The Pirate's Secret Baby (20 page)

He cleared his throat, watching her, observing her. She knew her color was high, her breathing rapid, and his eyes lowered to where her breasts peaked against her garments, swollen and sensitive from her passion.

Lydia fell back on her rising anger, moving her passion in a different direction. He would get nothing more from her, no explanations or entreaties. She was no longer a young girl swayed by a charming rogue's ways, she was a woman with a future.

A future, and a past.

"Give me back my cap."

He looked down, appearing surprised at the object he clutched.

"Miss Burke..." he stopped, holding the cap. He ran his free hand across his face, as if wiping a slate of jumbled thoughts clean. When he looked up again he wore his usual insouciant expression, which enflamed her even more.

"Give me my cap, you...you..."

"Ah ah, do not use language that you'll later regret, a nice lady like yourself."

The anger was good. The clean flame of it burned away the darker emotions that roiled through her.

"You broke your word! You promised me you wouldn't take my caps!"

"I promised you I would not take your caps aboard ship. As you so imprudently pointed out, we are no longer aboard the
Prodigal
, so that promise no longer stands. This is only a small demonstration of how far my reach extends, aboard ship or on dry land. You have only yourself to blame for this predicament," he ended unnecessarily and gloatingly.

That was outside of enough! She moved toward him as he dangled her cap above her head, his long arms keeping it out of her grasp, and she stopped herself from using her fist to try and break his nose for him again, stopped before she was close enough for him to grab her. She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen in momentary alarm at her belligerent stance.

"Your lessons have not advanced to the point where that would be a wise move, unless you want to find yourself in my arms again?" he finished with a look tempting her to punch him anyway.

But she refrained. Just as she had learned some measure of prudence in her deportment, she could keep from murdering the pirate for just a few more days.

Lydia drew herself up to her full height, grasped the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger and drew in a deep breath, a mistake as his scent was still in her nostrils, his citrus soap on her hands.

"You will not ruin my day, Captain St. Armand. You no longer have any say in my wardrobe. Pay me! Pay me what I am owed and we will both move on with our lives."

"You said you would stay here until I found another governess."

"No. I did not say that. Do not try and manipulate my words. We had a bargain, I expect you to honor it."

His smile faded as he studied her, no doubt expecting his silence would prompt another outburst.

Not likely. He knew too much about her already, information damaging to her. The last quarter hour under the sway of his kisses had shown him that, even if he knew nothing else about her.

"Nothing is going to happen tonight, Miss Burke. I cannot access the funds that quickly--no, let me amend that. I
will
not get the money tonight. I have other plans. That is what I came to tell you before you started smothering me with kisses."

"Wha--"

He ignored her spluttering outrage and continued, "Mattie, Mr. Fuller and I are dining tonight with Mrs. Riley, the widow of Jeremiah, one of my former crewmen. She has young children Mattie's age and I thought Mattie would enjoy spending time with other youngsters before we move on. You are welcome to join us."

He'd done it again. He'd managed to surprise her. She would have expected the notorious Robert St. Armand to head for the nearest whorehouse and drink and wench his way through the evening while she stayed in the house with Mathilde.

This changed everything and her mind raced to keep up.

"No, thank you, Captain. That is a thoughtful offer, but I think I will stay in. It's been a long time since I had a quiet evening just to relax with a book."

"I do not think I like finding myself taking second place to a book."

"That's because you generally spend time with women who would rather discuss fashion and admire your form rather than ones who are literate."

He acknowledged this and bowed, turning to leave.

"My cap?"

He paused, turning back to her. Then he lifted the cap to his nose and
inhaled,
a rather prosaic act causing heat to flare in her again. He stuffed the cap in his jacket pocket.

"
My
cap, Miss Burke. Enjoy your evening."

Lydia hurried along the dark street, head down, clutching her shawl around her. The secondhand clothing dealer had been reluctant to pay what Lydia demanded for her brocade coat, but the fur collar and cuffs finally sealed the bargain. It was a loss, but a necessary one, much as she was missing the garment now for its warmth. There was a deeper coldness at the act of giving up the item Sails sewed for her, the coat Robert St. Armand designed for her to complement her and make her attractive, even if it was just for a few weeks aboard a pirate vessel.

It was better this way. Now she wouldn't have to explain where she obtained such a fine garment. Now she had money, or did have, before she used all her remaining funds to purchase a ticket on one of the new packets making the Liverpool to New York run. It amazed her to think she could board the ship at a set time rather than wait around for the captain to decide to sail, but it also made her quick escape possible.

The house was dark when Lydia let herself back in to grab what she could carry and head to the docks. She would find someplace to hide away from prying eyes until she boarded the ship. She'd done it before. But she must write Mattie a letter first, a letter she hoped would help explain why Lydia had to leave. She couldn't tell the child the truth, but she could try to assure her that she loved her, even if Mathilde only felt the pain of abandonment once again. Maybe she'd forgive Lydia some day. The child had suffered so much loss already and heaven only knew what would come of her living with a pirate. Lydia couldn't damage her spirit further by leaving without saying goodbye, even if it was only in a letter.

St. Armand did not keep servants overnight, not trusting his safety to anyone but his own crew, not wishing to leave himself vulnerable. Not trusting people was something she understood and the empty hall echoed with her steps on the creaking stairs.

Lydia lit a lamp and sat at the small desk, a sheet of foolscap before her as she tried to put into words what was in her heart. The scratching of the quill was amplified in the silence.

"Leaving a note? Seems rather inadequate, don't you think?"

Odd that on hearing the cool voice come out of the darkness her first thought would be,
Oh, now this dress is inkstained and ruined
.

It was unlikely she'd survive until dawn to worry about it. She stayed still, staring down at the black ink spilling across the desk. He was behind her, between her and the door, and she knew she'd not escape him. She didn't know why she feared he would kill her. Maybe it was their being alone together, ashore in an empty house without witnesses. Maybe disaster and retribution was what she'd come to expect as her due.

Maybe it was simply because of who he was. She'd heard him quote Blackbeard once: "Damn them, if I did not now and then kill one of them, they would forget who I am!"

Captain St. Armand had a reputation to maintain, after all.

Lydia cleared her throat, pleased her voice emerged at all.

"Where is Mathilde?" she asked without turning to face him.

He came over to the desk, behind her, trapping her with his body. He righted the inkwell and moved the stained paper aside, putting his hands on the desk next to hers.

"Do you care where Mathilde is? You are leaving her, after all. You say so, right here, 'Dear Mathilde, I am so very sorry I cannot say this to you in person...' and the rest has been blotted, but I think we both know what it would have said."

Lydia looked down at the paper. "This is not proof that I am leaving her."

"The ticket to New York you purchased on the Blackball packet is proof enough."

He put his hand on her arm and pulled her out of her chair, turning her to face him. Not forcefully, but more in the nature of assistance. Perhaps he suspected her knees wouldn't support her. He'd be correct.

She was not dead yet, though. "Remove your hands from my person."

"Miss Burke, have you not realized over the past weeks you seldom get what you want, while I almost always get what I want? And what I want right now are answers," he finished in a pleasant tone. "I want to know what you are running from, or to. I want to know what it is you fear. Most of all, I want to know, to my complete satisfaction, that you are not a danger to me or my daughter."

"How can you accuse me of plotting to endanger you or Mathilde? You kidnapped me off the
Clementine
!"

"I do not know how you ended up with Nanette Lestrange. I only know what you told me. You could have been sent to find me, to connect with me through Mathilde."

"You are insane!"

"I am cautious and prudent, at least where the safety of my daughter is concerned. You may recall I let a valuable prize slip through my fingers because of you. I did not demand compensation then--much--but I am demanding answers now."

He said all this in a gentle voice soft as lamb's wool, finishing on a smile showing too many teeth. He was a predator and if she ran he would chase her down and consume her, of that she had no doubt. She was his natural prey.

She sagged in his grasp and his hand tightened on her arm.

"I am so tired," she said, looking down at her worn shoes. "Just kill me, or ravish me, or throw me out the window onto the street below. I don't care anymore."

He put his hand beneath her chin and tilted it up, studying her face in the lamplight. Then he sighed, releasing her.

"Sit. Do not move until I return, otherwise I will do at least one of those things to you." He paused as he turned for the door. "Maybe two."

She sat, numb, the sounds from the street below trickling in. She did wonder where Mattie was, but Mattie's father was responsible for her now, so it was no longer her concern.

Saying it to herself and believing it were two different things.

It was odd. Just sitting here, waiting for St. Armand's return, her mind feeling rather distant and detached from it all. Was this how condemned prisoners felt before an execution?

"Here," her captor said, returning with a glass he pushed into her hand. "Drink. I cannot torture you or do anything else exciting with you looking as pasty as wet flour."

She wrapped both of her hands around the glass, the odor of strong rum tickling her nose. She'd never especially cared for rum, but right now it seemed like the perfect solution to her life's problems. However, the glass was removed from her grasp before she could drain it.

"Your passing out and drooling on the floor is not in my plans either, Miss Burke. Stay there."

He left again, returning with another chair. He sat across from her, resting his elbows on the chair arms, steepling his fingers as he did so often when he was thinking.

"Why are you running out on us?"

Lydia took a deep breath and let it out, pulling together the frayed strands of her courage. Then she looked the pirate in the eye.

"I have a life that has nothing to do with you. I wish to resume that life. I am not obligated to share my life with you. I am your employee and I wish to resign my position. Immediately."

He said nothing to this, but watched her, two lines furrowing between his brows.

"You must have seen something in town today, something or someone that makes you want to run. What is it? Tell me, and I will deal with it for you."

It was tempting, so very, very tempting, to put herself and her problems in this man's bloodstained, but capable hands. That was not the answer though. She'd learned life's lessons about depending on a man to fix her problems and she would not travel down that road again.

"I am your daughter's governess, Captain St. Armand. If my efforts are not satisfactory, discharge me from my duties."

He sighed and tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling. "Oh, Lydia Burke--if that's your real name--you are so much more than my daughter's governess at this point. Why are you pretending otherwise?"

"I am not pretending, Captain--"

"You may call me Robert when it's just the two of us. Or 'my darling.'"

"I am not pretending,
Captain.
I am resigning my position."

"No, you are not. I will not accept your resignation. Not yet."

"You cannot keep me prisoner here!"

"I am not going to keep you prisoner, I am going to help you, but you have to tell me what your problem is. Is someone trying to hurt you? You know I can resolve that issue for you quickly, and ensure the body is never found."

"Hiding inconvenient corpses is something you excel at, of that I am quite certain!" She wanted to tell him. She longed to unburden herself. Only Nanette had known of Lydia's past and she certainly was not going to condemn her. She looked down at her hands, twisting together in her lap.

"I made a...mistake. When I was younger, I made a mistake. I was foolish and headstrong, and my mistake has been my burden to bear, and I need to leave England to avoid--to avoid complications in my life. That is all you need to know."

"Did you kill someone?"

She shook her head.

"Did you bear a child and abandon it?"

She looked up at that, then shook her head again. He was watching her, an open expression on his face. She suspected she could have committed almost any hanging or moral offense and he would not condemn her, but she still could not bring herself to discuss her life.

"Then what is it? See here," he started, then paused. "Are you hungry?"

"What? Hungry?"

"I'm a bit peckish. Chasing you around this evening caused me to miss my meal, so I suggest we continue this conversation in the kitchen. I've decided not to kill you--for tonight, anyway--so you may as well eat a good meal."