The Pirate's Secret Baby (18 page)

"Never thought an old seadog like me could learn new things," Nash had said.

"You learned how to balance a belaying pin on your head, that's a handy trick," Turnbull pointed out.

"That didn't involve a whole lot of brainbox, did it? Naw, this numbers work is important. I ain't going to get cheated in the market if I can keep track of the coins when I'm ashore. I'm real grateful to you, Miss Burke."

His words brought a warm glow to Lydia's chest, the feeling any teacher gets when a student appreciates her efforts. Yes, they were murderous pirates, but she'd made a difference in their lives, a positive difference.

The cook assured Mattie there wouldn't be a single beet on the menu, but promised figgy dowdy, ratafia biscuits and other sweets. Mattie asked Lydia to wait in the cabin because she wanted to set up the tea party, and Lydia acquiesced, enjoying the opportunity to put up her feet and relax with a novel.

When Mattie returned to the cabin, she debated what would be the more appropriate attire for the planned event. The pink frock that had such a positive impact on the Royal Navy, or her finest pirate gear? After consultation with Lydia she went for pirate, so Turnbull and Nash wouldn't feel out of place.

"That is a thoughtful gesture, Mattie. As you settle into life in England, you'll meet people from other classes, other places. A true lady does her best to make people feel at ease, not attempt to impress them with her own wealth or status."

"That's not what a pirate would do," Mattie said skeptically.

"Do not be too certain of that, miss. I imagine if you ask Captain St. Armand about his dealings with people of other backgrounds in the islands, he will tell you a personable and friendly approach can be quite effective."

"Only if you have big guns behind you, Miss Burke."

That twitch began below Lydia's eye, the one signaling a headache if she didn't move on. Proper deportment for piratical offspring was
not
a subject she'd studied to prepare for a career as a governess. Nonetheless, Mattie's accomplishments, as well as those of the pirate students, needed to be rewarded so she put on a cheerful face and said, "Will I do for your tea party?"

Mattie looked at her critically, the frown on her tiny face so reminiscent of her father that Lydia's breath caught.

"You look very fine, Miss Burke, but your new jacket will make you look even finer."

"I bow to your fashion advice, Mathilde," Lydia said as she pulled her jacket from the trunk, unconsciously stroking the lush collar, the fur beneath her finger tips sending a shiver down her spine.

Clad in their finery the ladies went up on deck. Mattie asked Lydia to wait at the helm while she checked on the arrangements, then came running back to her.

"We're all ready. Wait until you see it!"

She grabbed Lydia's hand and tugged her along to the spot beneath the awning where they did their lessons, but the plain little table was covered with a white cloth, and Nash and Turnbull awaited them. Mattie's china doll sat there as well, along with a rag doll with button eyes christened "Mary Read." It was a perfect day for a tea party at sea, the skies a crisp blue and the breeze just cool enough to warrant the fine jackets the ladies wore. Much of the crew was on deck, wanting to enjoy every bit of sunshine they could before they docked in England. Some of the men good-naturedly joked about Nash and Turnbull being the teacher's special pets, but Turnbull made comments about their ancestries and proclivities for relations with barnyard animals that sent them off laughing to their tasks, and left Lydia hoping she wouldn't have to explain it to Mathilde later.

If the child asked, she'd let her father clarify matters. There were times when passing off responsibility was a pleasure.

Mattie held her clean hands out for her governess's inspection, then demanded the pirates allow theirs to be examined, and pronounced them clean enough.

"Wait, Miss Burke, we cannot start without papa!"

She looked over her shoulder and a smile lit her face.

"Just look! Isn't my papa the handsomest captain ever?"

St. Armand ducked beneath the awning to join them as the men rose to their feet in the captain's presence. In honor of the party he was especially resplendent today, wearing a scarlet jacket encrusted with enough gold braid that it would stand by itself if he removed it. The shirt beneath it was open at the neck, the deeply tanned skin looking especially good against the white linen.

At a word from him the men took their seats, but before he sat Mattie said, "Papa, everyone here learned our multiplication tables to be invited to this party. Do you know your tables?"

"Of course I do."

"Then you must recite them, Papa, up through the twelves."

"Must I?" he said, raising a brow and looking around at the rest of the party.

Nash and Turnbull looked at each other, then reluctantly agreed, and the little girl nodded vigorously, and Lydia said nothing.

So he shrugged, took a breath and started, "Two times two is four, two times three is six..."

Everything went swimmingly until "...eight times seven is fifty-seven, eight times eight is sixty-four..."

Turnbull's weathered skin went ashen and Nash sucked in his breath.

"Beggin' your pardon, Cap'n, but that ain't correct."

St. Armand stopped reciting and looked at Nash in surprise. "What did you say?"

"By Neptune's massive, wet"--Turnbull whispered at Nash, but paused and looked at Mattie--"trident, you're in for a keelhauling now, matey!"

"Naw, the Cap'n treats the crew fair," Nash said stoutly. "Numbers has to be accurate. The sprat knows that. We can't steer a shipmate wrong by letting a mistake go by, can we?"

There was a flag of color in the captain's cheekbones. To be corrected and embarrassed this way, in front of his child, in front of his crew, would make many men lose their tempers and Lydia held her breath. He looked at Mattie, then looked at Nash through narrowed eyes.

"Men who correct me, Mr. Nash, in public, had better be right. One might go so far as to say their lives depend on their being right. Now, are you absolutely sure about this?"

He smiled at the pirate at this last question and if anything, Turnbull went grayer at seeing those teeth bared.

"Aye, Cap'n," Nash said firmly. "Numbers don't lie. Multiplication is multiplication. If I multiply eight times seven, it's always fifty-six. Always. It ain't fifty-seven, and I know that because I memorized the tables, and because... Mattie, what's the other reason?"

"Because eight is an even number."

"That's right, because eight is an even number. Meaning no disrespect, Cap'n. It just is."

St. Armand stared him down, but Nash crossed his arms and didn't flinch, and Lydia was impressed. She knew enough about the goings on aboard the
Prodigal Son
to know he could easily arrange for something fatal, or at the very least, painful to happen to Nash for correcting him.

"Miss Burke, can this lot recite their tables without a mistake?"

All eyes turned to Lydia, who cleared her throat and said, "They can now, Captain."

"But it took practice!" Turnbull said.

"Yeah, if it ain't something you use every day, it takes a while to think through the right ones," Nash said. "Anyone could make a mistake."

"It's like knife fighting, Papa," Mattie said, and everyone looked at the child, brushing back some of her rag doll's yarn hair, tossed about by the sea breeze. "You use knife fighting more than you use your multiplication tables, so you're quicker at it."

Nash and Turnbull were nodding so vigorously Lydia feared their heads would bob off.

"That's right, Cap'n," Turnbull said heartily. "Everyone knows you're the man you want at your back in a dark alley when there's mayhem about, but your multiplication tables, well, that's just for special occasions!"

Captain St. Armand's eyes narrowed with a focus on Turnbull now. "How badly do you want that cup of tea, Turnbull?" he bit out.

Lydia leaned over, close enough to him to feel the heat coming off of his bronzed neck. "There are biscuits with currents also, Captain."

He jumped, as if startled out of the moment, then turned his head to look at her, then looked back at Mattie and the men, one watching with curiosity, the crew watching with a healthy dose of fear. He took a deep breath, then let it out.

"Thank you, Turnbull, for your endorsement of my skills." He looked at Mattie. "Not letting your shipmates down is important, Mattie, and yes, I can do my multiplication tables correctly. Will you all allow me to attempt again?"

There was more head bobbing, and this time he breezed through all the way up to twelve times twelve without making an error. Nash and Turnbull only offered a sigh of relief, and with her own sigh Lydia reached for the teapot to pour.

It was a tight squeeze, five people at a small table, but they managed. Nash and Turnbull kept an eye on each other, and there was some not-so-subtle elbow nudging when Turnbull slurped his tea.

Captain St. Armand had excellent table manners, which made Lydia curious, again, about the man's background. Based on his speech, his deportment, his manners (when he chose to use them) and his bearing she had to believe he'd been at least a gentleman's son. Perhaps, like Anne Bonny, he was baseborn and someone had invested in his care, just as Nanette had provided for Mathilde. It was a mystery she itched to solve, but that would require extended and personal conversation with the pirate, not a prudent idea.

It was difficult enough sitting next to him now, so close his leg pressed up against hers. Any farther movement to the side would have put her off her seat and flat on the deck, so she inched her leg away as best she could.

It was a useless gesture when he put his hand on her thigh, just above her knee.

Lydia froze. If she said anything it would disrupt Mattie's special day, the day for which she'd worked so long, not to mention how it would spoil the pleasure of her other students. They were discussing with Mattie the pastries and biscuits one found for sale in the bake shops in England, the treats they looked forward to enjoying when they returned to their homeland. Turnbull and Nash beamed in the glow of accomplishment, of knowing they'd earned a privilege denied to their shipmates because of their hard work and effort.

Lydia too would have basked in their glow if not for the fingers now stroking her leg. She put her hand down to pinch him, but the pirate anticipated the attack and grabbed her right hand in his left. He leaned in close to her ear while the others were discussing the merits of treacle dowdy and said, "Put your hand back up on the table. You don't want to upset Mattie, do you?"

"You are upsetting me!" she hissed at him under her breath.

"Don't care," he said with a grin.

"Papa, did you say something?"

"I was just explaining to Miss Burke the merits of some of my favorite treats, Mattie."

"You like sweets too, Papa?"

"For my palate, too much sweetness is cloying. I like treats with more bite to them."

"Like lemon tarts?"

"Exactly. The astringency of the lemons means you have to work a little more to enjoy it. It's not as obvious as something covered in sugar."

A perfectly innocuous conversation, had his hand not resumed stroking her, just above her knee, soft brushes back and forth that she could feel through the layers of skirts and undergarments as if she'd been completely bare before him. She clenched her legs together, trapping his hand between them.

A tactical error. He curled his hand into a fist and lightly rocked it back and forth, minute movements that nonetheless fired the nerves in her sensitive inner thighs, raising images of him between her legs, pressing them open with his muscled hips, how he would feel on top of her, her flesh to his flesh, sweat-slicked and yearning to open wider.

She had to bring a halt to this, now.

"If you do not remove your hand," she leaned over and whispered in his ear, "I will have a clumsy accident with my cup of hot tea spilling into your lap."

He paused, then with a small sigh of regret removed his hand and used it to pick up his own teacup, acknowledging her outflanking maneuver.

The rest of the tea party passed mercifully mayhem free, and they let the child carry the conversation. She was justly proud of her skills in mathematics and also her role as a member of the
Prodigal Son's
crew.

"Miss Burke, Mr. Fuller says I am to assist him on the dog watch tonight."

"Do you watch for dogs while you're doing that?"

Mattie giggled and the pirates grinned. "You would be a very silly pirate! The dog watch is in the evening, before my bedtime."

"I must disagree with you, Mattie. I believe Miss Burke has the makings of a perfectly adequate pirate."

The four others at table looked at their captain.

"I dunno, Cap'n," Turnbull said. "Miss Burke's a first rate teacher, but I ain't seen her swing a cutlass yet."

Mattie nodded.

"That's true, Miss Burke. How can you be a pirate if you cannot attack your enemies?"

"There's more to being a pirate than being good with weapons, Mattie," her father said. "Especially if you want to captain your own crew. For example, a successful pirate has to know how to strategize and plan, both for battle and for dealing with the booty afterward."

The other pirates nodded sagely at this.

"Your learning mathematics is one way you can advance yourself, Mattie, but your governess does have other skills."

"I do?" Even Lydia found this intriguing. She'd imagined herself in many situations over the years, not all of them to her taste, but she'd never imagined herself a pirate.

"Absolutely, Miss Burke. You command respect from those around you, you plan for various eventualities, you are willing to be flexible to meet your own ends."

"I am?"

"Certainly. There are some governesses who, if they found themselves kidna--er, employed by pirates, or even honest but unexpectedly handsome sea merchants, would be hysterical, or swoony, or unwilling to adapt to their changed circumstances. You have taken everything on this voyage in stride--to a point--and maintained your equilibrium. I salute you."