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

house. Open arches led to other rooms.
    She hesitated, uncertain, and then she saw the butler.
    He was entering the hall, an empty silver tray held flat in one hand, as if it still contained refreshments. He saw her at that moment and went pale, halting in his tracks. The tray fell to the floor with a loud clang.
    Amanda marched toward him. “Hey. Where is de Warenne?”
    He gave her a furious look and picked up the tray. “His lordship is entertaining and is not to be disturbed.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t put on airs with me,” she said flatly. “You’re only a servant.”
    He straightened. “I am the butler, miss, and the most important servant in his lordship’s employ.”
    She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think so. The most important one he’s got working for him is the ship’s carpenter. You want to make a bet?”
    Fitzwilliam huffed. “Might I suggest that you retire to your room and properly clothe yourself?”
    Amanda glanced down at her new favorite possession. “I don’t think his lordship will care how I’m dressed,” she said. The nightgown was certainly as decent as any dress.
    Fitzwilliam flushed. “If you go to your room, I will inform his lordship that you wish to see him.”
    Amanda snorted at him. “You need to take a cruise, my man. That might get that stick out of your arse.” She started toward one of the arches, where she could just barely detect soft conversation. That was where the old fart had come from, too.
    â€œHe will not be pleased,” Fitzwilliam said softly to her back.
    Amanda thought he sounded smugly pleased himself, but she didn’t care. Now she could make out de Warenne’s drawl—and the soft, coy laughter of a woman.
    She paused on the threshold of a large salon with golden walls and more furniture than any one person could possibly use in two lifetimes. Standing at the far end was her host, clad in his usual white linen shirt and a pair of equally white breeches, his high black boots gleaming in shocking contrast. He often wore a heavily embroidered Moorish vest but not that day, and his dagger wasn’t strapped to his belt. He had, however, forgotten to remove his huge gold and ruby spurs.
    Looking at him, her mouth became dry.
    And then she saw de Warrene’s caller and understood why he would not wish to be disturbed. She could not believe her eyes.
    A beautiful, perfectly plump, blond lady was patting his arm and giggling at him. She was elegantly dressed, beribboned and bejeweled. No, she was fat , Amanda decided, but of course, most sailors preferred a meaty woman. And her skin wasn’t porcelain, it was pasty . Her hair was clearly yellow, like straw that had been urinated on.
    Amanda’s fists clenched. Dismay immobilized her.
    The woman was laughing at whatever de Warenne had just said. He was smiling, his expression noncommittal. His gaze did dip when she moved, for her pale green gown exposed huge cowlike breasts, which were in danger of falling out every time she laughed—something she did all the time. She had a glass of wine or sherry in her other hand. She spoke, tossing her blond, tonged curls. “I am so pleased to find you at home, Captain. It is a long, hot carriage ride from Spanishtown. I was so hoping not to be denied.”
    â€œYes, it is a very long drive—all eleven miles of it. Do you not care for our Jamaican weather?” he remarked, his tone idle. The gold earring he wore glinted.
    She pressed closer to him. “It is so hard to keep one’s gown stiff in such soggy weather. And my hair! It has to be done at least twice a day.”
    â€œI imagine it is difficult for the ladies, living in such a clime,” he said flatly.
    â€œOh, I am enjoying my visit to the island, Captain. But I should enjoy it so much more if you were to take me aboard your boat.”
    Amanda strode forward. “It’s a