The Pirate's Secret Baby (36 page)

Lydia toyed with letting them suffer longer, but it wasn't their fault. "I am not angry with you gentlemen," she said. "I know you were under orders. In fact, I suppose I should thank you."

They looked at each other, then back at her. Today they were dressed more as seamen from Liverpool than pirates ravaging the Caribbean, but they were still festooned with gold earrings and likely had a weapon or two tucked away.

"Thank us?"

"Yes, Mr. Turnbull. Please, have a seat."

The men sat, and poured themselves coffee, eyeing the freshly polished silver on the table with a professional appreciation for its value.

"Captain's doing all right for himself here," Nash said with approval.

"Remember, he ain't the captain now, he's Lord Huntley," Turnbull said. "Who would have guessed it, our own Captain St. Armand a baron?

"See, Miss Burke, this is why we went poking around in London. Captain says he wants to drop anchor here, settle down with Mattie, and with you."

Lydia paused from the act of refilling her own cup. "With me? He said that?"

"Not in those exact words, no, miss," Nash clarified. "What he said was, he needed to know what you were hiding from, and if you were facing a hempen jig, we should get the scuttlebutt to make sure that don't happen. People who make the captain's neck twitch tend to disappear, and it's clear to all of us that he cares about your neck too."

"Yeah," Turnbull added from the sideboard, where he was filling a plate with the sausages and steak left from breakfast. "I dunno what you did to annoy that poxy dog Wilson, but getting him to accidentally fall off a pier wouldn't make me shed a tear. Word around the docks is he peaches on his mates, and that ain't right."

Braxton entered the room as Turnbull seated himself, and the butler pokered up at this democratic assembly, but didn't say anything. Lydia knew there would be unavoidable questions and comments downstairs. Part of the problem with St. Armand reestablishing himself in England with his crew at hand was that his pirates were not servants nor were they sailors serving before the mast. They prided themselves on their independence, and while they'd follow a strong captain, he too could have an accidental fall off a pier if the crew wasn't happy with him.

Nash and Turnbull dropped unsubtle hints as they ate that they wanted to know what Miss Burke was hiding, but she had no intention of sharing that information. It was bad enough Robert knew her secret.

"Are you planning on staying here?"

"Not for long, miss." Nash looked around him. "They do things different in the country than aboard ship. They let chooks run around underfoot instead of keeping them in their proper place like we do at sea. Ain't natural. And hearing birds singing in the morning? Gives me the collywobbles, it does."

Turnbull stuffed a buttered roll into his pocket and rose. "Me and Nash are old seadogs, ma'am. We can't hardly walk without a deck rolling beneath our feet. Captain has some tasks for us here, and we'll see what he intends with the ship and then decide. He's holding our money for us, says we can come back anytime and he'll find us a berth here."

Lydia knew if she left Huntley she would miss not only Mattie and Robert in her life, but she would also miss the crew of the
Prodigal
. Where else could she have a friendship with men like Turnbull and Nash, who treated her as a mate and looked out for her?

There were worse things in life than having pirates watch your back and keep you from harm's way.

* * * *

Robert dismounted, carefully, wincing at the sudden reminder of the previous evening's entertainment. It had been a night of unexpected delights and he looked forward to turning the tables on the little governess at a future date. He had plenty of cravats.

He paused at the entranceway once again struck by the activity, the feeling of weight dissipating from Huntley. Maidservants scrubbed down the front hall, a pair of gardeners were cutting back the dead growth from the shrubs in the front, and he found Lydia in the study, examining a globe with Mattie. Dark circles bloomed under Lydia's eyes and Robert felt an unusual pang in his chest. It took him a moment to remember what that feeling was, and then it struck him.

It was guilt.

"Miss Burke, you are working too hard."

She raised her brows at this abrupt greeting. "Good day to you also, Lord Huntley."

"Papa, we are studying geography," Mattie said. "I can see on the globe where I was born, and where we are now. Do you know why it is colder here than in the islands?"

"Because God wants England to suffer?"

"
Ahem
."

"I believe Miss Burke is trying to convey to me her disapproval of that answer."

"Indeed, Captain. Mattie knows why England is colder than the islands, don't you, Mattie?"

"We are farther north, Papa, and the farther away you go from this line here--"

"The equator," he said, but at the governess's scowl realized he should have let Mattie answer.

"Yes, Papa, the equator. The farther you go, the colder it gets. And right here, at Greenwich, that's where we measure all of east and west from. But you knew that."

"Indeed I did, child, measuring latitude and longitude is a sailor's life. We'll talk more about that later, but for now it's time for luncheon. Run along and wash, Mattie. I'd like a word with Miss Burke first."

When the child was gone, Robert stepped up to Lydia and put his hand beneath her chin, frowning at the fatigue he saw.

"You will hire a housekeeper, Lydia, before you work yourself to a nub. It is too much, trying to oversee the house and care for Mattie. I did not bring you here to slave away at getting Huntley in shape. That is what servants are for. The locals will be glad of the employment."

"Is it bad?"

"If Huntley were a ship, the captain would deserve being marooned by his own crew for mismanagement, theft, dereliction of duty... I received an education today, Lydia, on what happens when you only take money out of property and do not put any into growth and maintenance."

He stepped away from her and ran a finger over the globe, giving it a gentle spin on its stand. "Ships are in constant need of work and repair. Careening and scraping the hull, replacing rotted wood, mending the sails. If you don't care for your vessel, it becomes a death trap. At the very least, it won't serve you as it should. I suppose an estate is much the same, isn't it? No wonder so many boys dream of running away to sea, though of course, they're just replacing one set of tasks with another. Ah well, at least there's booty to be had at sea."

Lydia did not add that it had been his intention at one time to do the same thing as his brother and cousin--take what he could from Huntley and turn his back on the estate without another glance. Now, having seen the condition of the cottages, the hope in the eyes of the farmers who talked with him about what the land could do with proper seed and equipment, he felt that unknown feeling in his chest again.

The guilt was tempered by something else, a drive to succeed. He prided himself on reaching his goals, whether it was having the best wardrobe of any sea rover in the Caribbean (hardly a contest, given the competition), being the most favored patron at the most notorious brothel in the islands (ditto), or simply being alive each night with his limbs intact and the ability to fight another day--Robert thrived on success. Transferring his goals from shipboard to land management was not as much of a wrenching experience as he'd feared.

The hardest part would be not being able to deal out summary punishment to malefactors. As he'd learned today in his ride around the land, one couldn't simply maroon or flog people who didn't do as they should, who didn't evidence good self-preservation skills when confronted with Captain St. Armand. He'd already had a discussion with Cyrus Pilling, whose ramshackle dwelling and slovenly yard did not bother Robert nearly as much as the bruises on Mrs. Pilling's face. He took Pilling for a stroll and explained to him that if he wanted to continue in good health he'd keep his fists to himself. Robert made a mental note to mention it to Lydia. She could check on Mrs. Pilling more easily than he could. Sometimes women shared confidences about such things.

It was what Lydia would do if she were Lady Huntley.

And she would be Lady Huntley, he simply had not figured out the best way to make that a reality. One
could
carry off a bride and hold her captive until she said yes to his charms--he knew from experience that didn't always end well, but it was an option.

He could dangle Mattie as a lure, but that too wasn't enough. He wanted Lydia to stay because she wanted to stay with
him
. He was puzzled, naturally, as to why she did not fall into his arms without argument as so many others had done. He knew he wasn't losing his touch. Her cries of fulfillment in his arms last night, the way she gasped out his name when he used his mouth to bring her body arching off the mattress in delight, it told its own tale. The responses from the farmwives he'd met today satisfied him that his smiles still had the same effect on the female population they'd always had. It was just that one, nagging, annoying, prickly governess with her knowing jade eyes and her hair capturing sunlight in its strands and reflecting it like an autumn sunset, her delightfully long legs that wrapped around a man just so--she was the only woman he could not be sure of. His luscious, lovely, lickerish Lydia, who, whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not, was born for a pirate's life and to share a pirate's bed.

Now he needed to guarantee
he
was the pirate in her life.

Eliminating Thomas Wilson would be an excellent first step in making that happen, but he needed to woo Lydia, not just present bodies at her feet like a cat bringing its mistress a mouse.

"Do you want a hug?" he asked abruptly, turning away from the globe spinning like his thoughts.

Lydia paused from where she gathered books on the desk and stared at him. "A what?"

"A hug. An embrace."

She watched him, puzzled. It was not a difficult question, but suddenly the answer mattered a great deal. "Yes, Robert. I would like that very much."

She spoke softly, but it was as if a band constricting his chest loosened. She wanted a hug. From him. He opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace and he clasped her to him, feeling the tenseness in her body, and then the relaxation of her muscles as she sighed, and rested her head on his shoulder.

He knew his shoulders were broad. He'd admired his form enough in mirrors to understand the value of such things in swinging a cutlass or making a coat fit well, but now he was glad his shoulders were broad so she could lean on him. He could hold her and they could stand there together in the silent room, listening to each other's breathing and heartbeats.

But a pirate always wants more, doesn't he? That's why they seek more gold, more jewels, more riches, more wine.

This pirate did not want more women. He wanted the one who trusted him to hold her, to let him kiss her atop the hair that smelled of lemons, to place his fingers alongside the warm skin of her cheek and angle her face off of his shoulder so he could brush his lips across hers, coaxing her, lulling her, sneaking past the starchy barricade of her reticence to explore her mouth, to taste the passion she kept hidden but for him.

"Lovely," he murmured against those soft lips. "My lovely Lydia."

He eased her back against the desk, running his hand up her leg and raising her skirt but she moved her hand across his mouth when he would have resumed his exploration with his tongue.

"The open windows--the door--anyone could walk in."

"Marry me, Lydia."

She stiffened, then pushed against him.

Numbskull!
He beat himself mentally. If he boarded ships as blindly as he just blurted out his command, he would have been skewered, shot or hanged long ago. It was strategy as well as skill which carried the day.

She pushed harder and he sighed and stepped back, adjusting his clothing because it was clear he wasn't going to get relief for his throbbing member any other way.

Lydia brushed down her skirts, then patted her hair.

"It is still pinned. No one will suspect anything."

She stopped and looked at him.

"We cannot make this situation worse, Robert--"

"Yes, yes, I know. I am good enough to sneak into your bed at night when the house is asleep, but not good enough to marry."

"What? That is insane!"

"Is it? Then what is your resistance, Lydia? Why do you keep pushing me away?"

"I will not be bullied into marrying anyone. I am tired of men pushing me around and telling me what to do! I will make up my own mind about what I want, and when I want it, and that reminds me--where are my wages? You promised--repeatedly--to pay me what I am owed and I am tired of asking for what is mine!"

She glared at him and he gritted his teeth to keep from saying what he feared. If he gave Lydia her wages she could leave him, go away, hide and begin her life anew. One did not make a successful career of piracy by letting others possess the weather gage.

He had to come up with a way to keep her here without her feeling bullied or pressured to stay. He had to find a way to convince her to stay because she wanted to be with him more than she wanted anything else.

Fortunately, there was a scratch at the door.

"Enter."

"Luncheon is served, m'lord."

"Thank you, William."

She gathered up her papers, a move that did not allow him to take her arm, and brushed past him and out the door behind the footman.

* * * *

"Let us say there are two hundred and forty-two barrels of rum in a cave, and seven pirates. How do you divide the rum so each crewman gets his--or her--fair share?"

"If you slice one bugger open, it's only six, and that's easier to divide into an even number."

"Mr. Nash, you can't slice a shipmate open," Mattie scolded him. "Miss Burke's right, we need to figure out how to divide with odd pirates."