The Pirate's Secret Baby (12 page)

How she wanted to, wanted to stop thinking and just feel, to experience again the explosion of pleasure that came from being with a man. The right man. This man, she knew, would touch her just so, and stroke her to completion. Nanette had not been shy in praising Captain St. Armand's bed skills, and the women in Madame Cornelia's brothel sought out his company as well. His own self esteem would be tied to bringing pleasure to his partner, not just seeking his own satisfaction. He would demand it.

"We can continue this in my bed, Lydia," he whispered in her ear, and that moment, when he used her given name, broke the spell. It was the height of intimacy, shaking her from the sensual fog enveloping her in a brief moment of madness. Her hands clenched on his chest, crushing fistfuls of fine fabric, reminding her of what she was now and where she was.

"No," she whispered, then cleared her throat and tried again, not looking up at his sculpted face. "No, Captain St. Armand. I--I don't know what came over me. I must leave, now."

She pushed at him but he didn't release her, holding her against him. He desired her, that much was obvious, and she feared he wouldn't listen to her, but after an endless minute he put his hand beneath her chin, forcing her head up so he could meet her eyes, his own heavy-lidded, promising sensual delights.

"I will let you leave, little hedgehog, but this conversation is not finished. We will talk, either aboard this ship or when we dock. You will not leave until I am satisfied with your answers."

"Are you threatening me?" she asked, her desire supplanted by outrage.

"I do not need to threaten, Miss Burke. I am merely stating facts so you can come to your own decision."

He released her and stepped back.

"It is time to go to the cabin and read to Mattie. You go, I will join you there."

Lydia did not want to give him the opportunity to change his mind about releasing her, and, after two fumbling attempts, wrenched his door open. She wouldn't look over her shoulder to see if he watched her, smiling that shark smile at her discomposure.

* * * *

Robert was not smiling. Kissing the governess was a mistake. She couldn't learn how touching her affected him. He'd started the game with the idea that she'd reveal some of her secrets and ideally reveal some of her delightful body to his gaze and touch, but when his mouth brushed across hers and those slim hands of hers moved up his chest it was all he could do to not pick her up and toss her on his bunk. Her hesitant touch inflamed him and he couldn't understand it. After his weeks at Madame Cornelia's he would have thought himself, if not wrung dry, then so sated he would not be tempted by a drab governess with shining hair and eyes flashing green fire. It wasn't as if he'd been at sea for months on end without ease, he'd just come from the finest brothel in the islands!

And yet there was something about Miss Burke--Lydia--that rocked his composure and his control when they touched. He'd seen her talking with Conroy and he'd been tempted to walk over and push Conroy away from her, maybe overboard, which was stupid. Conroy was a valuable crewman and she was just a governess whose caps annoyed him and whose scent drove him insane. It wasn't fine perfume or creams, but the smell of soap and a faint scent of lemons and a note of womanly musk weaving itself around her, pulling him in and making him do rash things.

Most of Robert's rash decisions over the years involved taking on foes too large to be easily defeated or prey too fast to chase, but those gambles largely paid off. When it came to women there was no question of rash decisions. On the contrary, his moves were well thought out, studied, plotted. A strategy bringing him hours of pleasure in beds from England to the United States and to the Caribbean. He didn't have to fight his way into the arms of lovely ladies, not when they were all too willing to fall into his, from duchesses to doxies.

Now though just the thought of the governess's chestnut hair spread across his pillow gave him a cockstand that needed to disappear before he went to read bedtime stories. Robert splashed water on his face, retrieved his copy of Captain Johnson and took some deep breaths, getting himself in order to face the ladies.

When he opened the door to the cabin there was a suspicious odor of cinnamon, and goat stew. He looked at the governess who said dryly, "I suspect elves--or pirates--brought this little malefactor supper when we weren't looking, Captain."

"Mattie? Did the men sneak food in to you? Who did it?"

Mattie crossed her arms over her skinny chest and said, "I will not peach on them, sir. I'm not a former."

"I believe you mean to say you're not an informer, Mattie," Miss Burke said.

"That is right. I am not an informer. You can keelhaul me, Captain. I won't tell!"

"Hmmmm..." her papa said. He would never tell Miss Burke this, but he was glad the men were supporting Mattie and that she wouldn't squeak on them. He did not desire a lickspittle of a child trying to curry his favor by telling tales.

"I will leave this go for now, miss. Shall we continue with our reading of the life of Anne Bonny?"

"Oh yes, Captain Papa! Anne Bonny would never tattle on the crew, would she?" Mattie sat up on her knees, her nightshirt tangled in the bedclothes.

"Under the covers with you, so you don't catch a chill, and then if Miss Burke will adjust the lantern we will read."

Mattie hurriedly climbed beneath the quilt, folding her hands atop the covers and looking like a curly topped cherub, a cherub wanting stories of mayhem and murder.

"Now, where were we--did we talk about Anne's special friend, Mary Read?"

Mattie shook her head, her eyes wide. "The other girl pirate, Papa?"

"Yes, and we'll read more of her later. But for now you need to know Mary and Anne were the best of friends. Anne was loyal, and as you say, would not peach on another pirate. More than that, when they were finally captured, she and Mary fought back to back against the seaman boarding their vessel. Anne was not the captain, but was the lover of 'Calico Jack' Rackam. We'll read more of Captain Rackam another night, but suffice it to say he came to a bad end, and it was largely of his own doing. Anne said of him on the day of his execution that, 'if he had fought like a man, he need not have been hanged like a dog.'"

The governess stirred when he said Calico Jack and Anne Bonny were lovers, but she did not interrupt. Mattie's eyes were wide as she took this all in.

"Pirates get hanged if they're caught, don't they?
Maman
said there was going to be a hanging in town, but we would not go."

She sat straight up in bed and grabbed Robert's arm. "Papa, the navy's not going to hang you, is it?"

"No one is going to hang your papa, Mattie. I am too smart and too wily to get caught by the navy. Haven't I stayed away from them all these years? That will not change now."

"Anne Bonny was caught, you said so, and she was a smart pirate. Even smart pirates can get caught and hanged by the navy!"

"Listen--no, don't fuss, just hear me out, Mathilde. I am sailing to England and will make sure no one hangs me. You have my promise on that. Did I not say in St. Martin that you will live with me? That means I take care of you, no matter what. No one will keep me from doing that, not the navy, not storms, not sea monsters."

Mathilde giggled, her good mood restored. "There are no sea monsters, Papa. That's silly."

"And who has been at sea most of his life, miss? When it comes to sea monsters I am the expert. I will protect you from Leviathan and mermaids and krakens and everything else in the ocean, real or just possibly real."

"Will you protect Miss Burke too? Isn't she valuable to us?"

He looked at the dowdy little governess. As cargo, she did not have a lot to offer, though he imagined some Algerian bey might pay for an English governess. He wondered again what her full value would be if he stripped off those ugly garments, loosened her hair, coaxed her to his bed. If he were serious about protecting her, he'd leave her alone. On the other hand, putting her under his protection in England, now
that
had a certain appeal. He suspected he would not tire of her as quickly as his previous paramours and he longed to see what she would look like dressed for a night at the theater, gracing his arm. He answered the child without taking his eyes off the woman.

"Yes, Mathilde, I will protect Miss Burke also. You have my promise on that."

"Good," Mattie said. "Promises are important."

The governess shifted uneasily under his scrutiny.

"You have had a busy day, Mathilde, and if you want your father to read to you it is time for quiet. Questions can come later."

"Yes, Miss Burke," the child yawned and snuggled deeper into her bunk, and judging by the eyes at half-mast he wouldn't be reading aloud for much longer. Sure enough, he'd moved on to the story of Captain Davis and saw the child's eyes were closed.

"Goodnight, poppet." He leaned over to kiss her on the forehead.

"G'night, Papa. I love you," she murmured, and Robert felt that ache in his chest again. He cleared his throat.

"And I love you, Mathilde."

He arose and looked over at Miss Burke, watching Mathilde, a look of longing on her face as she gazed at the sleepy girl. Did she wish for children and a home of her own? Surely she did not want to spend the rest of her life caring for other people's brats.

He did not want to leave her with a child, he was careful about that--most of the time--but after a liaison with him she'd be free to find herself some merchant or farmer to marry. That thought made him scowl and he was more abrupt than necessary when he said, "Our conversation earlier was interrupted, Miss Burke. I will have answers before the end of this voyage. As you heard, I promised Mattie I would take care of you, and it's important to keep a promise, isn't it?"

"You are not responsible for me, so your promise has no meaning," the governess whispered angrily.

"Shall we step outside to continue this discussion?"

"This discussion is finished, Captain. Good night!"

"No bedtime kiss?"

She strode across the deck, no easy thing to do in these close quarters, and opened the door to usher him out.

He paused in the doorway, looked over her shoulder at the little girl sound asleep, then back at her. "You can tell me all you like that our conversations are finished, but I am not your charge, so I do not have to follow your orders. I made a promise to keep you safe, and I always keep my promises."

"My life is my own. I will make my own decisions and my own choices once I am free of your control."

"That's the sticking point, isn't it? You are under my control, and by extension, under my protection."

"A situation which shall be remedied when we are in England and I am booking passage back to the islands."

"So you insist, Miss Burke. Bear in mind that much can happen on a voyage across the Atlantic Ocean. Already your life has taken a different, and dare I say, more interesting turn than what awaited you on St. Thomas? You should be open to life's possibilities, that's all. You never know what the next day will bring."

"As long as it brings me out of the grasp of pirates and their ilk, I will seize those opportunities, Captain St. Armand."

"You're not being open-minded now, Miss Burke. You are not considering the advantages of spending more time in my company. And in Mattie's company too, of course."

"I've given long thought to the advantages of your daughter's company, sir," she said sweetly. "I will miss Mattie. You, I will be glad to see the back of."

"So you say. Good night, then. Tomorrow is another day."

The following days were fair, but with winds convincing Lydia a substantial jacket of any design was fast becoming a necessity. She wrapped herself in her warmest shawl and was standing at the starboard rail with her arms clutched about her when a brisk voice said, "Miss Burke, put this on before you catch your death and are no use to me whatsoever."

Captain St. Armand loomed behind her holding out a wool coat, a more practical looking garment than most of what she'd seen him wear. It was cobalt blue, a deep, rich shade, its gold buttons gleaming in the sunlight. The scent of cedar clinging to it made her breathe deep of the fresh smell. She suspected it was the captain's own winter gear, brought out of storage.

"Here," he said, pulling the shawl off of her shoulders and before she could protest, putting the coat around her so she could get her arms in the sleeves. They were too long, of course, but she used the extra length to tuck her hands in, sighing at the warmth of the rich wool. He pulled the jacket closed and frowned down at her, his hands on the lapels, holding her in place. They were standing too close, there on the deck in the sunlight and the full view of the crew, but no one watched them. Was the crew used to their captain bringing women aboard? Or was it simply they'd come to accept her presence in their little wooden world, and didn't judge her by the same standards as the good people of the merchant class in the islands? As a governess she was always under scrutiny, for while the islanders might tolerate misbehavior amongst themselves they expected the upper servants to be above reproach, their behavior reflecting on their employers. Too often Lydia had to keep her opinions to herself, even when she heard the man of the house spouting total nonsense about the workings of Parliament or discussing the war with Napoleon, and later with the United States. They were all fine patriots on the surface, but every merchant she'd had dealings with was quite willing to trade with American and French privateers when the opportunity arose. Men like Robert St. Armand became rich during the war because there were outlets for their piratical activity, businessmen who cared only how their ledgers balanced at the end of the day.

Maybe she too shouldn't be so quick to judge the pirate. After all, those merchants had paid her modest wages with the proceeds from their dealings with scoundrels of every stripe. Living with Nanette was different, since Nanette made no bones about being anything other than a loyal daughter of France in exile. She'd been more honest than the customers of the whorehouse who paid her in silver, but wouldn't acknowledge her on the street.