A Lady At Last Quotes

“DeWarenne men love forever”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“This was not ending her way; in fact, this was not ending at all.
He was a de Warenne. Amanda belonged to him, now and forever, and he would pursue her until he found her and won her over. If she had loved him once, he would make her love him again.
But when he got to the wharves, something was wrong. Cliff was halfway to the shipping offices used by his company when he realized, in real disbelief, what that was. He pulled his mount to a sliding halt, whipped it around and gaped in absolute shock at the empty berth where the Fair Lady should have been; where she had been at anchor yesterday and last night.
For one moment, he stared, pulse pounding, blood roaring in his veins, in his head.
And his world went still, the vast stillness before great battle. When he spoke, it was so softly, no passerby could hear. “Where the fuck is my ship.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“Dün gece senin yatağındaydım!" diye suçladı Amanda,gözleri kederle büyümüştü."Dün gece beni defalarca öptün.Sevgili olduğumuzu sanıyordum."
Cliff'in yüzü bembeyaz kesildi. Konuşmakta zorlanıyordu. "Biz sevgili değiliz. Dün gece bir hataydı. Bir daha asla olmayacak. Sen hala bakiresin."
"Kısmen!" Genç kadın yaklaştı, bir yandan da başını sallıyordu. "Bana sarıldın ve beni öptün. Dilin boğazımın içinde, elin bacaklarımın arasındaydı! Sevgili olmadığımızı nasıl söyleyebiliyorsun?"
Cliff yüzünün kıpkırmızı olduğunun farkındaydı. "Kontrolümü kaybettim," diye çabaladı.
"Ayrıca bu ilk değildi!" diye bağırırken titriyordu Amanda. "Fırtınadan sonra gemideyken...Rüya gördüğümü sanmıştım ama görmemiştim değil mi? Benimle gemide de seviştin!"
"Kontrolümü kaybettim" diye gergin bir şekilde tekrarladı. Ne kadar aptalca konuşuyordu. "Müthiş güzeldin ve çok çekiciydin ama bu yanlış. Sen bir kocayı hakediyorsun.."
"Ben bir koca istemiyorum. Seni istiyorum."
Cliff öylece bakakaldı. Amanda da ona bakıyordu, yüzü solmuş ve titriyordu. Cliff sarsılmış bir halde, "Seni sevgilim yapmam," demeyi başardı. "Bir gecelik ön sevişme bizi sevgili yapmaz. Şehvete kapılmıştım ama sadece seni rahatlatmak istedim.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“You left me,” he said tersely, his gaze unwavering on her.
She exhaled. “I am sorry. I am sorry for borrowing your ship, and I—”
“You left me after the night we shared.”
She tried not to think about being in his arms, when he had seemed to love her as much as she loved him. “I told you that morning what I intended. The time we shared didn’t change anything.” She saw him flinch. “It was wonderful, but I meant it when I said I had to go home. I know you are angry. I know I took the coward’s way, and I shouldn’t have conned Mac—”
“I don’t care about the ship!” he cried, stunning her. “I am glad you took my frigate—at least you would be safe from rovers. Damn it! I made love to you and you left me!”
She hugged herself harder, trying to ignore that painful figure of speech. “I knew you would want to marry me, Cliff, for all the wrong reasons. How could I accept that? The night we spent together only fueled my desire to leave.”
“For all the wrong reasons? Our passion fueled your desire to leave me?”
“You misunderstand me,” she cried. “I do not want to hurt you. But you ruined me, you would decide to marry me. Honor is not the right reason, not for me.”
He stepped closer, his gaze piercing. “Do you even know my reasons, Amanda?”
“Yes, I do.” Somehow she tilted up her chin, yet she felt tears falling. “You are the most honorable man I have ever met. I know my letter hardly stated the depth of my feelings, but after all you have done, and all your family has done, you must surely know that leaving you was very difficult.”
“The depth of your feelings,” he said. His nostrils flared, his gaze brilliant. “Do you refer to the friendship you wish to maintain—your affection for me?” He was cold and sarcastic, taking a final step toward her.
He towered over her now. She wanted to step backward, away from him, but she held her ground. “I didn’t think you would wish to continue our friendship. But it is so important to me. I will beg you to forgive me so we can remain dear friends.”
“I don’t want to be a dear friend,” he said harshly. “And goddamn it, do not tell me you felt as a friend does when you were in my bed!”
She stiffened. “That’s not fair.”
“You left me. That’s not fair,” he shot back, giving no quarter.
“After all you have done, it wasn’t fair, I agree completely. But I was desperate.”
He shook his head. “I will never believe you are desperate to be a shopkeeper. And what woman is truly independent? Only a spinster or a widow. You are neither.”
Slowly, hating her words, she said, “I had planned on the former.”
“Like hell,” he spat.
She accepted the dread filling her then. “You despise me now.”
“Are you truly so ignorant, so oblivious? How on earth could I ever despise you?” he exclaimed, leaning closer. “Would I be standing here demanding marriage if I despised you?”
She started. Her heart skipped wildly; she tried to ignore it. She whispered, “Why did you really pursue me?”
“I am a de Warenne,” he said, straightening. “As my father said so recently, there is no stopping us, not if it is a question of love.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“The cabin door blew in off its hinges.
She cried out as Cliff filled the doorway.
His face was a tight, hard mask of fury, under absolute control. His legs were braced, but the deck did not roll. Amanda breathed hard. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, but no words would come forth.
He pointed at her, his eyes glittering savagely. “I have two things to say to you, madam.”
She nodded, heart lurching. He hated her now.
“You are coming home with me. And we are getting married.”
And with a final stare, he stormed out.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“Ye love your guardian,” he finally said. “I watched ye dancin’, Amanda. I watched yer eyes.”
Amanda did not know what to say. Then she thought of how Garret had accepted the truth about her life with such steadfast poise and nobility, praising her for her accomplishments instead of scorning her for her past, and she touched his arm. “Yes, I do.”
He slowly shook his head. “Then I wish ye the best, lass.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Aye, I ken.”
“No, it’s not what you think. I love Cliff and I always will, but he doesn’t return my feelings. I am going home, Garret, to the island, and I am never marrying anyone.”
Garret smiled oddly. “I dinna think ye’ll get far,” he said.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“He turned to rush up the stairs, but Sean stepped in front of him. “If you are on your way up to visit your children or if you are going up to dress, I can allow you to pass.” His expression was bland. “But I am under strict orders from my wife not to allow you to see Amanda before she finishes dressing.”
He was in disbelief. “I wish to speak to her. She is my ward!”
Sean started laughing at him. “You are besotted. Why don’t you give in, surrender, confess, admit it?”
Cliff felt like landing a solid blow in his stepbrother’s smug face. “You are the besotted one. For God’s sake, every time I enter a room, I have to scan the premises to make certain you and Eleanor aren’t behaving like adolescent lovers behind the sofa.”
Rex approached, also clearly amused. “You are not allowed to visit Amanda until she comes downstairs. Relax, Cliff. It’s only been, what, two weeks?”
“It has been eighteen days,” he growled, and when everyone chuckled, clearly entertained by him, he turned red.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“I have asked you a question and I demand a response.”
Garret made a sound of disgust. “’Tis fortunate fer ye that I admire yer father, Adare, as well as I do.”
“Really? And why is that?”
“Ye need a lesson in manners,” Garret said.
Cliff laughed, enjoying the impending battle. “How old are you, my boy? Because you do not wish to test your strength against me—or anything else, for that matter.”
“I be twenty-four,” he shot. “I ken ye rule the main. But be warned, I ha’ seen my share of battles on land and sea, an’ I am not afraid of ye.”
“You should be. You are not welcome here.”
Garret started. “I wish to call on yer ward again. She is delightful—a breath of fresh air in this town.”
“I suggest you take your fresh air in Scotland,” Cliff said coldly.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“She beamed. “Perhaps the best of the lot! He has a title—he is a baron. He has never been wed but he has several children. His home is quite nice, apparently, it is in Sussex, and he has a pleasing income! I believe it is two thousand a year.” She waited.
He stared, appearing close to an apoplexy. “So he is a rake?”
“You have bastards!”
“I am a rake! Next.”
She choked. “Next?”
“Amanda is not marrying a rake. Her husband will be loyal to her.”
“Then maybe you should consider de Brett? He is very handsome and I am sure that he might fall in love with Amanda!”
“Who is Ralph Sheffeild?” Cliff ignored her.
She had saved the best for last. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Sheffeild. “He was knighted during the war for his valor, he is the youngest son of an earl, the family is very wealthy, and he can marry as he chooses. He is not a rake. If he is taken with Amanda, it would be perfect!”
“How do you know he is not a rake?”
“I know his reputation.”
“He must be a rake, or he would be wed.”
“I feel certain he is not a rake,” she said quickly. “If he were a rake, the gossip would be all over the ton.”
“Does he have a mistress?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then he must prefer men.” Cliff smiled in triumph.
“What a leap to make!” She was aghast.
“He is too perfect. Something is wrong with him. If it isn’t that preference, perhaps he gambles!”
“He doesn’t gamble.” She had to control her laughter now. She had no idea if Sheffeild gamed. “And Cliff, he likes women. I have met him personally, I am certain.”
Cliff folded his arms across his chest and stared. “Something is wrong with this one, I can feel it. What aren’t you telling me?”
“I have told you everything. He is perfect for Amanda!”
He tore the paper not in two, but in shreds. Then he smiled, letting the scraps drift to the floor.
“Cliff!” she gasped. “What is wrong with Sheffeild?”
“No one is perfect,” he retorted. “He is hiding something.”
“You cannot reject everyone!”
“I can and I will, until I find the right suitor. Make me another list,” he ordered, walking away.
She couldn’t resist. She took a book from the shelf and threw it, so it hit him square in the back.
He turned. “What was that for?”
“Oh, let’s just say I am going to enjoy watching you taken down a peg or two. And by the by, we are all rooting for Amanda.”
He simply looked at her, clearly clueless as usual.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“Eleanor plucked his sleeve. “But you know society just as I do. Blanche Harrington is one of the few genuinely nice women in town. There are so many vultures out there! I hated society when I was forced to come out. I can’t begin to tell you how many English ladies looked down on me because I am Irish. Worse, even though I am an earl’s daughter, the rakes in the ton were conscienceless.” She made sure not to grin, although she thought her eyes probably danced.
He scowled. “I will protect Amanda from any rogue who dares give her a single glance,” he said tersely. “No one will dare pursue her with any intention other than an honorable one.”
Eleanor tried not to laugh. “You do take this guardianship very seriously,” she said, maintaining an innocent expression.
“Of course I do,” he snapped, appearing vastly annoyed. Then he nodded at the document in her hand. “Is that for me?”
Eleanor simply could not prevent a grin. “It is the list of suitors.”
Cliff looked at her as if she had spoken Chinese.
“Don’t you want to see who is on it?”
He snatched the sheet from her hand and she tried not to chuckle as his brows lifted. “There are only four names here!”
“It is only the first four names I have thought of,” she said. “Besides, although you are providing her with a dowry, you are not making her a great heiress. We can claim an ancient Saxon family tree, but we have no proof. I am trying to find Amanda the perfect husband. You do want her to be very happy and to live in marital bliss, don’t you?”
He gave her a dark look. “John Cunningham? Who is this?”
She became eager, smiling. “He is a widower with a title, a baronet. He has a small estate in Dorset, of little value, but he is young and handsome and apparently virile, as his first wife had two sons. He—”
“No.”
She feigned surprise, raising both brows. “I beg your pardon?”
“Who is next?”
“What is wrong with Cunningham? Truthfully, he is openly looking for a wife!”
“He is impoverished,” Cliff spat. “And he only wants a mother for his sons. Next?”
“Fine,” she said, huffing. “William de Brett. Ah, you will like him! De Brett has a modest income of twelve hundred a year. He comes from a very fine family—they are of Norman descent, as well, but he has no title. However—”
“No. Absolutely not.”
Eleanor stared, forcing herself to maintain a straight face. “Amanda can live modestly but well on twelve hundred a year and I know de Brett. The women swoon when he walks into a salon.”
His gaze hardened. “The income is barely acceptable, and he has no title. She will marry blue blood.”
“Really?”
His smile was dangerous. “Really. Who is Lionel Camden?”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“Cliff?” Eleanor tried to appear innocent, but it was no easy task, as she could not wait to bait her brother now.
He was at one of the two large desks in the library, both of which were at kitty-corner at the far end of the large room. Two vast red rugs covered the floors and bookcases lined two of the four walls. He seemed engrossed in paperwork and she had to come forward, a sheet of paper in her hand, calling his name again.
He jerked, glancing up. Then he stood, smiling. “Eleanor! When did you return from Harrington Hall? How did it go?”
She kept a perfectly innocent expression on her face. God, he deserved this! “Oh, fine. Mother is resting before supper—everyone is, actually. Can I have a word?”
He scowled, coming out from behind the desk. “How is Amanda?” he demanded with vast impatience. “Was the call a success?”
She simply smiled at him.
“Do not test my patience now!”
“You have no patience,” she cried. Then she smiled genuinely at him. “It was a very good idea to call on Blanche first. The call was a success. Amanda may not realize it, but she has a calm and grace, even when she is afraid. She did make one faux pas, but we all pretended not to notice and she realized her mistake. She can hold her own in society, Cliff—she is clever and, in truth, good at conversation.”
He was smiling. “I am so pleased.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“You are happy," he breathed. "I will buy you a hundred more.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“He smiled grimly. "She was wild. Now—" He stopped. "She is caged up."
Rex folded his arms, staring. "What does that mean?"
"In a way, I hate what I have done—and it isn't taking her to bed." But as he paced, he thought of the dawn after the storm, when he had done everything but take her innocence.
"Really? So you are not flushed with guilt?" Rex asked.
Cliff whirled. "She is a virgin," he said, stressing the noun.
"And you would know that because. . . ?"
Cliff felt like smashing his brother, just once. "She told me."
"I see. A suitable subject for a protector and his protégée.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“You were master of your own ship at eighteen,” Amanda whispered, filled with admiration for him. “I am almost eighteen.”
“You are a woman,” he said as if reminded her.
“There have been women pirates.”
He was clearly aghast. “Don’t even think it!”
She began to smile, pleased that he remained so concerned for her. “Why not? You can see that I am a skilled seaman and a skilled swordsman. Why couldn’t I have my own ship? Then I could give up this farce of trying to be a lady.” She didn’t mean a single word.
“You are trying to provoke me,” he said, flushed in the starlight. “I am onto your game! You could not control a crew and we both know it.”
“I was trying to provoke you,” she admitted, “and it was very easy to do.” She glanced at him through her lashes. It had been ridiculously easy, in fact. Just as it had been so easy to get him to lust after her with a little bit of swordplay.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“Suddenly his mind played a trick on him. He imagined her, not on the deck beside him, but in a ballroom, in a beautiful ball gown. His heart turned over hard, then thundered. Good God, she would be so beautiful . . . For a moment, speech failed him. She would have a dozen suitors, he realized, still stunned. “Amanda,” he heard himself say, his gaze holding hers “when you come out, I must insist on the first dance.”
“You want the first dance?” she gasped.
He tore his gaze away, shaken by the possessive desire that had arisen. “I do. In fact, I will make certain to be in London for your first ball—if you promise me that dance.”
She turned away, incredulous, but the rope between them went taut. “Of course,” she said breathlessly. Then she faced him, still surprised. “But why?”
“Are you not my protégée?” he asked, trying to sound casual. But he knew that she would be too beautiful to resist in a ball gown, whirling about the floor in a gentleman’s arms. It flashed through his mind that he might not be that pleased when she was introduced into society, because no gentleman would be immune to her beauty. And suddenly he wanted that first dance very badly—suddenly he ached for it.
He glanced at her through his lashes. “Is it not my right to dance with you before all others?” he asked softly, unable to help himself.
He could not control himself. They were standing near the helm in gale winds, the deck rocking heavily beneath their feet, and he was thinking of this woman, her beauty, her allure and his passion, not the storm. He knew he would feel as intensely passionate dancing with her as he would if he allowed himself to take her to his bed.
She began to smile. “I am clumsy,” she warned.
He laughed, relieved by her absurd comment. “Impossible. You are light on your feet—we locked swords, remember? I know you will excel at dancing, just as you will excel at all of your current studies.”
She suddenly lowered her dark lashes. “Very well. I will allow you the first dance—if you allow me to ride the storm here with you.”
“Absolutely not!” he shouted, aghast. “I do not need you going overboard, either!”
She pulled on the rope binding them, then gave him a sideling, seductive look. “I can hardly fall overboard now.”
He shook his head, furious with her for daring to use that dance against him, and glanced at the high, white foam of the seas. The horizon ahead was now pitch-black, a sight he did not care for. He turned back to her. “I will not barter for that dance,” he warned. He was going to have it, no matter what she now intended.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“Permission?"
He whirled in shock at the sound of Amanda's voice. She stood below him on the deck, fighting the winds, but her eyes flashed green with excitement. He didn’t think; he reacted. He leaped to her side and seized her tightly. “You are hardly any bigger than my son! Are you mad to come out on deck now?”
“We are hardly in a hurricane,” she shouted. “Twenty-four knots—that’s gale winds.”
“I want you below,” he shouted back.
“Please!” she cried, and their gazes locked.
Only a madman would give in. He took her with him to the quarterdeck, seizing a coil of rope and tying it to her waist, and then to his. “You may stay on deck for a half an hour. I wish to speak with you anyway,” he said, his voice raised in order to fight the winds. “A storm is no place for a lady.”
She lowered her lashes, clearly scheming. Then she sent him a sidelong smile. “But I am not a lady,” she murmured, but he heard her anyway.
“How perfect—the subject I wish to discuss!”
“What?” she asked, cupping her ear.
He seized her hand, pushing it down. "I know you can hear me," he said, but he lowered his face to hers.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“She suddenly became aware of the utter silence of the ship.
Every hand had come on board, almost three hundred men, to witness her insane attack on their captain.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“He suddenly thrust.
Amanda blocked the blow, but barely. He thrust again and again, driving her back across the ship before she even knew what was happening. In mere seconds, she had her back at the rail and sweat was pouring down her body, pooling between her breasts and legs. She was even more furious than before at his display of skill.
He smiled. “Come now, darling. I have no wish to fight with you, especially as your blade is not blunted. Besides, we both know you cannot best me.”
But she would try. She would make him sit up and take real notice of her. She was not a fancy lady, but she could match him in every other way. Amanda growled and attacked. She thrust hard and he met her, taking a step back, a step aside, until they were moving rapidly in a vicious circle of hard blow after hard blow. Iron rang. Sweat burned in her eyes. Of course he was master here. She hadn’t expected to win. But she wanted to somehow hurt him. There was nothing she wanted more—she wanted him to feel what she had felt, damn him!
Her arm was aching now. She was at her physical limit, but she would not give up. “Damn you!” she gasped, and she halted, pretending to be exhausted and ready to submit to his mercy.
He bought her game, a grin appearing on his handsome face. “Well done,” he began.
Amanda feinted, thrust and sliced off the rest of his shirt buttons. He was so surprised he simply stared down at his shirt, now shredded in two. Then, slowly, he looked up at her. His blue eyes were brilliant, hot, and he slowly, boldly smiled.
He wasn’t angry. She understood the heat, and a savage sense of triumph rose up in her. He might not want her with his fine intellectual mind, but just now, she had provoked him so thoroughly that he wanted her right then. She knew, beyond any doubt, that reason had been conquered by lust.
“What’s wrong, de Warenne?” she murmured seductively. “Maybe it isn’t a fancy lady that you really want.”
Before she had even delivered this last call to arms, he attacked. He had the edge of both shirt and chemise hooked over his blade, and with one flick of his wrist, blunted tip or no, her clothes would be ripped in two.
She stilled, breathing hard, her body pulsing in frenzied excitement. “Go ahead,” she managed. “Take my clothes.”
His face hardened. He slowly lowered the big blunted tip of his sword between her breasts. “I believe we are done,” he said harshly.
She stared at the tip, then lifted her gaze. “I am not done.”
His brows lifted. “I have my blade against your heart, darling. In actual battle, you would be dead.”
“Most men would prefer me warm and alive in their beds,” she challenged tauntingly.
His eyes blazed. He removed the sword, tossing it aside and it clattered across the deck. “You have won, Amanda,” he said. “I concede defeat.”
He was turning to walk away. Amanda thrust, catching the buttons of his breeches, and cut them free. He froze.
“Maybe,” she said softly, “my opponent would be as easily deceived as you have been and throw his sword aside too soon, falsely thinking himself in no further danger. Maybe, in a real battle, skill will have little to do with the victory. Turn around,” she ordered.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“She felt her lips widen. She thrust again—he parried. “I won’t draw blood, de Warenne,” she said, but she thought maybe she would, just so she could see the look in his eyes. A terrible excitement consumed her. With it was her rage. She thrust and he parried, but took a step back. Elated, Amanda went on the offensive. His eyes widened but he merely blocked each blow, allowing her to drive him ruthlessly and rapidly back into the larboard railing.
She laughed, triumphant. “You can do better than that, de Warenne! Surely you are not afraid of my naked blade?”
“You remain very angry with me. I understand,” he began.
She was furious. He knew nothing! She thrust and he parried; she feinted and then slipped through his defenses, instantly cutting a long line into his fine, fancy shirt. She withdrew, heady with the scent of victory. “You understand what?” she asked sweetly.
He glanced at the long tear, very surprised, and then he slowly looked up at her.
“I did not draw blood,” she said, exhilarated now. She laughed at him.
“You were fortunate,” he said, color flooding his cheeks.
“No, I was careful. I chose not to take your blood, de Warenne!” She thrust so swiftly that, before he could defend himself, she had taken the top three buttons off his shirt, causing it to gap open, revealing the two thick muscles of his chest.
Above them, someone laughed.
De Warenne was disbelieving.
“Fight, de Warenne,” she said fiercely, panting. She was determined to savagely exchange blows—she would ruthlessly engage, there would be no quarter! “Or show your men that you can be outplayed and outfought by a child.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“She felt her lips widen. She thrust again—he parried. “I won’t draw blood, de Warenne,” she said, but she thought maybe she would, just so she could see the look in his eyes. A terrible excitement consumed her. With it was her rage. She thrust and he parried, but took a step back. Elated, Amanda went on the offensive. His eyes widened but he merely blocked each blow, allowing her to drive him ruthlessly and rapidly back into the larboard railing.
She laughed, triumphant. “You can do better than that, de Warenne! Surely you are not afraid of my naked blade?”
“You remain very angry with me. I understand,” he began.
She was furious. He knew nothing! She thrust and he parried; she feinted and then slipped through his defenses, instantly cutting a long line into his fine, fancy shirt. She withdrew, heady with the scent of victory. “You understand what?” she asked sweetly.
She glanced at the long tear, very surprised, and then he slowly looked up at her.
“I did not draw blood,” she said, exhilarated now. She laughed at him.
“You were fortunate,” he said, color flooding his cheeks.
“No, I was careful. I chose not to take your blood, de Warenne!” She thrust so swiftly that, before he could defend himself, she had taken the top three buttons off his shirt, causing it to gap open, revealing the two thick muscles of his chest.
Above them, someone laughed.
De Warenne was disbelieving.
“Fight, de Warenne,” she said fiercely, panting. She was determined to savagely exchange blows—she would ruthlessly engage, there would be no quarter! “Or show your men that you can be outplayed and outfought by a child.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“Oh, 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 ship, not a boat, my fine lady—a frigate, in fact. Fifth rate, with thirty-eight guns, not counting any cannonade."
The lady's jaw dropped, unattractively.
De Warenne's eyes widened, their gazes meeting. Amanda wriggled her hips and thrust out her bosom. "Ohh, do take me on your boat, Captain, sir!"
His face broke into a smile and he choked on a laugh. Then he scowled very fiercely at her. "Miss Carre. You are in your nightgown."
Amanda blinked. He had been amused by her. She softened, smiling back. "It's not my nightgown. I don't know whose it is. In fact, I can't even remember how it got on me." Her gaze narrowed and she looked right at him. "Did you undress me?"
He turned red.”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last

“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?”
― Brenda Joyce, A Lady At Last