The Pirate's Secret Baby (25 page)

He scratched his own chin. "I should have known if we took Mattie to see puppies we would end up with one," he turned to their hostess. "May I purchase a pup--that one, if he's available--for Mattie? Is he weaned?"

Daphne tapped her finger against her lush mouth as she thought. "I will give you the pup, Captain, but he's just started eating regular food. Can you get him at the end of the week? That way he won't be separated from Coquette too abruptly."

"That should be acceptable, Mrs. Murray. And thank you."

He went over to where Mattie sat and squatted down on his heels, listening intently as Mattie explained all about the puppies. Lydia watched fondly, but was startled by a light tap on her shoulder.

"May I have a word, Miss Burke?"

She followed Murray out into the kitchen, where he looked at her out of grave hazel eyes.

"Miss Burke, are you being held against your will? Do you need assistance? We can offer you safety here--St. Armand is not the only one with friends who carry knives."

Lydia was deeply touched this man would put himself, and possibly his family, at risk for a stranger. But she answered truthfully when she said, "I am with Captain St. Armand of my own will, Mr. Murray. Mattie needs me, and I will stay with them as her governess."

He studied her without speaking, hands clasped behind his back. Finally, he said, "As you wish, ma'am. No doubt you are a civilizing influence on the child. If you--or Mattie--ever require assistance, you may call upon me."

"Thank you, Mr. Murray, but my place, for now, is with the St. Armand family."

He looked back over his shoulder to where the father and daughter sat on the floor, their dark curls close together. "The child seems healthy and is clearly St. Armand's offspring. She has no mother?"

"No, her mother Nanette lived on St. Martin but she became ill and died, and that is how I became Mattie's governess," Lydia said, more or less truthfully as they returned to the scullery. There was enough animosity between the men, she did not need to add fuel to those flames.

Mattie was making crooning noises to the little pup as her father talked to her, "And we will bring one of your old shifts, Mattie, and rub it all over Coquette, then put it in the puppy's bed at our house. It will calm him and he'll sleep better at night, because it will smell like his mother, but also like you."

"You have owned puppies, Captain?" Lydia asked.

"I had a terrier once. Samson."

He turned back to the dog, poking a finger under its chin and the pup jumped and fell over in delight at the new toy.

"What will you call him, Mattie?"

"See the brown patch around his eye, Papa? He looks like a pirate dog. I will call him..." she thought about it, then grinned. "Jolly Roger! Or just Jolly because he is such a jolly little darling."

"An excellent name for this ferocious creature, Marauding Mattie."

Lydia said to their hosts, "It has been a long day and it might be best if we end it now before someone gets cranky and unreasonable."

"I'm being quite well behaved."

"I meant Mathilde, Captain."

St. Armand fluidly rose to his feet and they thanked their hosts and promised to return for Jolly Roger. Daphne and Alexander Murray stood close to one another, her hand resting lightly on his arm and Lydia sighed, remembering what it was like to be close to another human being that way, not the closeness of a teacher and pupil, as she had with Mattie, but the closeness of adults who found companionship together, sharing life's events, having someone to turn to at the end of the day, someone who knew you and cared about you.

Mattie perked up when she washed for bed. When St. Armand stepped in to kiss her goodnight, she said, "What about my story, Papa?"

He returned with his copy of
Captain Johnson
and arranged himself on her bed while Lydia took the chair. She didn't want to admit it to the two pirates, but she also was captivated by the tales of long ago miscreants and their adventures.

"As you know, Mattie, Edward Teach, or Blackbeard, was a commodore of pirates, commanding other captains beneath him. He was not a good man at all, but he was a very successful pirate, so successful that the governor of Virginia Colony offered a huge bounty on his head--one hundred pounds!"

Mattie's eyes grew large as her father gave her an edited version of Blackbeard's life, but even so she was frowning at the end.

"'Here was an end of that courageous brute, who might have passed in the world for a hero had he been employed in a good cause; his destruction...was entirely owing to the conduct and bravery of Lieutenant Maynard and his men.'"

"Blackbeard did not treat his crew well, Papa. You are the better captain. I am glad Lieutenant Maynard stopped him."

He closed the book and looked at Lydia. "You seem pensive, Miss Burke. Did you not like it that Blackbeard received his just deserts?"

Lydia looked at the father and daughter together, and thought on Murray's offer to rescue her from pirates. "'Who might have passed in the world for a hero had he been employed in a good cause...' It makes me think, Captain St. Armand, of what could have become of brave and bold people like Edward Teach and Anne Bonny and Mary Read if they had not become pirates."

"No doubt their lives would have been duller."

"No doubt, but I imagine their families would have been happier."

He raised his brows at this statement. "Consider this--they may have been fleeing from a worse situation when they went to sea. Not all families--"

He stopped and looked down at his daughter, who'd dropped off to sleep during their conversation. "We're done here, Miss Burke."

* * * *

They left the room and she paused, looking down the hallway to her dark and empty room. Robert raised his candle to peer into her face.

"Is there something wrong?"

"No. Yes." She straightened her shoulders and spoke brusquely. "Yes. I have a request, Captain St. Armand. I would like to be held."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," she said, her rich voice low, and hushed, but she kept her eyes on his face. "I wish to be held. Not ravished, not kissed senseless, not exposed to fur pillows and exotic Oriental techniques, simply...held. Are you capable of that?"

She swallowed and he knew she'd been pushed far beyond what any reasonable woman could be expected to tolerate. There were fractures in the safe life she'd constructed for herself, fractures he'd caused. The evening spent in the company of a dull and respectable married couple no doubt reminded her of what was missing from her own life. Most of that could not be put at his doorstep, but as he'd reminded her more than once, she was a member of a pirate crew, for good, but also for ill. She may not have chosen a life of danger like Anne Bonny, but she was nonetheless cast adrift.

He did not regret what he'd done and he knew the day was not yet over--he could still do things for Lydia Burke she could not begin to imagine, but for now he could give her what she wished for.

He set down his candle, and the book. Wordlessly he opened his arms and she hesitated, then walked into them. As he enclosed her in his embrace her body lost its stiffness and she rested there, in his arms, silent. She was not motionless. She trembled, as slightly as a fern brushed by the passing of a sparrow. After a moment as long as a lifetime of regrets she pulled back, but his arms tightened about her, offering safety and she sighed and rested her head on his shoulder.

He did not know how long they stood like that, just holding one another and listening to their heartbeats, but she stepped out of his embrace and he released her, reluctantly.

She smoothed down her skirts.

"Thank you," she said as mildly as if he'd passed her the butter at table, not as if his entire world was now realigned on its foundation. Being desired was not new to him. All his life women desired him for his looks, for his charm, for his dangerous ways. The idea of being desired for comfort, that was new.

Any caring man could offer comfort. A clerk in a counting house. A parson. A farmer. A surgeon. You did not have to be a beautiful and dangerous pirate to offer comfort. An ugly man, a scarred man, a blind man could offer comfort to another human being.

Was he worthy of this regard? If he did not have his looks, and his wealth, and his skill at bedsport, what could he offer a woman? What could he offer this woman?

"Now I have a request to make of you."

"What?"

She knew his answer when his lips touched hers, a soft kiss, at first, not demanding, but a seeking kiss, a kiss to learn who she was, what she wanted--no, a kiss to learn who
he
was, what
he
wanted. It was something he'd never considered, never had to consider, but he needed to know, now, that he still had value, this new man who comforted little girls with nightmares and big ones who wanted to be held.

What he wanted now was not what he wanted two months ago. He feared what he wanted now would rock his vessel in ways he could not imagine, put him in waters he could not navigate, not without Lydia Burke at his side. She was so beautiful tonight in her simple gown, but the lowered neckline exposed more of her creamy skin to his gaze and the candlelight gleaming on her rich hair had him vowing to burn any ugly caps remaining in her possession, no matter what promises he'd made.

It terrified him to feel this way about the prickly governess. He'd worried that he could not be Mattie's father, not the father she needed, and Lydia reassured him and helped him understand that yes, he could be that father. But could he be the man Lydia needed? Could she ever come to see him beyond his pretty face and his smooth ways, and value him?

There would be no definitive answers until they reached their destination and she saw him for who he really was. In the meantime, he would protect her from that which threatened her safety, and he would do his best to give her what emotional support he was capable of giving her, because he did not know if he was capable of being the man she needed.

Mattie's repeated questions of when they'd get her puppy drove all to distraction, but they finally secured the animal and said farewell to the Murrays. Mrs. Murray praised Lydia's new Coburg cap of blue velvet lined with white satin as being an excellent and fashionable match with her sapphire brocade pelisse.

The headgear was the last item to be delivered and there were finally enough dresses, boots and bonnets for Captain St. Armand to pronounce them ready to move on.

"Now will you tell me where we are going?"

He looked up from where he and Mattie were stretched out on the floor playing with Jolly, who kept jumping out of the basket Mattie prepared for him to sleep in while they traveled. The pup had done a good job of chewing through the basket rim until Norton gave the dog some rawhide to teethe upon. He tugged at it, then chased it when Mattie threw it across the floor for him to fetch.

St. Armand leaned up on one elbow and gave her his "I'm such a mischievous scamp" smile. She resisted the urge to kick him while he was down.

"You will find out where we're going soon enough. I will tell you I do not expect to be on the road for more than a few days, weather permitting."

Lydia paused and did some geographic calculations in her head. She still suspected they would be near the coast, but ruled out too distant locales such as Cornwall, Portsmouth and most importantly, London.

She was also glad of the new wardrobes for her and for Mattie. One forgot how dank and chill England could be in autumn, and they weren't even into the heart of winter yet. The substantial woolens replacing her St. Martin gowns were welcome, and Mattie looked every inch the young lady in her new gear.

There had been some arguing initially about Mattie's shipboard trousers being replaced by gowns, but Lydia assured her girls could still run and play and climb trees, even in dresses.

"Did you do all of that when you were a girl?"

"Indeed I did, Mattie. I would not let my wardrobe hold me back, and you will find other girls and boys will enjoy having you play with them, even if you are in a skirt."

"Will they call me names because I am a bastard?" the child asked all too matter-of-factly as she bit into her toasted bread at breakfast. Her father looked up from his own meal, frowning.

"If they do that, you should tell me, Mathilde and I will deal with--you disagree, Miss Burke?"

Lydia'd folded her linen and put it on the table. "Mathilde will learn to deal with other children, Captain, it is part of life. She did in St. Martin, she will in England if you will be making your home ashore. Just don't go around stabbing people, Mattie," Lydia added with a pointed look and the child's father didn't gainsay her.

Now Mattie gathered up her dog and her doll, which she'd been careful to keep away from the pup's teeth, and her father picked up the basket in one hand and rested the other on the child's head.

Norton looked proud and capable in his new coachman's suit, seated atop the traveling coach with Conroy beside him, and he gave Mattie a wink when she scrambled in. After checking out everything in the coach the pup settled down into his basket and sighed, worn-out and ready to sleep. Mattie though kept her gaze on the countryside as they rolled along, asking questions about the trees, the crops, pointing out cattle and sheep, and waving at people they passed. Lydia used the opportunity to teach the child about her new home, and knew from the placement of the sun they were heading southeast.

She'd forgotten how autumn in England had its own fragrance of smoke with a hint of apple, crisp air heralding the coming of winter, and she breathed deep. Like it or not, it was the smell of home.

St. Armand faced away from the horses and read, having no difficulty with a moving coach after a lifetime aboard a shifting deck. The paint and varnish still smelled fresh, and they traveled in warm comfort thanks to the hot bricks and their new clothes. The puppy left his basket to curl up beside Mattie and Lydia and share their heat. Mattie finally stretched out on the seat and put her head on Lydia's lap to join the puppy in sleep, and Lydia looked up to see St. Armand watching her, watching her hand resting atop the girl's shoulder to steady her against bumps in the road.