The Pirate's Secret Baby (2 page)

"Miss Burke was explaining to me that she spoke with you this morning, Captain," Cornelia Olifiers said. Madame looked her usual competent and attractive self, her silvered chestnut hair neatly arranged in a bun at her neck, and her smoke-blue eyes twinkled at him over the steam rising from the cup she raised to her lips. Her cap was a confection of Brussels lace, enhancing her appearance, not like the rag atop the head of the woman next to her.

"I confess I was not at my best this morning and may have given Miss...Burke?...a less than coherent response," Robert said, fixing a look that had charmed him out of many difficult situations.

Gray, faded and bland Miss Burke only stared at him, unmoved, but he was not willing to concede defeat or change tactics just yet.

Cornelia rose, and Robert did as well.

"I will leave the two of you to talk in private," she said, taking her cup with her as she left the room.

Robert helped himself to the shirred eggs and airy pastries on the table, as well as a slice or two of ham. Cornelia kept an excellent kitchen and he was not about to let some scowling spinster ruin his appetite.

He expected her to start haranguing him while he ate, but she stayed silent. To his dismay he began to feel nervous, wondering what was going through her head. Finally, when the thick atmosphere became more than he could stand, he set down his knife and fork and watched her calmly drinking her coffee.

"I thought you had a tirade you wished to share with me, Miss Burke. Was that all resolved earlier?"

She dabbed at her lips and pushed her plate away, fixing her eyes on him. They were the same shade as a malachite carving in his cabin, a fierce little goddess of Aztec origin who'd been in the possession of a Spanish merchant. The Spanish brig had an encounter with
The Prodigal Son
west of Cuba and Robert kept the smooth stone figurine as a memento of a profitable day.

"I realize you were befuddled by alcohol and your wretched excesses of the previous night, but do you recall anything I said, Captain? Anything at all?"

He sipped his own coffee, trying to think. She'd called him names, dumped a pitcher over his head, refused to fuck him...

"Daughter. You said
my daughter
. A ridiculous statement, since I have no children. I am quite careful in such matters."

"Not careful enough," the woman snapped. "Nanette Lestrange bore your child and before you protest, once you see Mathilde you will see for yourself she is yours."

Robert set down his cup, his fingers gone nerveless.

"Impossible. Nanette would inform me if such a thing happened. I would have made arrangements for a child."

The governess raised her eyebrows. She appeared surprised that he'd assume financial responsibility for any by-blows.

"Nanette said you left her well able to take care of herself," she grudgingly admitted. "She took the money you gave her and opened a dress shop that was popular and profitable in Philipsburg."

"Where is Nanette now?"

Miss Burke swallowed, and when she looked up at him there was a shadow in her eyes.

"Nanette is dead?"

She nodded, and Robert found his appetite gone.

"Nanette Lestrange," he said. "She was good to me when I first arrived in the islands."

He remembered the Frenchwoman who was soft and welcoming, patient with a youngster who did not know nearly as much as he thought he did, but knew a great deal more about life, and pleasing women, and pleasing himself by the time Nanette finished instructing him. A few rich strikes at sea and he'd returned to buy out Nanette's contract with Madame and set her up in her own quarters until they parted on friendly terms.

"An illness carried Nanette off last summer. Now I have a new position awaiting me and I can no longer care for Mathilde," the governess said.

"I would pay you," he said quickly. "You could continue to care for the child."

Miss Burke's look at this statement came close to freezing Robert's guts.

"You have not even met your daughter and already you wish to be rid of her? I am not Mathilde's mother, nor am I her father. She is your responsibility, Captain St. Armand. Loathe as I am to leave her with a pirate wastrel, she is still your daughter."

"I am not a wastrel," Robert muttered, his mind awhirl at the thought of a child in his care. He knew himself well enough that he could think of few people less suited to raise offspring.

She rose from the table and Robert jumped up.

"Where are you going?"

"I am saying farewell to Mathilde, and then I am leaving this establishment," she said, her tight mouth puckering at the idea of spending a minute longer in a bawdy house than absolutely necessary.

"Wait! No, you cannot leave! Who will take care of the child?"

Miss Burke sighed.

"
Mathilde
is eight years old, Captain, in case you are unable to do the arithmetic. She is quite capable of dressing herself and if you provide her with food, she can feed herself as well. She is an intelligent child and will grow up to be a warm and caring individual, despite her paternity. Nanette was an excellent mother," she finished softly.

Robert stared at the governess, as if he could hold her in place with his gaze alone.

"Let me come with you when you say farewell. It will be better if you are there when I meet her for the first time."

Miss Burke looked at him keenly and Robert fought the urge to step back. He had not backed down from a fight since--well, in a long time--and he was not about to be cowed by a drab, dusty governess.

Nonetheless, he fought hard not to fidget.

"That may be best."

She turned to leave, and Robert followed in her wake, the little food he'd eaten sitting like round shot in his stomach as he accompanied the governess outside to the detached kitchen. The few ladies up and about at this hour chirped out greetings in a variety of languages, French, English, Spanish and Dutch. St. Martin was tiny but a busy crossroads, and the ship traffic kept the women well employed and the house's owner comfortable.

"Perhaps Cornelia knows a family who could take her in."

He'd spoken to himself, but the governess rounded on her heel and glared at him.

"You would leave your daughter's care to a brothel keeper?"

"You do not know me, Miss Burke, and you do not know my associates. If I asked Cornelia to find the child..."

"Mathilde. Your daughter's name is Mathilde, Captain St. Armand."

"If I ask her to find Mathilde a suitable home, she will."

"Wait here," the woman commanded him.

Robert stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his boot tapping nervously at the flagstones. He heard voices within the kitchen, then she emerged, a child holding her hand.

Robert looked down at a miniature version of his mother.

Mathilde's black curls clustered about her head, she had eyes as deep a blue as the ocean surrounding the island, and a firm little chin with a dimple that would someday be a small cleft. Her skin was golden, a legacy from Nanette, but Miss Burke was correct. There was no doubt the child was his offspring.

"Greet your father, Mathilde," the woman murmured.

The child looked up at the governess, then curtsied prettily.

"Good morning, Captain St. Armand. Miss Burke says you are my papa. Is that so? Am I coming to live with you now?" the girl said, looking up at him curiously.

Robert's mouth opened, then closed. He squatted on his heels to bring himself down to her level. A glance at the governess showed he'd finally done something of which she approved.

"We must talk together about that, Mathilde."

He put his fingers out, brushing his knuckles against the edge of her face. The skin was so soft he feared his hand might bruise the child, even with a thistledown touch. He could see his mother's bones beneath the baby roundness of her cheek, the same bones that looked back from his shaving glass each morning.

"For now, is there anything you need? Are you hungry?"

"The cook gave me milk, and a roll, and I played with the new kittens. Would you like to see the kittens, Captain?"

"Perhaps later," he said, clearing his throat around the obstruction there. "And you may call me papa, if you wish."

"Do the other pirates call you Captain St. Armand? I want to be a pirate too!" the child said enthusiastically.

Robert rose to his feet and glared at the governess.

"Someone has been telling tales."

She pursed her mouth and looked off at the bougainvillea rioting around the back door to the main house.

"Nanette liked to entertain Mathilde with adventure tales. I'm sure she exaggerated."

Robert feared rather than exaggerate, Nanette had told the truth--at least as she knew it.

"Will we live aboard your ship, Papa? Do you have lots of guns and swords aboard ship?"

He looked down again at the bloodthirsty moppet. Her enthusiasm was a good sign, as he had no wish to deal with was a crying, whiny infant. He had no wish to deal with a child at all, but she was clearly his butter-stamp.

"I am leaving for England, Mathilde. Do you want to come with me, or would you like me to find you a kind family for you to live with here?"

"I want to live with my papa," she said firmly, sticking her chin out in a fashion that looked familiar to him. "I want to be a pirate."

"We will discuss your aspirations later. Stay here with the kittens while Miss Burke and I talk."

"You will not leave without saying goodbye, will you, Miss Burke?" Mathilde asked in a small voice, clinging now to the governess's skirts, some of her bravado diminished.

"I will come and see you before I leave so we may say goodbye properly."

The girl watched her for a long moment, then nodded. "That is a promise isn't it?"

"Yes, Mathilde, that is a promise. I will not leave without saying goodbye, and your father is here now to care for you. You are not alone."

The child relaxed her shoulders and turned to the kitchen and the attractions of the kittens without a glance back.

"Do you always do as you promise, Miss Burke?" he asked as they started for the house.

Her steps were sedate, steady, a drab gentlewoman to the core. Only the flash of her green eyes when she turned her head and looked at him gave a hint of the steel also at her core.

"To the best of my ability, yes, I always keep my promises, Captain. Children in particular need assurance that adults mean what they say. A child wants a foundation she can build upon, people who are dependable and responsible. You may not see signs of her distress, but like any child, Mathilde was devastated by the loss of her mother. She needs to know she can depend on the remaining adults in her life."

The look she gave him rather pointedly said she had her doubts about the person she gazed on now.

He escorted her back into the breakfast parlor, pausing to ask one of the girls to have fresh coffee and pastries sent. Miss Burke seated herself, her spine never touching the chair as she poured coffee for them both. Robert cradled the deep cup in his hand, inhaling the fragrance. People assumed he stayed at Madame Olifiers when he was in St. Martin for rather obvious reasons, but her coffee was almost as great an inducement as her talented staff.

He fortified himself now with the dark beverage and watched her add cream and sugar to hers, her movements graceful and sure.

"I suppose I should apologize for my remarks to you this morning, ma'am."

"You suppose you should? Is that what passes for an apology amongst pirates, Captain St. Armand?"

"Pirates do not apologize. They let their gun speak for them," he snapped. "See here, Miss Burke--I do not know what tales Nanette Lestrange told you about alleged piratical activity. All you need to know is that I am the captain and owner of
The Prodigal Son
, a merchantman.

He slouched back in his chair and crossed his booted foot over his knee.

"As for how I addressed you, this is, after all, an establishment where the women are employed in tasks other than governessing."

The color flagging Miss Burke's cheekbones showed she had not spent nearly as much time in these types of establishments as Robert had.

"Nanette instructed me to bring Mathilde here. She said Madame Olifiers would keep her safe until you returned, as this was your...domicile...when you are in St. Martin."

"Mathilde seems rather poised for a child her age."

"Do you know many youngsters?"

"I have had ship's boys not much older than my daughter, and I was once a child myself, so I do have some experience."

"She is a bright child, Captain. I was not only Nanette's friend, but she hired me to school Mathilde, particularly in English." She toyed with her coffee, then set it down. "She expected some day she would bring Mathilde to you, or at least make you aware of her, and that the girl might have a dowry from her father enabling her to make a good marriage. Mathilde is especially gifted in languages and mathematics, though I have no complaints about her grasp of reading or her deportment. It is in traditional female skills where she is less than outstanding, showing no patience for needlework, though she does well on the pianoforte. Nanette hoped Mathilde would be able to take over her shop someday."

"My daughter will not work as a dressmaker."

"Even if she is not your legitimate offspring? You have no obligation to support her, after all."

He frowned at the woman sitting across from him. "Why are you not dressed with more style, if you were close to Nanette?" It was a rude comment, but he could not imagine Nanette Lestrange letting a sack like that out of her shop.

"I am about to start a new position, and the last thing the mistress of the house wishes is to see the governess dressed more fashionably than she is dressed," Miss Burke said dryly.

Naïve woman. The last thing the mistress of the house wishes is to see is her husband swiving the help in her bedchamber, but this bristly hedgehog posed little threat. Everything about her was colorless. Except for those eyes. One could look into those verdant eyes and see forest glades, emeralds, rivers sparkling in the sunlight. With proper outfitting, a touch of kohl, she could be made passable.