The Pirate's Secret Baby Page 12

  "'He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune...'"

  "Yes. Bacon had the right of it, Miss Burke." He braced his shoulders and when he looked back at Lydia his face wore its usual charming expression. "You too should know how to defend yourself. I do not know--yet--what dark secrets you're hiding that make you so averse to returning to England, but I would wager some tricks to defend yourself might come in handy for you as well. So today we will have a lesson, and we will have a lesson every day, little hedgehog, until we make landfall. Who knows? Perhaps your next employer will appreciate the added skills you bring to your classroom?"

  "The odds of me being hired by another pirate are rather slim, Captain St. Armand."

  "Of course you think that, but what were the odds of being hired by even one...merchant captain...Miss Burke? The sea is a dangerous place, and additional training could come in handy for you."

  Lydia knew there was no avoiding this and there was a small part of her cheering inside, the part of her who rebelled against pulling her hair into a tight bun and keeping her eyes down to play the role of a meek governess. More than most, Lydia knew being able to defend oneself from attackers was a useful skill indeed for a woman on her own.

  "What do you want me to do?"

  He smiled at her, pleased with her acquiescence.

  "Just as with Mattie, we will start with the basics. Now, hold your knife like this--a good grip, blade edge down. You see how you can angle your wrist--here, let me show you."

  Before Lydia could protest he stepped behind her, so close she felt him pressing up against her.

  "Try to relax, Miss Burke. I'm not going to ravish you here up on deck in full sight of the crew. They would be jealous of my skills. I'd much rather ravish you in the privacy and comfort of my berth."

  She attempted to pull away, but his arm was wrapped about her waist, holding her secure against him.

  "You're correct," she gritted through her teeth. "Knowing how to knife fight might save me from unpleasant encounters with all manner of scoundrels."

  "Exactly. Now then--what is that cologne you're wearing? You smell heavenly."

  "Captain St. Armand! Release me at once! And I am not wearing cologne. I only use soap and water. Your soap."

  "Is that so? It certainly smells different on you."

  He leaned his head forward again, inhaling deeply. Lydia's gaze darted around frantically, but none of the men were watching them. Taking hold of her wrist, the one holding the wooden blade, he said, "Loosen your grip so I can reposition your fingers."

  She followed his command blindly, too aware of how close he was, how she smelled his soap on him, and it was different, muskier, darker, making her breathe in his clean scent of salt and man along with the soap.

  His warm hand moved over her nerveless fingers, stroking along the length of her hand, moving the wood until it was satisfactory to him, then he closed his hand around hers.

  "You see? This grip will keep you from being sliced by your own weapon. You would be amazed how often that happens with people who just grab a knife and start flailing away with it."

  She forced her focus back on what he was saying, what he was doing as he extended her arm in front of her, then moved it to the side. It was more comfortable holding the knife like this, but when he stepped back she was finally drew air into her lungs to the full.

  He glided in front of her and watched her, his smirk doing nothing to improve her temper.

  "I am glad you insisted I learn how to do this properly, Captain St. Armand. One never knows when one will have to defend oneself against ne'er-do-wells."

  "So true. However," his face grew serious, "you would be at a disadvantage in a fight based on reach, strength and your lack of experience. What you have going for you is the element of surprise. An attacker might expect a tavern doxy to be armed with a knife, but he wouldn't expect it of a lady such as yourself. Surprise can be a powerful weapon and properly used can give you a chance to escape danger or stop it. The best knife-fighters depend on speed for success, so that is what we will work on today."

  All of what he said was sensible, and Lydia forced her total attention on his words and actions, not on how he looked standing there in his open jacket, the laces of his shirt fluttering in the breeze, his hair disarranged so that a gleaming lock fell across his forehead. He hadn't shaved this morning, and his jaw was darkened by a shadow making him look even more piratical. She'd felt it against her neck when he leaned in earlier. That clash of textures against her skin, the abrasion of his stubble woke nerve endings long dormant, rousing memories of a man's body against hers, a man's hair-roughened limbs entwined with hers and how long it had been missing from her life.

  Her body remembered those sensations, her instincts drawing her into dangerous waters where she was poorly armed to defend herself against bad decisions.

  "And once an attacker realizes you're armed, he may grab for your knife. Remember, a soft grip to throw, a tight grip to keep. Sometimes you will see people grip the weapon with the point down, to stab from overhead. Always a mistake, unless your goal is to make your victim burst out laughing. Look, I will show you."

  He came and stood before her, his movements workmanlike as he focused on the task at hand. He moved the blade in her hand so that it pointed down.

  "Now, extend your arm and see where the shadow is on the deck."

  She saw the plank where her knife's shadow ended, a tiny bit of tar marking the spot.

  "Flip your knife over so that you're holding it as I showed you, then extend again. Your shadow is longer now, your reach better. It's also easier to disarm an opponent using the other grip. Switch again and try to stab me--and don't smile as you're doing it, even though I am sure the thought of running me through gives you great pleasure."

  She switched to the point down grip and moved in to stab him, realizing what he was saying as soon as she stepped forward. She had to raise her arm high, which exposed all of her side and chest, and as she brought her arm down he easily blocked the move then grabbed her wrist, twisting until she was forced to drop the wooden knife.

  It also brought her up against him.

  "You see, Miss Burke?" he breathed, his lips nearly against hers, so close she could taste the scent of coffee. "Now you are defenseless and I could poke you with my...weapon with little resistance."

  So she brought her knee up in a movement as old as women dealing with annoying men, a movement he'd been totally unprepared for. Her angle wasn't perfect so it was a glancing blow, but enough to make him curse and jump away from her.

  "You're correct, Captain, that element of surprise is quite valuable when opponents aren't equally skilled."

  He glared at her, his eyes cobalt slits, but then bowed his head and said, "A true hit. I made the elementary mistake of misjudging my opponent, and you were right to take advantage of my error. Let us continue."

  It had been an entertaining morning, Lydia admitted to herself that afternoon as she strolled the deck. It was far too beautiful to stay below as Mattie napped and she wanted to savor her freedom, pretend there wasn't the possibility of disaster at the end of this voyage. At the very least she would not be able to enjoy this feeling of flying across the waves, the salt spray on her face making her lick her lips, savoring the special taste of the ocean, a memory to store for darker days. She had the impression of eyes on her and looked over to the stern where Captain St. Armand watched her, his face shadowed by the canvas straining above them. He exchanged a word with Conroy, then walked over to her and she watched him, watched the lithe grace of his body, the play of muscles beneath his breeches and his coat.

  He took her arm, without asking permission, and began to walk around the deck with her. She did not think to protest, and frankly, did not wish to. She was honest enough to admit to herself that the pirate captain may be many things she could not approve of, but he was not boring.

  Far from it. Every time she was in his vicinity it was as if she
were awakening from a nap, her senses coming alive as they had not for a long, long time. She asked him questions about his ship as they walked. Not only was she curious, but one never knew when knowledge would come in handy. If she wanted to stay in the islands or live in a coastal community, knowing something of ships and sailing would help her teach her students information they needed in their own lives.

  "Repairs are a substantial expense on this vessel, or any vessel of this size. Fortunately, many of the ships with which we do business have what--"

  "A sail, Cap'n!"

  The call from Norton distracted Lydia from any caustic remarks about stealing rope. Captain St. Armand dropped her arm without ceremony and went to where Norton pointed before directing the man aloft.

  Mr. Fuller came alongside the Prodigal Son's commander.

  "Looks to be the Marianne, Cap'n. "

  "Last I heard the Marianne was in Havana, stocking up on rum for the Liverpool trade, Mr. Fuller. Easy pickings for us. Prepare for action, Mr. Fuller!"

  Lydia could not stay silent. "Is this how you will teach your daughter? By robbing ships?"

  St. Armand's entire body stiffened, and he did not turn and look at her. "It is a short walk to starboard and into the ocean, Miss Burke. If you do not wish to experience it, I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself."

  "She's right."

  Both Lydia and St. Armand looked at the mate, whose lugubrious face was turned to his commander. Fuller kept his voice low so the men would not overhear their discussion.

  "We are closer to England and you know what is waiting for you at the end of this voyage. If you are taking the child with you, you must think of the future."

  "Do you have any idea of the value of that ship's cargo of rum, Mr. Fuller?" St. Armand's eyes were narrowed and white lines of anger bracketed his unsmiling mouth. Both men appeared to forget Lydia stood there, hardly daring to breathe as she watched the argument.

  "Yes. You must choose, Robert. Booty, or being the father you need to be. You cannot have both, not today."

  Lydia jumped at his use of the captain's name, which brought St. Armand's anger to focus on her, and it felt like he was looking at her down the barrel of a rifle.

  "Orders, Cap'n?" called the helmsman.

  "Steady as she goes, Mr. Conroy. Mr. Fuller, you have the command."

  Lydia's questions for Mr. Fuller were forgotten when a hard hand clamped down on her arm.

  "Come with me."

  "Captain--"

  "Not another word, Mr. Fuller. You have said enough for one day."

  He pulled Lydia behind him, allowing her down the companionway before he slid down after her, forgoing the shallow steps, pushing her into his cabin and slamming the door behind him.

  "How dare you question my commands in front of the crew?"

  Lydia's knees quaked as he paced before her like a panther eyeing an interloper in its territory. She had no weapons except her conviction that she was correct. She straightened her back and clasped her hands before her.

  "I dare because I am the person you made responsible for teaching your daughter. A governess teaches values as well as arithmetic and geography. I would be failing in my task if I did not concern myself with her moral welfare."

  "Her moral welfare? You are interfering with my ability to provide for her physical welfare! You do not have the right to tell me what to do."

  "Yes, I do. I earned that right when you forced me aboard the Prodigal to care for Mathilde."

  She did not mention Mr. Fuller backing her up. The way St. Armand looked she was not sure the captain wouldn't grab a pistol and shoot the mate, then grab another one to finish the job on her. She turned her back on him and started to pull the cabin door open to escape, but a hard hand shot out and slammed the door, so hard it quivered in its frame.

  "You are unwise to turn your back on me, Miss Burke. I am not finished with you, not yet."

  He was standing close, too close. Lydia refused to flinch, or move away from him. She looked straight ahead and his voice at her ear was light, pleasant, even.

  It froze her blood.

  "You are not wearing your cap today. Did you mean to court my favor? Not having to see that hideous rag on your head is only the beginning of what it will take to restore me to a good mood after your puling morality robbed me of a tidy cargo."

  She swallowed and stood there knowing one could not display fear to a predator. There was no place to run, no place to hide from the pirate who stood so close the fabric of his coat brushed against her back. She arched away, but a hard arm clamped around her waist and pulled her up against him, his heat surrounding her, burning away the ice in her veins from her fear of him disposing of her over the side. It would be so easy for a governess who annoyed the captain to have an unfortunate accident.

  What she didn't know was if she feared him as much as she feared her response to his toying with her, alone in his cabin, helpless in his floating world.

  "If you were in my keeping I would dress you in satins and creamy silks so that the sight of you would not depress me. Perhaps you would be dressed in nothing at all."

  He kept one arm around her while the other came off the door to trace along her trembling arm.

  "We have been together on this ship for many days, Miss Burke. Many days and many nights when I could imagine you draped in pearls, adorned with gold, your long limbs entangled with mine. Do you share those thoughts? Do you ever think of how easily you could slip into my cabin in the dark?"

  A warm finger traced the outline of her ear and followed the line of her artery down her throat to where her collar rose up, hiding the rest of her from his gaze. It was empty armor, for with one tug she'd be stripped and at his mercy. She quivered, eliciting a low chuckle from her captor.

  "Scared, little governess? You don't need to be frightened, but you should be begging my forgiveness for your insolence. I can be magnanimous...given the right motivation. Can you motivate me?"

  His lips brushed against her nape, just above her neckline, and the hairs stirred as a treacherous fragment of her mind whispered, Oh yes, do that some more.

  "Do you want me to forgive you?" he whispered, placing a kiss along her jawline. "Do you want me?"

  She moaned, a broken sound wrenched from deep within her.

  "Do you want?"

  She wanted. Her body knew her wants, her nipples hardening as his lips explored the small area of exposed flesh above her collar, her breath hitching as his teeth nipped softly at her earlobe. Liquid heat pooled between her legs.

  She craved him. Even now, even with his threats, she wanted, wanted him in all the ways a woman can want a rough man, one who seized what he desired. She was so sure he would leave her wants satisfied, breaking down her careful façade of respectability.

  And that was why she had to reject her body's needs and choose safety.

  "Captain St. Armand," she said, her voice low, but thankfully, steady. "You can have an unwilling bed partner, or you can have a governess for your daughter. You cannot have both."

  As soon as the words left her mouth she realized they echoed what Mr. Fuller said earlier about the choices St. Armand--Robert--had to make. She could not call the words back, nor did she wish to.

  He stood behind her, still, and the moment dragged on an eternity.

  "Unwilling?"

  It was a dark whisper in her ear, then a chill at her back.

  "Get out."

  She blindly fumbled with the latch before managing to wrench the door open and escape to the small safety of her cabin and the child napping there.

  * * * *

  Lydia tried not to think about him the rest of the afternoon, but it was impossible. She dug her cap out from the bottom of her trunk, secured her hair and tied the cap on. That pirate did not own her.

  Her traitor mind conjured images of what it would be like to be owned by the pirate, to have her keeping in his care, to not have to worry, and hide, and scheme for her future. But
she also knew the reality of such a life was not as Captain St. Armand said. Nanette was a rare exception, a woman whose protector set her up in comfort so she did not have to return to her former life, though it was really Nanette's hard work building on what she'd been given that assured her and Mattie's comfort. There were women who would have let the money run through their fingers like beads falling from a broken string,

  When Mattie awoke, the day was stormy as the ship tossed in a fast-moving Atlantic squall. At suppertime, trays of cold meats, cheese and bread were brought to their cabin with instructions to stay below. Conroy assured them it was a minor blow and nothing to fret about, and his relaxed demeanor calmed Lydia. She was fortunate she and Mattie were both good sailors with strong stomachs, though she ate sparingly to not risk fate.

  "Eat some bread now and save the rest for later, Mattie. If you keep a small amount of food in your stomach it is easier to handle the ship's motion."

  "Did you ever get sick from the sea, Miss Burke?"

  "Yes, on the voyage to the islands, but I found my 'sealegs' within a few days and now I tolerate the ocean well, but it's a good idea to plan ahead."

  "Papa never gets seasick, but he says cats make him sneeze and that is why I cannot have a kitten. I do not get seasick and cats do not make me sneeze," she finished on a satisfied note.

  The image of dangerous Captain St. Armand felled by a sneezing attack brought on by a soft, fluffy kitty tickled Lydia and she was smiling as the door to their cabin was rapped upon, followed by the captain himself entering a moment later.

  He stopped in the doorway, looking at her intently, and the smile flowed off her face under his gaze.

  "Papa!"

  Mattie threw herself at her father and he scooped her up in his arms, careful of her head not hitting the deck above. The man was a mass of contradictions to Lydia. One moment he was preying on her, or on some hapless merchant ship, the next he was the doting father.