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.
Robards had followed him to the threshold of the foyer. “Sir! Please!”
Cliff smiled mirthlessly at him and kicked the door closed in his face. Then he locked it. He strode down the hall, the calm of that moment before a fierce battle settling over him. It was a feeling he relished. The lull before the explosion…
The house remained stunningly quiet. As he traversed its depths, he could imagine them naked, hot, entwined, Woods overcome with lust. His silent rage grew.
He had never been to the governor’s private rooms, but King’s House had been built fifty-odd years earlier and he assumed the suite was in the west wing, as it was in so many Georgian homes.
He tried four doors as he went down the west hall, all opening onto unoccupied guest rooms. And when he came to the door at the end, he heard soft male laughter.
His blood surged and thickened.
He turned the knob and pushed open the door.
Instantly, he saw them.
Woods stood in the center of the bedroom, a massive canopied bed behind him. He had shed his jacket, waistcoat and shirt, revealing a muscular torso. His trousers were open, revealing his manhood.
She stood by the bed, clad in a man’s sapphire-blue silk dressing gown, but it was unbelted and open, revealing her lean golden thighs, soft belly and full breasts. Her expression was one of despair, but it was also fierce and determined. She would not stand down.
Cliff prayed he was not too late.
He strode to Woods, who was so preoccupied with his victim that he did not see him until Cliff raised his fist. Woods cried out but Cliff knocked him backward into the wall, the blow so stunning he slid down it into a heap, as if unconscious.
He stepped over him, reaching for his hair, yanking his head back. Dazed eyes met his. “Society would love this bit of gossip, don’t you think?” he snarled. The threat was impulsive but ideal; Woods had a reputation to maintain, and his wife would be livid should she ever learn of his scandalous behavior.
“We are…friends!” Woods gasped.
“Not anymore.” Cliff had to fight himself not to hit him again. Then he heard her choke.
He whirled, hurrying to her. She was on all fours, fighting for composure. He knelt, sliding his arm around her, terribly aware of her exposed body and also aware that Woods had probably used her in the most despicable and disrespectful manner possible. Slowly she looked up at him, her green cat eyes huge and hurt and beseeching.
He hoped that what he thought had happened hadn’t. “I’m taking you out of here,” he said softly.
She shook her head, shocking him. “Leave me…be,” she whispered brokenly.
He wanted to kill his onetime friend; he cradled her face in his hands. “Listen to me!” he said urgently. “He is not going to pardon your father no matter what you do, or how many times you do it! Do you comprehend me?”
“But it’s the only chance I have to save him,” she gasped.
He realized her mouth was bruised. He lifted her into his arms and was surprised again, because she clung. Now there was no mistaking the fact that he wanted to protect her, but he was also aware of her open robe and her soft breasts, pressed to his chest. He had glimpsed the wet treasure between her thighs. “There was never a chance,” he said roughly, carrying her from the room.
In the hall he paused, suddenly realizing that soldiers were outside the front door, and he had just assaulted the royal governor. They’d have to make a hasty retreat through a window—and he would have quite a bit of political maneuvering to do in the days that followed. Woods might not be a friend anymore, but they needed to work together if he was to remain a viable and influential resident of the island. Suddenly he realized his burden was oddly still.
He looked at her.
She looked up at him, her hands remaining looped around his neck. She was blushing.
His gaze veered to her beautiful breasts, then lower to her slender torso, her rib cage faintly delineated, her small pink navel and the champagne-colored delta below. Buccaneer or not, he was a gentleman, and he jerked his gaze to her face, feeling his own cheeks warm. With one hand, awkwardly, he tugged the wrapper somewhat closed. “How badly did he hurt you?” he asked roughly.
“Can you put me down?” she asked instead of replying.
Instantly he complied.
She smiled at him, and kicked him very hard in the shin. And then she pushed at him and started to run.
Stunned, he reached for her, but she was agile, swift and determined. She ducked his grasp and raced down the hall, her wrapper flowing behind her nude body like a banner. He started after her more slowly, unhappily aware of a terrible turmoil in him. He almost wished he had not gotten involved, for he sensed this was just the beginning. And when he reached the entry, no one was there.
La Sauvage was gone.
CHAPTER TWO
AMANDA RAN THROUGH A pair of terrace doors and across the patio. King’s House took up an entire city block and was built around two courtyards; she rushed down a set of white stone steps and into the gardens there. She stumbled, didn’t care and fell to her knees. She began retching. But she hadn’t been able to eat in days, she was so sick with fear for her father, and her heaves were dry. Then she lay on the thick, damp grass, allowing herself the luxury of tears.
Her terror overcame her. Papa was going to hang tomorrow at noon. Confronting the governor and begging him for a pardon had been their last chance. She hadn’t intended to offer him her body, but when he had started to look at her the way sailors and riffraff did, she had instinctively known what she must do. How often had she seen a woman coyly seduce her father in order to win a brooch or a bolt of silk? There was only one way a woman could ever gain anything from a man and Amanda knew what that way was. She had been raised amongst sailors and thieves and the only women she knew well had been camp followers and whores. The world she had been raised in was founded on violence and sex.
But she hadn’t given her body over to Woods, because Cliff de Warenne had stopped her from doing so.
She inhaled, her heart lurching. Why had he intervened? He was the greatest privateer of the day, as rich and powerful as a king. No one could outcommand him on the main—even