A Lady at Last by Brenda Joyce Read Free Book Online Page A

It makes them nobles feel even higher and mightier when they do so. He gives you charity, you take it, girl,” Rodney said. “And never mind your damnable pride!” He hesitated, then said strangely, “Did he notice that you’re a beauty?”
    Amanda was taken aback. In her entire seventeen years, her father had never once mentioned that he thought her beautiful. But now he was talking about her as if she were truly beautiful, like her mother. “Papa? I’m no beauty. I’m skinny with ratty hair. I wear boy’s clothes. And I have very odd eyes. Everyone says so.”
    Rodney was serious. “”Did he look at you like that fucking Turk did in Sicily?”
    Amanda hesitated. “It didn’t mean anything.”
    Rodney exhaled. After a long, grim pause, he said seriously, “He’s the one to take you to your mother. I mean it, Amanda, I trust him. He’s a gentleman.” He stopped.
    She knew he wanted to say something more. “He is a gentleman, but what is it, Papa? What aren’t you saying?”
    Rodney stared. “I wouldn’t mind if he decided to keep you for a time.”
    Amanda gaped. “ What ? You mean, as his mistress?”
    â€œHe’s rich as sin and he’s an earl’s son!” Carre cried, slamming his fist against the wall. “I always wanted to see you properly wed, but with me gone, I don’t know how that is possible. That will be up to your mother, and you haven’t seen her in years.”
    Amanda began to tremble. De Warenne’s strong, bronzed face came to mind, his gaze so peculiarly intense, so strangely piercing, as if he could look into her mind, her soul. She recalled his carrying her from Woods’s rooms. She tensed, confused. She might not mind giving him her maidenhead, or not very much, anyway. And he had seemed kind .
    She must be mistaken, she thought, shaken now. While the Queen Street baker’s wife gave her stale bread for free, and the boy who swept the apothecary shop was pleasant, no one else in her world was that way. Maybe de Warenne had rescued her in order to seduce her, never mind that she wasn’t the kind of noble lady he preferred. After all, hadn’t he tried to get her to stay in his Kingston home?
    â€œPapa, he would never want me as a mistress. He has lovers, all prettier than me.”
    â€œYou just make sure he’s the one to sail you to your mother,” Rodney said grimly. “I meant to leave you with something, Amanda, and there’s nothing, damn it, not a single pound. I am sorry.”
    She was more ill inside now than ever, because Papa never apologized for anything and this was the second time he was telling her how sorry he was. “Don’t apologize,” she said fiercely. “You’re the best father a girl could have!” She meant it, and unbidden, tears began again.
    â€œI tried, I really tried,” he gasped, crying now, too. “Girl, you got to go.”
    Amanda realized that the sky was turning boldly orange above the rooftop of the courthouse. The sun was rising—it was dawn. “No,” she cried.
    In a few more moments, she would have to leave. And the next time she saw her father, he would be on the hangman’s block.
    â€œYou better go, girl, before they catch you here and find out about the tunnel you dug under the fence.” Carre was hoarse.
    This could not be happening. She had never been quite sure if she believed in God, but now, wildly, she prayed. “Papa, let me stay. I don’t care if they find me.” She reached through the bars, desperate.
    He hesitated, then clasped her hand.
    Oh, God. His hand was warm, strong, calloused and scarred. Years ago, a Scot had severed one of his fingers in a brawl, the blade catching the flesh of his palm. But Amanda held on for her life—and his.
    Because once she let go, she was never going to be able to take his hand again.
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