the burial. He’d also given her a drink, but she couldn’t recall what liquor it had been. She had sobbed herself to sleep.
    The cabin was absolutely dark. She glanced toward the portholes, which were open, a pleasant breeze wafting into the room. Outside, the night was black velvet studded with winking stars.
    She sat up on top of the red-and-gold damask covers. She fingered a sensuous leopard skin pillow. Papa was gone. He wasn’t coming back and she had to face that fact now.
    She slid from the bed, barefoot. He had removed her boots or he’d ordered someone to do it for him. Amanda found them and sat down to tug them on. She was no longer in the throes of grief—she merely felt sad and resigned. But that was as it should be. Papa deserved to be mourned, and she’d had no right to have been happy earlier that day.
    She wondered where the ship’s captain was, and what he thought of her now. He certainly did not think her brave and strong. She had let Papa down.
    â€œDon’t worry,” she told her father, hoping he could hear her somehow. “There will be no more female hysteria. I’m sorry, Papa, for being such a dumb girl.”
    This time, there was no answer.
    Amanda sighed. She walked out of the cabin and instantly saw de Warenne.
    His first officer, a big Scot named MacIver, was at the helm. De Warenne stood, lightly grasping the railing on the main deck, watching the starlight playing over the gleaming black water, sprinkling it with silver ribbons. The winds had eased and the frigate had dropped her speed. The night remained balmy and pleasant—a perfect night for a cruise.
    He turned. Many feet separated them, and although his ship was far better lit than her father’s sloop had ever been, it remained shadowy and dark. It didn’t matter. Even in the dark, even with a good ten lengths between them, their gazes met and held.
    Amanda almost felt hypnotized. She walked over to him.
    His gaze slid over her face. “Did you have a good rest?”
    She nodded. “Yes, I did. Thank you for the use of your bed.”
    His mouth softened. “Do not say that too loudly—you might be misunderstood.”
    She had to smile. “I am not worried. I don’t think anyone would ever accuse you of trying to take me to bed.”
    He glanced away.
    Instantly she recalled his interest in her that morning and his invitation to dine—which had really been an invitation to tryst. Her cheeks became warm, and an odd hollow feeling began in her lower body. Amanda turned to face the sea, grasping the railing. Too late, she realized they stood mere inches apart.
    She gave him a quick, sidelong glance, aware that for the first time in her life, she was having feelings of some kind for a man. Standing this close to him left her breathless and restless. Maybe he’d ask her to supper tomorrow night.
    He didn’t speak, and she turned away. She watched the starlight dancing over the rippling swells. As far as the human eye could see, there was nothing but the shining blackness of the sea. It seemed infinite, powerful and mighty.
    And it was comforting. He was comforting. She was terribly aware of his big masculine body and the tension in her own limbs, but far more significant was the feeling of being safe and sheltered just by being close to him.
    She smiled just a little. She didn’t have to ask to know that he was enjoying the absolute beauty and serenity of the moment, and truth be told, so was she. But the real truth was, she was enjoying