The Pirate's Secret Baby Page 7

  He said nothing about the captain and she was about to accuse him, but he was still talking, "As far as your ugly caps and pins are concerned, I will mention it to Mr. Fuller and if anything resembling them turns up, I will be certain you are told. Now, don't you have lessons with Mattie?"

  He reached around her and opened the door, helping her into the passageway before she could protest.

  * * * *

  Robert could almost see steam seeping under his door from where the little hedgehog bristled on the other side. She had a temper, Lydia Burke did. Needling people into losing their tempers purely for the entertainment value of it had ever been one of Robert's besetting sins.

  He was still smiling as he opened his box and gazed upon his new collection of hairpins, secreted from her cabin in the dark. He'd indulged himself last night, admiring the sleeping woman's form. She'd kicked off the covers and her night rail was tangled up around her legs, not far enough to satisfy Robert, but far enough to assure him his suspicions were correct. She had neat ankles and shapely calves. His imagination was good enough for him to assume the rest of her form would be equally shapely. While he was a connoisseur of all things lovely, he found most women beautiful in their own way. A good eye, a winning smile, a long neck, all had something to commend them. Whether they were rounded and buxom or sleek and slender, all had attractions. Miss Burke--Lydia--had more than average looks if she'd let herself properly display it. Those snapping eyes like the green flash of a tropical sunset, the rich chestnut hair, the shapely parts, oh yes, the lady was hiding herself away.

  But hiding from what? Murder? Theft? Robert believed with the right provocation she would shoot him, and heaven knew he could be provoking, but she did not strike him as the sort to plot out a premeditated murder. She also did not seem a probable thief. So what--or who--was she hiding from? A former employer? A jealous husband?

  This last thought made him frown, but only for a moment. Disposing of people who were in his way was nothing new. If Miss Burke left a husband behind in England, she no doubt had good reasons. If he needed to be done away with so she could live her own life, then Robert was the man for the job. No false modesty, he was good at what he did and he considered how utterly appreciative a young widow might be for his assistance.

  He had substantial complications in his life these days, a situation which did not sit well with him. Robert knew himself well enough to understand avoiding complications kept him on an even keel. However, one of those complications was a delightful moppet who made his heart ache, and the other complication was a prickly lady who made his balls ache. Complications, yes, but there were rewards from having them in his life and he hoped to get quite well rewarded indeed if he took care of Miss Burke's own complications.

  As he prepared to join his crew up top, Robert paused to check himself in the mirror, smiling at what he saw. Truly, it was only a matter of time before the lady found herself with a whole new set of complications in the comfort of his berth.

  * * * *

  Mattie preened in her new jacket in the brisk sea air. It was styled as the men's jackets were, but hers was a deep rose that set off her curls charmingly and made her eyes look even bluer. The jacket was quilted and of a substantial weight, and Lydia shivered in her garments more suited to the occasional cool breeze of the tropics than for sea travel.

  "You need your own heavy weather gear, Miss Burke," Mattie said as her father stepped over to join them and admire Mattie's coat.

  "Quite correct, Mattie. Do not argue with me, Miss Burke. You would be no good to us if you came down with an ague from being inadequately clothed. If you're ill I would have to move you to my cabin and nurse you so Mattie would not be exposed to your contagion. Surely you do not wish that to happen?"

  "Surely not," Lydia said promptly. "Being in your cabin is a fate I do not wish to contemplate, Captain."

  She was such a fibber, but she'd gotten good at it over the years, though the captain just smiled at her firm response.

  "Then I will instruct Sails to make you a jacket. If you have a spencer you can spare, he can use that as the pattern."

  "Do you plan to dress me in pink satin as well?"

  He shuddered. "My dear Miss Burke, you would not be at your best in pink, satin or otherwise. No, you should be dressed in colors of the forest, with the addition of the deep blues and purples of an autumn afternoon at sunset. And you should never wear gray, at least not up around your face. It makes you look positively sallow."

  "You would look good in pink, Papa."

  "True, Mattie, but I have all the heavy weather gear I need and I do not wish to overburden Sails. I will hold onto your suggestion though. What do you think? Perhaps I'll purchase a rose silk waistcoat? It would look good beneath a blue jacket."

  Lydia ignored the question, knowing no good would come of her commenting on how anything the captain wore would look stunning on him. He was enough of a peacock already and did not need her to add to his preening and strutting. Instead she turned back to her charge.

  "Mattie, would you like to recite your multiplication tables for your father?"

  Mattie looked unsure, but at a nod from her papa she took a deep breath.

  "Two times two is four, two times three is six, two times four is eight..."

  She stumbled over the sevens but managed to finish without making an error and Lydia beamed with pride. It was a delight to teach such a bright and eager pupil, what every teacher longed for.

  Mattie's papa stood silently, his face grave as he examined his child.

  "I recall it took me longer to memorize my tables, Mathilde, and I was older when I did. You have an excellent mind."

  He looked at Lydia next, as serious as she'd ever seen him.

  "Hold nothing back from Mathilde, Miss Burke. I want her to learn everything you are capable of teaching her. I want her to learn..." he paused. "She has a sharp mind and it needs to be exercised."

  A warm glow bloomed in Lydia's chest, close to the region of her heart. Too often she'd dealt with parents who only wanted their daughters to learn the minimum amount necessary to snag a husband. Anything else would be a waste, or horror of horrors, have them labeled bluestockings.

  "It is and will be my pleasure, Captain St. Armand."

  "Then I will leave you ladies to your lessons, and return to my duties. Ma'am, Mathilde."

  "I will see you later, Papa," Mattie chirped. Her face glowed at her father's praise and Lydia thought how wonderful it was to have someone who did not chastise you for not being like everyone else.

  Mattie returned to her lessons with new enthusiasm, and they were joined by Turnbull and Nash. They brought the slates they'd been using for practice, and Lydia was pleased to see they'd assisted each other.

  "You learn when you teach, Mr. Turnbull. Learning together will reinforce the lessons for both of you."

  "Aye, it does seem easier when I can ask Nash to check my work, miss. And this bast--looby has a good head for numbers when he uses it."

  "Hey! Remember those girls at the tavern in Santa Rosa? They were negotiating in pesos and you were lost trying to figure out what the cost would be for adding in the special trick with the honey and the parrot--ooof."

  "Miss Burke does not want to hear about that, you idiot," Turnbull snarled as he removed his elbow from Nash's stomach.

  Lydia ignored this byplay and turned the subject around to their lessons for the following day.

  "Of course, miss, you know that we could suddenly find ourselves in um, contact with another vessel and be too busy for arithmetic. Or there could be a squall."

  "I do understand, Mr. Nash. The needs of the ship come first. But I am also confident our lessons are progressing well enough that I can begin to plan for our promised tea party."

  The two men looked at each other and sighed, resignedly.

  "As you say, miss. We made an agreement, and we'll keep it."

  They rose to their feet and excused themselves, and Lydia look
ed over at Mattie, who was eyeing the mainmast of the Prodigal Son.

  "That is a tall mast, Miss Burke," she said out of the blue. "Norton told me it's taller than houses up to the top."

  Lydia looked up at the top of the mast, swaying gently, then pulled her eyes away. She was a good voyager, but there was no point in risking her stomach's equilibrium unnecessarily.

  "It is tall, and while I do not know much about sailing, I imagine a tall mast allows the canvas up at the top to capture more wind and increase speed. A short mainmaist would be more like a skiff, correct?"

  Mattie didn't respond to the question, but studied the mast, a frown on her face.

  "Mattie?"

  "Sorry, ma'am. I was thinking. I would like to learn more about sailing. Can we include Papa in our lessons and he can teach us?"

  Lydia mulled this over. "Perhaps...but as your papa is the captain, he may feel there is someone better suited to teaching you. Mr. Fuller makes many of the decisions about when to add or remove canvas, does he not? He might be the person to ask. We can discuss it at our meal."

  Mattie was quiet during the midday meal, but Lydia did not dwell on it. She was following the discussion between Mr. Fuller and the captain over selling the goods filling the hold of the Prodigal Son. Everything she knew about pirates was about their bad habits, dangerous lives and lack of morals. She'd never thought about the business of being a pirate, how once you took a ship you had to have buyers for your booty.

  "The oranges and lemons alone make this voyage worthwhile, Captain."

  "They will bring a tidy profit, but be sure the men continue to take their lime juice. I want everyone shipshape when we dock in Liverpool. Contact Josiah Talbot as soon as we drop anchor and deal with the harbormaster. He'll want first choice and is willing to pay top money for the best we have."

  Mr. Fuller made some notes to himself and Lydia could not contain her curiosity.

  "What are you carrying on your ship, Captain?"

  He took a sip of his wine and looked at her over his glass. She'd heard the expression "a twinkle in his eyes" but she'd never known a grown man who could look so much like a mischievous lad. That would not be a problem in itself, but he also looked too much like a man whose idea of mischief involved an oversized bed and fur pillows.

  "I have select goods for discerning consumers, Miss Burke. Brandy, silks and satins from France--"

  "Seems a long way for them to travel, Captain, considering France's proximity to England."

  "They may have originally been destined for America, or the islands, but when I negotiated with the ships carrying the freight they saw a better outcome for them if I had their goods."

  How the man could make statements like that with a straight face amazed her. Not a twinge of guilt, no remorse, and even Mr. Fuller, who seemed to have some morality imbued in him ignored it and cut at the goat meat in his stew. One of the ship's animals had been injured and had to be destroyed. Lydia was concerned over the loss of the goat's milk for Mattie, but there were still two nannies that might not go dry before they made landfall. Mattie's shipboard chores included caring for some of the livestock and she'd insisted on a brief memorial service for the unnamed animal now gracing their plates. However, she was a pragmatic child, her mother's daughter, and took the loss of her shipmate and its appearance at table in stride.

  "I will miss eating goat when I am in England," Lydia said. "I became rather used to it in the islands."

  "You may be able to keep goats where you settle, depending, of course, on what you decide."

  "Are you leaving me, Miss Burke?" Mattie asked in dismay.

  "You know it was my intention to stay in the islands, Mattie," she said gently. "I will certainly be with you for the near future and help you when you arrive in England, but I am sure your father has plans of his own and they do not include me."

  "Regarding the goods aboard ship, Miss Burke, we also have other products from the islands--rum, sugar, the fruit, spices, coffee. All of these things are welcome in England and will ensure Mattie has plenty of pink jackets in her future."

  Lydia looked up, grateful for his stepping into the conversational breech. Every now and then he evidenced flashes of sensitivity that surprised her, coming as they did from a man of his background, habits and piratical ways. She wondered again what his plans were when he reached England. Would he set sail to plunder shipping in areas of the world thrown into disarray by the end of the long war with France? Would he have to hide from the authorities? Would he abandon Mattie with some worthy relatives?

  She wanted to ask him all these things, to talk with him without feeling on edge. That was impossible. Every time she was near him she was too aware of his presence, of her body's unwelcome response to his appeal. His sensual nature and amazing looks, even the smell of him, it all conspired against her to make her want what she should not want and could not have without dire consequences.

  She'd gone down that road once already, the road leading to ruin, disgrace and hiding. Lydia liked to think she learned from her mistakes, the hard won knowledge separating her from the bad choices in her past. Too many people made the same errors of judgment over and over, leading to financial ruin, or jail, or disgrace, or life in a bottle of gin. She demanded better of herself, and would not be led off the path of common sense by a pirate, no matter how beautiful he was, or how much she longed to touch that smooth chest, run her fingers through the hair on his head that looked as silken as the coverlet on his dangerous bed.

  When the meal was finished Mattie and Lydia excused themselves to take a siesta in their cabin. Lydia must have dozed off, for she was roused from her nap by shouting from above.

  The other bunk was empty. Without bothering to put on shoes, she ran from the cabin, calling Mattie's name, and raced up the companion ladder into the sunlight.

  Nash grabbed her arm. "I tried to stop her!"

  Lydia looked up to where Nash pointed and her stomach plummeted even as the ship rocked through a trough in the ocean. A small figure in pink clung to the rigging near the top of the mainmast.

  Lydia's hand rose to her mouth, and she gasped in shock as someone raced past her, a blur at the edge of her eye. Faster than she thought possible, St. Armand flew up the rigging, barefoot, half-dressed. There was a small platform at the top of the mainsail, just before the tip of the mast pierced the sky. The captain stood there, his arm around Mattie. His white shirt shone in the sunlight, but Lydia could not see their faces.

  No one on deck could hear the conversation between father and daughter, but they heard Mattie wail in dismay at something he said. He continued speaking to the child, then removed his arm from around her. To Lydia's horror St. Armand began to climb down, alone. Slowly. At one point he paused, waiting.

  The ship's crew stood silent, all eyes on the pair above them, watching as Mattie cried out again, but after another remark from her captain, she too began to climb down, slowly. He matched her, staying below her, but he did not touch her again.

  When his feet hit the deck he walked over to Lydia and stood in front of her, facing the mast, legs apart, hands clasped behind his back. Mattie made it to the deck, clinging to the mainmast.

  "Climb again. All the way up."

  Lydia's ears must be playing tricks on her. Surely that quiet, emotionless command could not have been the captain ordering his daughter into harm's way. The child looked at him, white-faced, tears streaking her cheeks. None of the crew said anything. He said nothing. Lydia wanted to speak, but dared not.

  The moment stretched out, only the creak of the rigging and the snap of the canvas making noise in the clear sky. Then Mattie turned her back on them, put one bare foot on the mast and pulled herself up. Inch by inch, she made her way to the top. Her foot slipped once and a hoarse noise escaped from the man standing before Lydia. His hands were still clasped at his back, white with strain as they gripped each other, tension radiating from his entire body.

  When Mattie was a small obje
ct at the top of the mast she paused, then made her way down, slowly, but with more sureness than her first descent. Still, no one spoke.

  Mattie made her way over to where her captain stood. Lydia'd inched forward and she could see his face. It was not the face of a doting papa, but a sea captain's face, the face of a man responsible for every life aboard his vessel.

  "You are confined to your quarters for disobeying orders, Mathilde," he said in that quiet voice which nonetheless could be clearly heard by everyone on deck. "We will talk more of this later."

  "Aye, Captain," Mattie whispered. Eyes down, she shuffled past the silent crew, none of whom spoke to her or offered a kind word. They knew the cost of a shipmate who disobeyed orders, and most of them had gone to sea at an age close to Mattie's. She would bear the consequences of her actions, captain's daughter or no.

  "Back to work," Mr. Fuller called out, and the men turned to their tasks as Lydia watched St. Armand go below.

  "I should have stopped her," Nash said.

  "Knowing Mattie as I do, I am sure she waited until she knew no one was watching who would have stopped her. Do not blame yourself, Mr. Nash. It was Mattie's decision."

  "Aye, miss, but it's no easy thing making that first trip up the mast. The lass has pluck. She is her father's daughter."

  "Indeed, Mr. Nash. That is what concerns me."

  Lydia went below and stood outside her cabin door, listening to the soft snuffling sounds of the crying child. She'd do. A glance across the passageway showed the door to the captain's cabin was closed. Lydia opened the door and walked in, straight over to the cabinet where he kept his spirits. She poured a hefty serving of rum.

  "Here," she said.

  Robert St. Armand looked out the stern window, his arms braced along the frame. He did not turn around.

  "Get out."

  She ignored him, set the glass down and seated herself, hands clasped in her lap.

  He turned his head and looked over his shoulder, frowning.

  "Why are you still here? Do you wish to gloat? Didn't today's events prove you right?"