The Pirate's Secret Baby Page 15

  He looked over at Lydia then, and his face changed as he looked at her.

  "Is anything the matter, Miss Burke?"

  Lydia had to swallow around the lump in her throat. "I enjoy seeing a father and daughter smiling together, that is all."

  He watched her for another heartbeat or two, as if parsing her words. "Marauding Mattie is my best girl, aren't you? I want to stay on her good side so that she treats me fair when we're dividing up the booty."

  Mattie giggled. "You're the captain, Papa. You're in charge of dividing the booty."

  "So I am!" he said cheerfully as they moved to go below. "Well then, I have nothing to fear, do I?"

  * * * *

  The lessons continued as the ship made its way to England and the crew showed its anticipation like a hound scenting supper, watching the eastern horizon, each hoping for the first glimpse of land, the men straining forward as if that would get them to their goal faster.

  The stories also continued at bedtime, and Lydia had to admit she was caught up in Captain Johnson's stories of blood, gore and courage.

  "So Mary Read's mother, described here as 'young and airy, met with an accident, which has often happened to women who are young and do not take a great deal of care; which was, she soon proved to be with child again.'"

  "Was my mother young and airy, Papa?"

  Captain St. Armand put his finger in the book to mark his place and looked at his daughter. "Your mother was a delightful lady, and I believe 'young and airy' is an excellent description of her."

  "Did you fall in love?"

  He hesitated, then nodded. "I loved your mother Nanette as one loves the best of friends. She was someone I turned to for friendship, and for laughter, and we shared that."

  "And hugs, Papa? Maman was good at hugging," she finished, a catch in her voice.

  "Yes, Mattie, your mama was good at hugging," he said gently.

  "I am glad, Papa, that you and Maman were in love and that you were friends. It is good to have friends. Turnbull and Nash are my friends and my mates, and Conroy also. Are you and Miss Burke friends?"

  "Mattie, why don't you let your father continue reading so we don't have to cut your story short at bedtime?"

  They looked at Lydia, who'd been sitting quietly on her bunk, listening to Captain St. Armand's deep voice carry her away to far off times and lands. It was best to do that, not to disillusion Mathilde about the relationship between her and the pirate.

  "As you say, Miss Burke. Where was I? Oh, yes...so Mary Read was raised as a boy and went into service as a footman..."

  He continued with Mary Read's amazing adventures, every bit as fantastical as Anne Bonny's. Read had been a footman, ran off from that post and joined a man-of-war, then carried arms in Flanders in a regiment of foot, as a cadet. While serving in Flanders, she fell in love with a Flemish soldier, according to Johnson, and after marrying him--a move that made Lydia want to cheer for the girl's conventional behavior--began living openly as a woman.

  "But then, her husband died and Mary resumed life as a man, shipping out to the West Indies, and she fell in with pirates."

  "Is that how she met Anne Bonny?"

  "Yes, Mathilde. She also took another husband. Johnson says Mary fell in love again, and 'her young man being made of flesh and blood, he responded in kind and they plighted their troth to one another. She would not name him during her trial for he had been acquitted, not wishing to be a pirate.'"

  "Oh, now this is interesting. It says Mary's husband had an enemy, another pirate who intended to do him harm. They quarreled, and Mary's unnamed husband was to fight a duel with the man. Instead, Mary--whom everyone else thought was a man--challenged her husband's enemy herself and fought a duel, killing him two hours before her lover was supposed to fight a duel with the man himself. Now, that's a woman who has your back protected! Johnson praises Mary, saying she was honorable in her own fashion, true to her husbands, modest, brave. All admirable qualities. It's unusual for Johnson to say anything good about pirates, so we can agree that Mary Read was an exceptional woman."

  "But what about Anne and Mary?"

  "We'll read more about them another time, Maurading Mattie. Now it's time for my goodnight hug."

  He set the book aside and leaned down, and two little arms snaked around his neck, squeezing him tight before his daughter smacked a kiss on his cheek. He returned the favor, and then tucked her under the covers.

  "Good night, Mathilde."

  "Good night, Papa. Good night, Miss Burke," the child said, already halfway to sleep.

  Lydia rose to her own feet, looking down at the deceptively angelic face above the coverlet, eyes closed, eyelashes fanning out against her skin. Mattie was browned from her time up on deck, her complexion an inheritance from the Caribbean and a legacy of her African great-grandmother. Life would be difficult enough for Mattie in England as a pirate's bastard, looking like an island child made it that much harder. She had to have some faith Mattie's father would take care of her and see to her welfare and protection.

  She hoped St. Armand would marry, for the child needed mothering. But she sighed to herself, knowing there would be women aplenty attracted to the pirate's looks and money, but a good woman willing to take on his bastard child--that would be a rare creature indeed.

  Chapter 14

  "Is it always this cold?"

  Lydia bent down and picked the child up in her arms with an "oof." "Mattie, I believe you've grown a foot and added a stone of muscle aboard ship!"

  Mattie giggled, but snuggled in closer to her governess to warm up. Lydia couldn't say for certain, but Mattie seemed tall for her age and the constant activity aboard the Prodigal Son had added sinewy strength to her body.

  Their arrival in Liverpool was marked by a gray mizzle dampening the air and their clothes. It was only autumn, but Lydia'd forgotten, after years in the sunshine and warmth of the West Indies, how unpleasant the weather could be.

  "It is often damp and raining here, but the weather can turn sunny quickly. You'll enjoy the summers when the days are long, and perhaps this winter you'll see your first snowfall."

  "Do people hide inside when it snows?"

  "Oh no, especially not the children! There are snowball fights, and sleds, and making snow angels and skating. And when you're all done, you rush inside for a hot drink and cakes in front of a lovely fire," she said, her memories of much better times in her life rising to the surface. Lydia cleared her throat and brought her mind back to the present. "It's an adjustment, but you'll find much to do here that's fun and new."

  The house Captain St. Armand located for them was not far from the docks, but far enough that they'd be spared the noise of carousing sailors and their women. It was modest, the furnishings shabby, but clean and comfortable. Mattie's room was papered with a cheerful blue-flowered print and adjoined another, matching room, which Conroy told her would be her quarters.

  "We'll get the rest of your gear out of the hold tomorrow, miss," he said, swinging her trunk down to the faded carpet.

  "That would be wonderful, Mr. Conroy," Lydia said gratefully. "At the moment though, I'm still adjusting to a floor that doesn't shift beneath my feet."

  "You're one of the Prodigals now," he said with a wink. "You'll always have a bit of the ocean in you."

  "That will be all, Conroy."

  They both turned toward the doorway. St. Armand stood there, unsmiling, hands behind his back. Conroy hurried out of his captain's way, and he watched him, then turned back to Lydia.

  "Is he bothering you?"

  "No," Lydia said, somewhat puzzled by his demeanor.

  "We are ashore now, and the easy ways of shipboard life are not appropriate here."

  Lydia could only stare at him, then threw her hands into the air. "You are unbelievable, Captain St. Armand! For weeks aboard ship you acted like...like a mischievous adolescent, stealing my hairpins and caps, teasing me, making inappropriate remarks, and now you preach to me of propriet
y? Unbelievable."

  "I'm still the captain," he said, a line between his brows.

  "Oh, I beg to differ," Lydia said with a sharp smile of her own. "You are the captain aboard the Prodigal Son. You are not in charge of my life, not anymore, not on dry land. I will have the wages you promised me so I can move on. I am in England now," she brazened out, "no longer at your mercy as commander of your vessel."

  In response he kicked the door shut behind him, enclosing the two of them in the room, a room that seemed much smaller with both of them in it and the bed behind her.

  "For such an intelligent woman you say amazingly foolish things."

  He advanced toward her and even though she wanted to take a stand she could feel her feet moving her backward until she hit the wall, but he continued until he was directly in front of her, one hand propped alongside her head.

  She heard noises from below, street noises, voices, but all of that faded as her eyes tracked his hand, moving into her line of sight, hovering over her chest. She drew in a sharp breath, but he did not touch her. Not there. Instead she felt his warm fingers sliding along the line of her jaw, stroking back toward her ear, and her eyelids fluttered even as she fought the feelings his touch roused in her. He framed her jaw with his long fingers and angled his head, stopping at the very edge of her mouth, not swooping at her as she'd expect from him. Was he waiting for her to say no?

  It was an empty question a heartbeat later as his lips brushed against hers, thoughts of "no" receding into the recesses of her mind. Every time he touched her it was so wrong, but like so many choices in her past, "wrong" was not as important as "right now."

  His lips continued their gentle glide, and she leaned forward, away from the wall, closer to danger. That was all the signal he needed to deepen the kiss, moving both hands up into her hair, cushioning her head from the hard plaster, blocking out any noises from the street. She heard only the blood rushing thorough her, her involuntary moan as her lips opened beneath his and her hands reached up to grasp his shoulders.

  He started to pull back from the kiss but she put her own hand behind his head and he stilled at her movement, caught by surprise at her response.

  She'd be surprised by her response later. Right now she just wanted to feel, to escape her worries for a few moments and only dwell in the present, in the sensations of his mouth, his tongue gliding against hers, his small noise of surprise at her fervent acceptance of his attentions. She deepened the kiss, until a noise from below pulled her back into the present.

  Back to sanity.

  She opened her eyes when his hands moved on, away from her, no longer touching her.

  Instead of the triumphant gleam she'd expect to see in his eyes, he looked bemused, almost unsure of himself as he backed away from her.

  He cleared his throat, watching her, observing her. She knew her color was high, her breathing rapid, and his eyes lowered to where her breasts peaked against her garments, swollen and sensitive from her passion.

  Lydia fell back on her rising anger, moving her passion in a different direction. He would get nothing more from her, no explanations or entreaties. She was no longer a young girl swayed by a charming rogue's ways, she was a woman with a future.

  A future, and a past.

  "Give me back my cap."

  He looked down, appearing surprised at the object he clutched.

  "Miss Burke..." he stopped, holding the cap. He ran his free hand across his face, as if wiping a slate of jumbled thoughts clean. When he looked up again he wore his usual insouciant expression, which enflamed her even more.

  "Give me my cap, you...you..."

  "Ah ah, do not use language that you'll later regret, a nice lady like yourself."

  The anger was good. The clean flame of it burned away the darker emotions that roiled through her.

  "You broke your word! You promised me you wouldn't take my caps!"

  "I promised you I would not take your caps aboard ship. As you so imprudently pointed out, we are no longer aboard the Prodigal, so that promise no longer stands. This is only a small demonstration of how far my reach extends, aboard ship or on dry land. You have only yourself to blame for this predicament," he ended unnecessarily and gloatingly.

  That was outside of enough! She moved toward him as he dangled her cap above her head, his long arms keeping it out of her grasp, and she stopped herself from using her fist to try and break his nose for him again, stopped before she was close enough for him to grab her. She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen in momentary alarm at her belligerent stance.

  "Your lessons have not advanced to the point where that would be a wise move, unless you want to find yourself in my arms again?" he finished with a look tempting her to punch him anyway.

  But she refrained. Just as she had learned some measure of prudence in her deportment, she could keep from murdering the pirate for just a few more days.

  Lydia drew herself up to her full height, grasped the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger and drew in a deep breath, a mistake as his scent was still in her nostrils, his citrus soap on her hands.

  "You will not ruin my day, Captain St. Armand. You no longer have any say in my wardrobe. Pay me! Pay me what I am owed and we will both move on with our lives."

  "You said you would stay here until I found another governess."

  "No. I did not say that. Do not try and manipulate my words. We had a bargain, I expect you to honor it."

  His smile faded as he studied her, no doubt expecting his silence would prompt another outburst.

  Not likely. He knew too much about her already, information damaging to her. The last quarter hour under the sway of his kisses had shown him that, even if he knew nothing else about her.

  "Nothing is going to happen tonight, Miss Burke. I cannot access the funds that quickly--no, let me amend that. I will not get the money tonight. I have other plans. That is what I came to tell you before you started smothering me with kisses."

  "Wha--"

  He ignored her spluttering outrage and continued, "Mattie, Mr. Fuller and I are dining tonight with Mrs. Riley, the widow of Jeremiah, one of my former crewmen. She has young children Mattie's age and I thought Mattie would enjoy spending time with other youngsters before we move on. You are welcome to join us."

  He'd done it again. He'd managed to surprise her. She would have expected the notorious Robert St. Armand to head for the nearest whorehouse and drink and wench his way through the evening while she stayed in the house with Mathilde.

  This changed everything and her mind raced to keep up.

  "No, thank you, Captain. That is a thoughtful offer, but I think I will stay in. It's been a long time since I had a quiet evening just to relax with a book."

  "I do not think I like finding myself taking second place to a book."

  "That's because you generally spend time with women who would rather discuss fashion and admire your form rather than ones who are literate."

  He acknowledged this and bowed, turning to leave.

  "My cap?"

  He paused, turning back to her. Then he lifted the cap to his nose and inhaled, a rather prosaic act causing heat to flare in her again. He stuffed the cap in his jacket pocket.

  "My cap, Miss Burke. Enjoy your evening."

  Chapter 15

  Lydia hurried along the dark street, head down, clutching her shawl around her. The secondhand clothing dealer had been reluctant to pay what Lydia demanded for her brocade coat, but the fur collar and cuffs finally sealed the bargain. It was a loss, but a necessary one, much as she was missing the garment now for its warmth. There was a deeper coldness at the act of giving up the item Sails sewed for her, the coat Robert St. Armand designed for her to complement her and make her attractive, even if it was just for a few weeks aboard a pirate vessel.

  It was better this way. Now she wouldn't have to explain where she obtained such a fine garment. Now she had money, or did have, before she used all her remaining funds
to purchase a ticket on one of the new packets making the Liverpool to New York run. It amazed her to think she could board the ship at a set time rather than wait around for the captain to decide to sail, but it also made her quick escape possible.

  The house was dark when Lydia let herself back in to grab what she could carry and head to the docks. She would find someplace to hide away from prying eyes until she boarded the ship. She'd done it before. But she must write Mattie a letter first, a letter she hoped would help explain why Lydia had to leave. She couldn't tell the child the truth, but she could try to assure her that she loved her, even if Mathilde only felt the pain of abandonment once again. Maybe she'd forgive Lydia some day. The child had suffered so much loss already and heaven only knew what would come of her living with a pirate. Lydia couldn't damage her spirit further by leaving without saying goodbye, even if it was only in a letter.

  St. Armand did not keep servants overnight, not trusting his safety to anyone but his own crew, not wishing to leave himself vulnerable. Not trusting people was something she understood and the empty hall echoed with her steps on the creaking stairs.

  Lydia lit a lamp and sat at the small desk, a sheet of foolscap before her as she tried to put into words what was in her heart. The scratching of the quill was amplified in the silence.

  "Leaving a note? Seems rather inadequate, don't you think?"

  Odd that on hearing the cool voice come out of the darkness her first thought would be, Oh, now this dress is inkstained and ruined.

  It was unlikely she'd survive until dawn to worry about it. She stayed still, staring down at the black ink spilling across the desk. He was behind her, between her and the door, and she knew she'd not escape him. She didn't know why she feared he would kill her. Maybe it was their being alone together, ashore in an empty house without witnesses. Maybe disaster and retribution was what she'd come to expect as her due.