The Pirate's Secret Baby (41 page)

He sat back and gazed at Thomas almost benevolently, but a wild glance around the room showed the others seated there were not looking benevolent at all.

"Why then?" he croaked.

"Do you think you found me by chance, Wilson, or through your own skills? You are not that intelligent. You were directed here, much as a steer is led to the slaughterhouse. You may recall my men over there, the ones who stood you a round in London."

He pointed out two of the darts players. One was a tall, bald mulatto, the other ginger-haired and missing two fingers on his left hand. Thomas remembered them. They were sailors off a ship newly arrived from the Caribbean.

"
The Prodigal Son
," he whispered in rising horror. "You are the pirate St. Armand."

"Nonsense," the pirate said, with a smile out of Thomas's nightmares. "I am Huntley, everyone knows that. Gibson knows it, which is why he was willing to give me the use of his establishment this evening."

"You can't try anything," Thomas protested. "There's someone in the private parlor."

"Indeed there is, and I imagine that person has been listening to our conversation tonight with great interest."

He raised his voice at the end of this and to Thomas's dismay, Lydia Burke stepped out. She was more mature than the apprehensive girl who'd fled his grasp, and she did not look cowed or scared now. Rather, she looked ready to injure him again and he hunched over, protecting his gonads.

"Since I'm Huntley and not this St. Armand fellow, I understand I must challenge you to a duel for insulting this lady. If I were a pirate, I would just dispose of you, but I'm willing to give you a fighting chance."

"You do not need to battle this man on my behalf," Lydia Burke said, scowling.

"I must have
some
reason. Sails, why am I challenging this bilge rat to a duel?"

"His waistcoat's ugly, Cap'n--I mean my lord. Ugly enough to make birds fall from the trees dead with horror."

"There you have it, Wilson. I cannot allow you to walk around slaughtering innocent larks. You will meet me tomorrow morning, at dawn, for your insults to the lady, and on behalf of the birdies. It does not matter whether you choose swords or pistols," he said, waving his hand negligently. "I have a great deal of experience dispatching faster, smarter, and stronger men than you. This is what will happen... If you bring swords I will first disable your arms, then slice low across your belly. With your arms injured you will find it difficult to tuck your guts back in, trust me on this. If you bring pistols I will blow your balls off. That is not always a fatal wound. You may survive, whether you want to or not. If you bring clubs, I will club you until your brains spatter my boots. Then I will sit down and eat a hearty breakfast. I love mornings that start that way."

Thomas wiped his damp palms on his lap. He realized two things. One was that something went terribly wrong with his plans. The other was he was in imminent danger of pissing himself, but he hadn't gotten this far in his career by caving in to the first sign of trouble.

"You cannot threaten me in front of all these witnesses, whoever you are, Huntley or St. Armand. I don't have to duel with you. I have friends in London, powerful friends, they'll take care of you and that strumpet."

There was a stirring from the men in the room but Huntley held a hand up and they settled themselves.

"I said before you are not as clever as you think you are, and you just proved it by threatening me and insulting Miss Burke, again. You're correct, you do not have to show up for a duel. You should know, though, men who threaten
me
tend to have odd accidents."

"Accidents?"

"One ready to testify against me fell on a knife and disembowled himself. Another had an unfortunate episode where his bedsheets became tangled around his neck. Then there was the poor sod who walked off a sea cliff after managing to tie his hands behind his back. I still don't know how he did it. All of your so-called witnesses?" He gestured to the room so quiet now Thomas heard the soft scrape of a knife being dragged across a stone to hone its edge. He did not look around to see who was doing this, but kept his eyes on the man in front of him, still talking in the same soft tones.

"These men are quite fond of our governess.
Their
intention is not to let you leave alive this evening. I'm prepared to offer you an alternative."

"Alternative?" he croaked

"Life--of a sort."

He nodded and rough hands grabbed Thomas, yanking his arms behind his back and securing his wrists. When he started yelling for help, they shoved a dirty rag in his mouth.

"That's better," Huntley said, standing and leaning close to Thomas. He was no longer smiling.

"Since you don't wish to duel, you will take a sea voyage, Wilson. If I ever hear a whisper, a word, a rumor that your carcass is back in England, you will wish I finished this tonight. If that's clear to you, bob your head. If you need further clarification, these gentlemen will be happy to help you understand your choices."

Visions of Italy and gold coins were blown away like a freezing gale, Thomas's mind twisting even as he tried to twist his hands out of their bindings, but he'd been secured with sailors' knots tied by experts.

"I'll take that as an affirmative," Huntley said. "Haul him away, boys, with my respects to Captain Boylston. Poor man, he loses so many of his crew to death and disease, I'm sure he'll appreciate the offer of a replacement."

The last thing Thomas saw as he was yanked out of the warmth and light of the Knight's Head tavern was Lydia Burke, standing in Huntley's embrace.

"I suppose I should say thank you, but I wish I could have dealt with Wilson myself."

She tried to step back, but he hooked his arm around her waist and wouldn't release her. It was as good as a declaration in front of Fuller and the other crewmen in the tavern, but she didn't resist when he rested his chin atop her head and held her close.

"Sometimes, Miss Burke, there are situations where only a pirate will do. I am happy we could be of service to you tonight."

"I know--" she started, then sighed. "England is a land of laws, Robert. If you make your home here, then piratical ways will not do."

"What was your alternative? He was neither a thief nor a murderer, not the kind that a court would convict. A man can be transported for poaching to feed his family, but scum like Wilson escape punishment for their misdeeds. Do not scold, little governess."

Lydia let out a deep breath, the tension of the evening draining out of her. It was more than that. She'd been on the run for so long, always looking over her shoulder, always prepared to flee--who would have suspected it would be a pirate who'd offer her a safe haven, shelter from life's storms?

She'd thought herself done with rogues and rakes when Edwin deserted her, but Robert showed her there could be substance beneath a pirate's leer. As she leaned against him amidst the conversation and laughter of her friends and shipmates she acknowledged a truth about herself she'd rejected for such a long time.

She liked bad boys. She always would.

This time she'd latched onto a man who was deadly, conniving and cunning, yes, but who was willing to be all of that for her, and for Mattie, and for his crew, and maybe, with a little direction and some new outlets, he'd be exactly what the people of Huntley needed.

"Come, Lydia. You must be worn out by all that's happened. Let me take you home to Huntley."

Robert left a bag of coins behind for Gibson and the men cleared out. Some of the crew would return to Huntley, but others had secured lodgings in Ashwyn.

They rode home in silence and after checking on the sleeping child cuddled around a puppy, she slowly walked to her room, so drained of energy that after she unpinned her hair she could only stand next to the mantel, staring into the fire.

She heard Robert enter, felt the heat at her back as he fitted himself to her curves, his hands coming around to cup her breasts through the soft wool of her gown, holding them, cherishing them.

"You need a maid, my dear. Tonight, I will play that role."

He steered her to the chair in front of the dressing table and she sat, looking into the mirror. Robert loomed behind her wearing only his shirt and breeches, feet bare, the shirt unfastened and gleaming white against the bronzed planes of his chest. He leaned over her back and taking her brush off the table, began stroking it through her hair, firm strokes that pulled tension from her even as it worked the day's tangles out.

"Your hair is lovely in the firelight, like a fine burgundy, rich and luscious," he said. "Such glory should be appreciated, not hidden."

He spoke no overt threats against her headgear, but Lydia would not be surprised if her caps went missing again. Her eyes closed as she enjoyed the sensation of a strong hand working through her hair, soothing her after the day's turmoil. It was hard to believe in the space of a few hours her life had changed so, thanks to this dangerous rogue.

"Stay with me tonight, and tomorrow we will start our future together."

"Robert--" She took the brush from his hand and stood, moving away from him so she could think. It was impossible to have this conversation when he was so close to her that all she wanted to do was let him embrace her and take care of her problems. It was a solution, but not the one that was best for her, not anymore.

"You were correct, Robert, removing the threat of Wilson was something you could accomplish that I was unlikely to manage on my own. But after Edwin left me I swore I would never be dependent on a man again. That's why I earn my own way."

"I know. Your strength is part of what drew me to you."

"Then you understand, if I am to stay I can only do it on one condition... Pay me my wages."

"What? Why? You don't need the money, you will be my wife and I will take care of you."

She shook her head slowly, never taking her eyes off of him. "I am a woman grown and I will never be dependent on a man again. Pay me."

He stepped back, away from her, and her heart sank. "This is ridiculous! You don't trust me? I cannot believe you will let money come between us!"

She knew what she was doing was risky, but the pirate St. Armand was too used to taking what he wanted, and she was not pirate booty. He awkwardly tugged at his shirt cuff and she felt her heart soften. He was nervous. Afraid she'd reject him, which in a sense she just had. He would to do anything to keep her, whether it was killing a man, withholding her wages, or seducing her into his bed.

Lydia took a hesitant step forward, then another, until she was close enough to place her hand on his broad chest and look up into those eyes, dark as the midnight skies. With her other hand she brushed back that errant curl falling across his forehead and left her hand alongside his face. She could feel a pulse there, strong and steady beneath her fingers.

"Robert--even if you never gave me a farthing, if I want to leave, I will leave. I will find a way, just as you did when you found your situation here unbearable, just as I did in London. But I will not leave the man I love, and I will not leave my children, and I will not have an affair with the dancing master. You must have faith in me. You must trust
me
, and I will have faith in you if you show me you understand what I need."

His face, usually so full of expression, was unreadable as he looked at her. Then he turned on his heel and left, taking her heart and her soul with him.

Well. She'd gambled, and she'd lost.

Lydia sat on the edge of her bed, her legs unable to hold her. She didn't know how long she sat, listening to nothing but the small sounds of a house asleep, a house she'd thought could be her home after so long. It was better this way. She had to know Robert trusted her, and if he did not, then there was no basis for their marriage. If she stayed there would be some happiness because of Mattie, and having a home, but she'd never have Robert's heart, not fully, not without his trust.

A noise from the doorway made her glance up and Robert stood there, a paper in his hand.

"Here. It is a bank draft. I did not have enough coin on hand."

He walked over to her, put it in her hand, and she did not look at it. She did not have to.

"You have what you asked for, Lydia Burke. You have enough money now to leave, to go back to the islands, to go to Paris or America or wherever you want."

He looked down at her, his heart in his eyes.

"Will you stay?" he whispered.

She set the bank draft facedown on the table next to her bed and stood, taking his face between her hands.

"You are a good man, Robert St. Armand Huntley. Not just a good pirate, you are a good man."

"You are the first person in the universe to make that statement," he said, bemused.

"Notice I did not say you are perfect, or that there isn't room for improvement. Your propensity for solving problems at knifepoint can be addressed."

She brought his head down until their lips were only a whisper apart. "But we can address them another time, my darling."

Her kiss was the answer to his question, the love she had for him pouring out of her, showing him she would stay, telling him he was more precious to her than rubies, than all the gold in London's banks.

He picked her up in his arms and carried her to his rooms, where it was his turn to watch her undress, removing her garments beneath his approving gaze, until she stood before him only in her shift. She put her hands beneath her hair, pulling the mass up atop her head, knowing that the fire behind her limned her body through the cloth, displaying her to his gaze and she smiled at his expression as he removed his own clothes.

"Have I ever told you I adore the gap between your teeth? It reminds me you are as lickerish as the Wife of Bath."

"'Gat-toothed I was, and that became me well,'" she murmured.

He joined her in his bed, the laughter in his face replaced by a gentleness she'd never seen before, a smile unlike the others because he knew now she'd stay with him, forever. He pulled her shift over her head, taking his time, exploring her with his hands, and his mouth, paying particular attention to those areas he'd learned were especially sensitive, moving his way down the length of her.