The Pirate's Secret Baby (22 page)

"A bowl of broth is soothing, Miss Burke. It is not a feast to remember. Just think of all the wonderful things one could have instead. You could be licking an ice off of a spoon at Gunter's on a steamy, humid day. You could be gnawing on a tender chop, getting all the succulent meat inside you."

Oh yes, now the color was back in her face!

"This is a foolish conversation." She stood, but he did get out of her way. Instead, he moved in, and in farther, because she was backing up from the table, and him, and he knew she wasn't aware she was retreating to the wall until it came up against her back.

"Perhaps that is what you need in your humdrum life, Lydia. Something foolish. Something more solid and substantial than broth. Something hotter than an ice. Firmer than lamb."

He had his hand next to her head on the wall and leaned in. In fact, he leaned in so far that he knew she could feel something hot, solid and substantial against her leg. And it wasn't a lamb chop.

She put her hand on his chest and pushed, but it was a half-hearted effort.

"Stop doing this. You are so annoying!"

"True, but I have other qualities."

"Name one, other than loving Mattie."

"I am exceedingly handsome."

"That's not a quality, that's an accident of birth, a happenstance!"

"I am an extraordinarily gifted lover."

"So you say. I have no evidence of it."

He watched her eyes widen as she realized what she'd said, the door she'd opened. A better man might have ignored the provocation, but they already knew he wasn't such an individual.

He put his mouth next to her ear. "I have sailed to the Orient. I know sixty different points on your body, my dear little governess, where I can bring you to screaming fulfillment using only my mouth and my tongue."

He leaned back to gauge her reaction to that! It was almost all he could have desired.

Her eyes widened and her hand fluttered up to her throat. She slowly licked her lips, the tip of her own tongue darting out wetly. He hardened further at the sight and he schooled his face so his triumph would not show. He had her now.

"Really?" she asked throatily. "You can count to sixty?"

"Damnation!
You
are the most annoying person I have ever met!" he snapped as he pulled her into his arms.

He never lost his temper with women. Never. There were too many other things to do with them that were much more fun than fighting with them. This woman though, she made him do things that made him question his sanity.

Like now. Here he was, kissing her, his arms banding her and keeping her from fleeing to safety as his mouth ravaged hers. He would have expected her kisses to be tart, as astringent as the tongue she used to insult him, but she was sweet as a flavored ice melting in his mouth, her lips soft beneath his, her hands in his hair pulling him tighter to her.

Wait
, a tiny, still functioning part of his brain spoke up.
She's not fighting you.

Excellent!
said the rest of his senses and he let her cling to him as his hands left her back to roam lower, down to the wonderfully full hips disguised by her shapeless garments. Dressing the little hedgehog in more flattering attire was something he would insist upon when they visited the dressmaker.

When he pulled his head back, ending the kiss, her eyes were closed and her rapid breathing made her chest rise and fall beneath her dull, ink-stained dress. Her eyes fluttered open and she raised a hand to touch her lips.

"I am not going to apologize for kissing you," he said softly, all his anger banished by other feelings. All he wanted to do was scoop her into his arms and carry her up to his bed, and spend the rest of the night uncovering the rest of her secrets.

"I would not expect an apology from you, but I will not change my answer to 'yes.'" she said, her voice low and strained. "I will be your governess, but not your whore."

"Not that," he said, one hand reaching up to brush back a curl fallen across her forehead. "A lover, Lydia. You want me, you cannot deny it. We would be good together. It would be fun."

"Oh, there's a good reason to climb into your bed," she snapped. "Fun!"

"Lovemaking should be fun."

"Yes, but I expect more, Captain St. Armand. I demand more. And I know too well that when the fun is over, there are still consequences. Sometimes permanent consequences, as Nanette--and now you--have discovered."

"I cannot regret Mattie coming into my life."

"No, nor can I," she sighed, "but I do not intend to add to the complications we're already experiencing."

"No one would have to know."

"That is the most naïve thing I have ever heard you say, Captain St. Armand."

He couldn't argue with that. Those traveling with them would twig to it soon enough and Lydia--Miss Burke--was correct too that there were enough complications in his life that he didn't need to be piling another on.

But she was such a
delightful
complication! He only hoped she'd regret stopping him as much as he regretted stopping.

"I will bring water up for your bath." He sighed, stepping back. "We stay here while arrangements are made for our journey. This will allow you--and Mattie too if she needs it--time to replenish your wardrobes.

"You and Mattie are not to leave the house without an escort. One of the men will accompany you as you run errands."

"Where are we going on this journey?"

"I am not going to tell you. Not tonight. If I have to put up with some frustration this evening, then it will not kill you to be frustrated as well. Now, let me see to that bath."

* * * *

Lydia sank below the surface of the fragrant hot water, letting some of the day's stress and much of the salt from her voyage soak out of her pores. If she wasn't careful she'd fall asleep in here. It wasn't just the water, filled with sandalwood oil soothing her senses, lulling her. It was the relief that she wouldn't be running again.

It would be so easy to fall into Captain St. Armand's strong arms and say, "Yes! Take care of me!"

It was a temporary reprieve, at best. She'd let a man take care of her. Now she was older, wiser, more experienced in the world and she knew she could only depend on herself. If she was going to align herself with a man again, it would be a man upon whom she could depend for more than bedsport and fending off attackers. She'd meant what she said earlier.

The sad part was, she no longer believed she could have it all. There were men like Robert St. Armand, handsome and entertaining wastrels good for a fling, but not someone you could see yourself with for a lifetime. The idea should have made her snicker, but instead it made her sad--and a little angry. There was goodness in the man, she'd seen it often enough in his dealings with Mattie, and even with his crew. He was not totally irresponsible. She had to be honest with herself. He displayed a great deal of responsibility, if she looked at him dispassionately. But she couldn't do that. Passion and the pirate went together like bread and butter.

She just couldn't trust him, not for a lifetime. He'd set off to sea, find another ship waiting to be robbed and fall back on his old habits. He was a pirate, after all. She'd accompany him to this mysterious home, see Mattie settled, then figure out what she was going to do with her life. And she'd make damn sure she was paid her wages!

If her problems intruded into her life she'd have the buffer of Captain St. Armand, and her shipmates. She smiled to herself at that thought. She'd earned her place among the banditti of the
Prodigal Son,
brandishing a slate instead of a cutlass, a pencil clutched in her teeth in lieu of a dirk.

Lydia popped her head out of the water and finished scrubbing her scalp. Grabbing the pitcher of fresh water thoughtfully left by her host to rinse off, she washed away the remains of the long sea voyage.

"If you stay in there much longer you'll grow gills," said a voice outside the door.

"I will be out shortly, Capt--"

The door opened and he walked in and she shrieked as she covered her breasts and tried to lower herself farther into the narrow tub. This only caused her knees to pop up and it was inevitable that he would get an eyeful.

"Did you just yell for assistance? I could have sworn I heard you say, 'Help! I'm drowning!'"

"Get out!" she yelled.

"No, that wasn't it."

The dastard removed the folded towel and sat on the wooden stool at the foot of the tub, looking as nonchalant as if he'd joined her for tea. He propped his elbow on his knee, put his chin upon his hand and studied her as she fumed and tried to cover herself. A brief list of her options ran through her mind, none of them good, but she tried anyway to grab at her towel, even though this fully exposed her breasts to him.

He moved quickly for such a lazy looking beast, scooting backward and holding her towel over his head, out of her reach.

"Give me the damned towel!"

"Such language, Miss Burke! Be reasonable. If I give you this towel you'll just use it cover those delectable breasts."

He again looked like a little boy who'd just been given a shiny new toy to play with.

"Stop looking at my bosom, you...you...sharkbait!"

He grinned widely at this.

"I knew life aboard the
Prodigal
would expand your vocabulary."

"Scrub! Landlubber!"

"Better, but we'll work on it. In the meantime, what is it you want?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, which made him sigh with regret. "Give me the towel. You said you would not bother me."

"Not bother you? I am sure I never said any such foolish thing. I am not forcing you to do anything, am I? I am not even touching you, though if you would like me to demonstrate Oriental skills one through twelve, just say the word."

"Give. Me. The. Towel. Now!"

"You're no fun," he grumbled, but rose and looked down at her, then took one step back, his long legs making it a large step back. He shook the towel out and held it in front of him, just as she would if she were bathing Mattie.

"Here is your towel."

She was so angry she expected the bath water to start boiling.

"You are not going to hand it to me, are you?"

He just grinned.

"Very well."

Lydia wrapped her dignity around herself since she had no other garment and unhurriedly stood, the water sluicing off of her back into the tub. She didn't pose, but she made no attempt to hide herself either. She kept her eyes on his face as she carefully stepped out of the tub and walked toward him, slowly enough that she saw the gratifying change on his expression from playful to pole-axed.

Plucking the towel from his nerveless fingers, she wrapped it about herself and knotted it in front.

"The water's nearly cold, Captain St. Armand. You might find it useful to cool yourself down this evening. Good night."

Lydia turned and, with her dignity and towel wrapped about her, went back to her bedroom. She prudently placed a chair up against the door before climbing into her bed, which while it was cold and lonely, would not be complicated by a pirate invasion.

Mattie returned the next morning with jam on her face and nonstop chatter about her new friends at Mrs. Riley's including Jane, who had a rag doll with a lace trimmed skirt. The doll wasn't as special as her own Mary Read, but it made a good captive when they were playing pirates.

"They wouldn't believe me when I said my papa was the best pirate ever, so he'll have to go over there later and run one of them through so they
know
," she finished with a gleam in her eye.

Robert St. Armand walked in on this last part of the conversation as Lydia wiped Mattie's face and his eyebrows rose.

"I told you we needed a governess, Miss Burke. Someone has to rein in Marauding Mattie."

"You could say, 'We don't run people through to make a point, Mathilde.'"

"Too late for that, my reputation precedes me. No, this is a task for Mattie's governess."

He helped himself to fresh coffee giving Jenny, the maid of all work, a smile which nearly caused a catastrophe with the kippers she was placing on the sideboard. Lydia was pleased with the cook and staff hired by Fuller on behalf of the household. They were pleasant enough and went about their work without asking questions about the household. They knew St. Armand by reputation, if not by personal acquaintance

A great deal of wrist protruded from the sleeve of Mattie's dress as she reached for her glass.

"It appears our shopping expedition comes at an opportune time. Yon sprat is fast moving up from minnow to whale size," he said, which elicited a giggle from the girl with the milk moustache. "You both will need more heavy weather gear and winter clothes now that we're back in this dreary climate. I've sent a message to the seamstress, and she'll see you and Mattie this afternoon. Tomorrow we will look into new shoes and boots."

"Will you come with us, Papa? I would like a blue satin shirt like the one you have."

"I would be delighted to accompany two ladies while they shop for clothes. I will wait until I visit London to see my own bootmaker, but we can get you started on your wardrobes here. You two are lovely enough that you don't need London's finest tailors to make you look as good as I do. Was that inelegant noise a snort, Miss Burke?"

"Was it the eyerolling that gave me away, Captain?" Lydia knew sarcasm would only get her so far and changed the topic. "Mattie, you and I need to resume our lessons while we're here in Liverpool--how long will we be here, Captain? And where are we going after?"

Mattie too looked interested at this discussion.

"While you're in lessons this morning I will take care of business so we can get under way. We will be traveling as soon as we're able to leave and I've already sent Fuller ahead to make arrangements for us."

Lydia was cheered by this because she knew that no matter what one could say about Robert St. Armand's morals--and one could say a great deal, over hours and hours of discussion--he did love his creature comforts. If she traveled with him she could hope for better inns, better food and well-sprung coaches, a far cry from her life over the years since she left her girlhood home.