Never Trust a Pirate (8 page)

All should have gone perfectly. Wilf carried course after course up to the dining room while Mrs. Crozier cooked and Maddy scrubbed at the pots and pans and dishes as they were returned to the kitchen. The waste was extraordinary—apparently Mrs. Crozier’s cooking skills matched her sunny temperament, and Maddy dutifully scraped everything into the slop pail.

“We’ll keep that inside for the night, until the farmer comes to get it for his pigs.”

“Why?” she said, looking down at the unappealing mass of foods mixed together. “Are you afraid it will draw wild animals?”

“It’ll draw children, and they’re worse,” said Mrs. Crozier. “Once they know they can find food here they’ll be loitering about all the time, hunting for scraps.”

“You’d rather feed pigs than starving children?” There was no way Maddy could keep the outrage from her voice.

“You can eat pigs once you fatten them up.”

Maddy was, quite fortunately, speechless, or she would have been fired on the spot, never having set eyes on the suspicious captain. Before she could regain her ability to speak and therefore blast Mrs. Crozier with her rage, a loud crash was heard from the dining room.

“Oh, gawd, what’s Wilfrid done now?” Starving, inedible children were forgotten as Mrs. Crozier spun around. “That fool man is always dropping things. You’ll have to go out and help him clean up. And keep your face down—I know what men are like, and even
though the captain wouldn’t dare to trifle with his own maidservant with his fiancée looking on, that face of yours could change a man’s mind. Go along, now.”

Maddy could barely contain her excitement. She was finally coming face to face with her nemesis. Quickly rolling down her sleeves, she dashed up the stairs, heading for the green baize door that led to the butler’s pantry and on to the dining room, with Mrs. Crozier chasing after her holding a fresh apron. “And tuck that hair under your cap again. Or you’ll have to cut it all off.”

There was no way in hell that was going to happen
, Maddy thought mutinously, taking a deep breath. A moment later she found herself pushed through the door into the narrow butler’s pantry, and then on out into the dining room.

Her eyes first went to Wilf, who was on his knees trying to scoop up broken dishes onto the heavy silver tray. He looked up at her and rose, pulling his ill-fitting uniform down with affronted dignity, as if she was the one who’d made the mess. “Clean that up, girl,” he said dismissively.

She didn’t hesitate, dropping to her knees and picking up the shattered pieces of Limoges. It had been beautiful china, and she wanted to weep at Wilf’s clumsiness as shard after shard of destroyed beauty was laid to rest on the silver tray with appropriate gravity.

“Beg pardon, captain,” he was saying. “The girl is new and she obviously didn’t polish the tray correctly. The handles were slippery.”

Maddy’s back stiffened in outrage, her mouth open to protest, but she shut it again, keeping her head down. Maybe, just maybe if she took all the abuse the Croziers felt like dishing out they’d stop trying to sabotage her. She’d always assumed servants stood up for each other, though Bryony had mentioned dealing with arguments and conflict even in the harmonious Russell households.

“Fire the girl.” The elderly, pompous voice, the one she’d heard earlier, came from the dinner table, and she looked up in horror,
certain she was finished before she’d even begun if the captain himself was firing her.

But the man who’d spoken had been to her left, and she glanced up to find he was sitting on one side, a choleric-looking gentleman who’d probably never been to sea in his life. Beside him was a beautiful young woman, with hair so blond it was almost white, pale skin, and blue eyes that hadn’t even bothered to glance at the troublesome servants. The man she’d spied through the window was at the foot of the table, so he was clearly not the captain, and her eyes swung immediately to the far end, for her first glance at her elderly employer.

She almost dropped the shard of glass she was holding, and she clutched it instinctively, barely feeling it bite into her skin.

She knew that face, even though he was talking with the beautiful woman beside him, not even looking down at the mess his servants had made. Knew that mouth, had felt that mouth on hers what seemed like a lifetime ago, but in fact had only been a few hours ago. He still hadn’t bothered with a proper neckcloth, but he had something draped around his neck as a nod to propriety, and his dark, curling hair had been pushed back, probably another sop to decency, though it only exposed the barbaric gold earring. He had a strong profile—a long nose, flashing eyes, his dark brows slanting upward and his cheekbones high and sharp. She already knew too much about that wicked mouth of his.

He must have felt her eyes on him, and he turned, but she was fast enough to duck her head and finish cleaning up the broken dishes. There was blood dripping onto the tray, and she realized she’d cut herself more deeply than she thought. With the last bit of food scooped onto the tray, she rose, lifting the wretchedly heavy thing with her, and it was all she could do not to stagger, her legs and arms ridiculously weak. Keeping her face glued to the tray, she backed out of the room, while Wilf was continuing on with his convoluted tale of how it had been all her fault, when she heard his voice again.

“I really don’t give a bloody damn how it happened,” her employer said irritably.

“Captain!” the old man huffed. “There are ladies present. Moderate your language.”

There was no apology. “How it happened doesn’t matter,” the captain continued after a weighted moment. “Just get it cleaned up and see to the girl. She’s cut herself on the broken glass.”

So he’d noticed that, had he? What else had he noticed?

But Wilf, the idiot, didn’t get the message. “She’s unbearably clumsy, Captain. We’ll see she’s bandaged before she leaves.”

“She’s not going anywhere. This house is a disaster, and you and your wife have been complaining that you need help for months. This is her first day and she’s allowed a few mistakes.”

Defending her again, she thought dazedly. But did he even get that good a look at her? He didn’t strike her as a knight errant by nature. His smile was too wicked.

By that time she’d backed out of the room, setting the heavy tray on the counter in the pantry, and she was trembling slightly as the door swung shut behind her, hiding her from view.

“Well, I for one do not tolerate shoddy service,” an older woman’s voice broke in. The pirate’s future mother-in-law. “And I would hope my daughter would follow my standards in all things.”

“Not in all things, I hope,” the captain said lazily, and Maddy wondered if she were the only one who caught his subtle, sexual hint in that statement.

There was a laugh from the far end of the table, and Maddy knew she wasn’t alone.

“Of course I shall, Mama,” came a meek voice. Poor girl. She was bullied by her parents, for doubtless that blustery old man was just as controlling, and she was about to marry an indiscreet lecher who kissed strange girls on the street. Though he also rescued them from rape, she had to admit fairly. So despite his thoroughly bad behavior
in claiming her mouth she ought to put that out of her mind and concentrate on the fact that his act had been essentially noble.

Of course, putting that kiss from her mind was far from an easy task. When she thought about it, a strange tightness caught beneath her breasts, and heat bloomed where it shouldn’t. Would her husband kiss her like that? She could teach him to.

Except maybe she wouldn’t be wanting to kiss her husband like that, depending on whom she landed. She was going to be practical and hardheaded, and the unfortunate fact was that titles and large incomes tended to come with elderly, pockmarked, overfed men like Lord Eastham with too much hair on their faces and not enough on their heads. The captain’s smooth-shaven face was another sign of his disdain for society. How would it feel to kiss someone like that when they had a moustache, and perhaps side-whiskers? Tarkington had had a luxuriant mustache, but he’d never kissed her like that, even when they…

Maybe she should stop thinking about kisses, but at least it kept her mind off her sore feet and aching muscles.

“Pssst.”

It took Maddy a moment to realize Mrs. Crozier was signaling her. With a sigh she hoisted the tray once more and carried it down into the kitchen.

“Set it on the table, you stupid girl,” the woman snapped. “At least you had the sense to keep your mouth shut. And stop bleeding all over my clean kitchen. There are supplies in the cupboard where you found your aprons. Clean yourself up.”

Easier said than done, and by the time she’d managed to wash the blood away and wrap a crude bandage around her hand the bleeding seemed to have stopped. She’d allowed herself a moment to sit while she tried to bandage herself, and it would have been so easy simply to close her eyes and sleep, just for a few seconds.

Life had suddenly become a great deal more complicated. Instead of an elderly sea captain full of bluster she found herself in the household of a… a gypsy king. With those long, black curls and a golden hoop, he was a far cry from anything she’d ever dealt with. He was more like something from her childhood dreams, when she’d wanted nothing more than to run off and live in a gypsy caravan, traveling the country.

She’d even done so for three days. She’d been ten years old. Her father had disciplined her for shoving Sophie in the pond at Somerset, which was ridiculous because Sophie had always been a great swimmer, and in affront Maddy had decided to run away. She’d gotten as far as the neighboring Gorton Woods, only to run across an encampment of Travelers.

She’d been dirty, wet, hungry, and miserable, and the grandmother, who seemed to be in charge of the group rather than the old man, took her in, bathed her and fed her and tucked her up inside her own
vardo
. And Maddy had immediately decided right then that she would marry a gypsy and live in one of those wonderful caravans and travel the world.

Of course, she had been so young. And the grandmother had returned her to her father three days later, a brave act since she could have been accused of kidnapping. But her father had always been a fair man, and he knew his rebellious middle daughter well, so he’d simply thanked the grandmother, gave her a gift of wine and foodstuffs, and told her they would always be welcome to camp on his land.

But it wasn’t his land anymore. She hadn’t seen them for years, but she hoped they wouldn’t return to be faced with the new viscount.

Now here she was in the household of someone who looked like her adolescent dream of romance, with that honey gold skin and flashing eyes. And he’d kissed her! So much for her plan to slip through the household unnoticed. Most people never even gave housemaids a second glance, and despite Mrs. Crozier’s complaints Maddy had made
herself as plain as possible. An elderly sea captain might not notice her, but the man who’d accosted her this afternoon certainly would.

She should have paid more attention when her father spoke of him. She’d known he was a far cry from the other men who commanded Eustace Russell’s ships, with his mysterious background, a stint at piracy in the Far East, and a gift for getting a cargo where it needed to be faster and safer than anyone else. Sailors fought to be on his ships. Her father had trusted him implicitly as one of the most valued of his employees, or so she thought, until they’d found that scribbled note after he died.
Never trust a pirate
, he’d written. Why couldn’t he have said more?

This was going to be a great deal more difficult than she’d expected, starting out, but then, she had no choice. She’d committed herself to this path and she would see it through. If the captain made unwelcome advances she would scream her head off. But she’d seen his fiancée—her own complete opposite. Gwendolyn Haviland was skinny, flat as a board, Maddy added uncharitably, with watery blue eyes and pale skin and colorless hair…

She stopped herself, astonished at her own cattiness. Gwendolyn Haviland was a beauty. She was slender rather than thin, with porcelain skin, pale blue eyes, and the blond hair that her sister Sophie assured her was so much more à la mode. She was like some exquisite doll, and she made Maddy feel like an overblown peony, with her dark hair and dark blue eyes and admittedly voluptuous figure. Clearly she wasn’t the captain’s type—that kiss had been just what he’d said it had been—a salutary lesson. She just wasn’t used to lessons feeling so disturbingly… good.

“Greaves!” Mrs. Crozier’s carping voice came from the kitchen, and she couldn’t dawdle any longer. She’d find some way to coexist with the captain, perhaps pretend it hadn’t even happened. Pushing herself out of the seat with her one good hand, she returned to the kitchen and her two taskmasters.

Wilf was busy shoveling food into his mouth, and he didn’t even bother to look at her. She’d been a fool to expect him to thank her for taking the blame for his own ineptitude, but of course he ignored her completely, as he’d ignored her before. Which suited her fine—she didn’t want his rheumy old eyes on her.

“You’d best go up to bed, girl,” Mrs. Crozier said, and Maddy ground her teeth. Answering to the name of “Greaves” had been bad enough—the convenient “girl” was impossibly demeaning. “The captain will probably want to see you, and I don’t think you’ll be wanting to face him tonight. He’d probably fire you on the spot. I’ll tell him I’ve sent you to bed.”

She was ready to put off seeing him for as long as she possibly could. “That won’t be a problem?”

Mrs. Crozier shrugged her thin shoulders. “You’ll simply have to prove yourself, same as anyone. If you do your job and keep out of his way the captain won’t have anything to say to you. But if you’re lazy or nosy you’ll be blistered with words, you will. I hear tell they don’t use the lash on his boats—all he has to do is use his tongue.”

It was a sudden, disturbing image. He’d used his tongue with her, in an entirely different manner from what Mrs. Crozier was describing, and it had demoralized her completely. She sincerely doubted he kissed his erring crewmembers, though there were stories about long trips…