The Pirate's Secret Baby (21 page)

As soon as he said it, Lydia realized she
was
hungry, and stood. "My stomach was tied in knots and I have not eaten all day, Captain."

He opened the door for her and she paused in the doorway, so close she could see the individual lashes on his eyes. He was looking at her with some amusement on his face, which grew when she said, "It's odd that suddenly I'm hungry after sitting here talking to you."

"I am famous for stimulating all sorts of appetites in beautiful women."

Whatever the reason was, her appetite had returned. Her life was still perched on the edge of disaster, and she had no caps, but she had Captain St. Armand on her side. There may be more morally upright knights out there prepared to defend a lady, but she'd take piratical cunning and skill over morality any day in a fight like this.

The house was shabby, but the food was excellent and welcome after shipboard rations. The men had stocked the kitchen with lamb scouse and loaves of fresh bread and butter, apple tarts, rich cream, Cheshire cheese.

"Some sailors come ashore and drink their way through their pay, but many come ashore and
eat
their way through fresh victuals. If you ask a man what he misses most aboard ship, the answer may surprise you. Landlubbers think it's wine and women, but more often, it's a loaf of yeasty bread with fresh butter churned that morning."

He paused from cutting a wedge of cheese. He was looking at her uncovered hair, and her hand reached up self-consciously.

"The candlelight on your hair is one of those sights that could make a man long for life ashore," he said quietly, almost to himself. Then he looked down at the knife in his hand, shook his head and said, "Would you fetch some apples from the pantry, please?"

This polite request, rather than an order or command, made her pause, but she turned and fetched the apples, saliva pooling in her mouth at the idea of biting into something crisp and tart, not desiccated and wormy.

They sat and did justice to the meal, and afterward she brewed tea for herself. He drank the rum, but it did not impair him. He talked about his dissolute ways, but when she thought about it objectively there were planters in the islands for whom she'd worked who had worried her more with their overindulgence in liquor. St. Armand always seemed prepared to fight, or scheme, or care for his daughter.

Look at him now, sitting across from her at table, dressed almost soberly. His navy blue kerseymere coat and buckskin breeches made him appear the same as most well set up men around town. He could have been wearing a monk's robes though and he'd look raffish to her eye. It wasn't just the diamond winking at his ear, it was how he carried himself. The man didn't have an ounce of humility, but that self-assurance gave him a strength that could pull others in his wake.

"Aren't you tired of running from whatever it is that drove you from England?"

She fiddled with her tea cup, organizing her thoughts. "Of course I'm tired of it. At least in America or the islands I have a chance to start fresh, make a future for myself."

"I want to tell you something." He clasped his hands before him on the table and held her gaze. "It does not matter what you have done in the past. We all have pasts. Yours is no worse than other members of the ship's crew. We move on, and just like Anne and Mary, you have the opportunity to reinvent yourself."

"I am not a member of your crew, Captain."

"Are you not? You worked aboard the
Prodigal
, earned your pay and your victuals. Had we taken a prize, I'd be discussing your share with you. A small share. I believe a governess may rank somewhere above a ship's boy."

His words should not warm her but she could not help feeling comforted. To belong somewhere after so long, even if it was amidst a crew of pirates and reprobates with a scoundrel captaining them--it was welcome. Her life had been so solitary since she'd left England, only Mattie and Nanette had offered true companionship. It was not the same as having a man interested in her, not at all the same as having this man interested in her.

She had to be honest with herself. Not since her clandestine meetings with Edwin had she experienced this excitement at a man's attention. Robert St. Armand lured her into dangerous waters, but the thrill of it made her feel more alive than she'd felt in years.

"You do have other options, if you want to stay in England. I can think of at least two."

"Options?"

He lounged back in his chair, looking at her. "Sign on as Mattie's governess. Our original agreement only applied aboard ship--"

"If you recall, there was no agreement, only a kidnapping."

He waved away this inconsequential detail. "All in the past. As I was saying, sign on to the crew, as Mattie's governess. She needs you, you need a position, a position with more security than throwing yourself at America in the hopes someone will hire you on and treat you with dignity. My men respect you as they do any shipmate--you earned your place aboard the
Prodigal
, and we don't abandon crew."

"You're not alarmed at the idea of a woman such as myself, a woman with some dark secret in her background being responsible for Mathilde's moral education?"

"Have you
met
the men crewing my ship? No, you are the perfect woman to teach Mattie. You understand my headstrong lass and let us be realistic--finding another governess who fits in with the crew would not be a simple task."

She shouldn't feel warmed by his words, but how could she not? After being on the run for so long, tossed about like a piece of driftwood, she was ready to embrace the idea of belonging, of having a place.

"I have misjudged you, Captain. You are not the complete scoundrel you make yourself out to be. You are only a partial scoundrel."

"Do not make that mistake, Miss Burke. I would--and have--sliced a man's throat with a smile on my face, then sat down to eat a hearty supper celebrating an excellent and productive day. You realize I now know enough to cause my own complications in your life."

"You wouldn't do that."

"That sounds better if you don't phrase it as a question."

"I know you now, Captain St. Armand. You wouldn't harm me or Mattie."

"I would not harm Mattie."

"And you would not harm me."

Silence stretched between them as he considered that statement.

"There are many types of harm a woman can experience."

"Oh, I did not say you were not a scoundrel, I only said you are not a complete scoundrel."

Consideration of his ridiculous offer tempted her, but she'd known scoundrels of all stripes, and had learned from her encounters with dangerous men. She shook her head.

"I appreciate the offer, Captain, but I cannot accept. Much as I love Mattie, and want to stay with her, I have no future here. In America I have a chance at making myself more than a servant, someone dependent on her employers for her future and quite frankly, for keeping me alive. Thank you, but no."

"What would you do in America if you weren't a governess?"

"I realize you find little value in respectability, but I would like to lead a quiet, normal life. Perhaps I'll marry. I could keep books for a shopkeeper, be an asset in a marriage."

"You could do far better than that."

"Could I?"

"Yes. You could marry me."

The silence in the kitchen was so enveloping that she heard crickets outside.

"Did you just ask me to marry you?"

"I would not phrase it quite that way, but I did mention marriage, and you, and I was included in that sentence also."

"An hour ago you were threatening to throw me out the window! Or ravish me!"

"Must you dwell in the past so much? Let us focus on the issue at hand, please."

"For the love of heaven, why would I want to marry you?"

He looked startled. Startled, and perhaps hurt? It was difficult to read his face as she reeled from his announcement.

"Shouldn't you be asking yourself why I'd want to marry you?"

"Certainly not! Where else are you going to get someone to care for your child for no wages! Not to mention the other benefits you'd get from marrying me."

He blinked his eyes as if what she said made no sense to him at all. Typical man. If he married he gained a bed partner, cook, nursemaid...and what did she get from the bargain? A pirate who sometimes evidenced all the self-control and maturity of a five-year-old. Not a fair bargain at all.

Bollocks
, said a small evil voice in her head.
You would get
Robert St. Armand.
In your bed, between your legs, in all the ways you've only imagined over the dry, dry years.

She shut down that voice and continued, "I just said I want a quiet, respectable life. If I decide to remarry, I don't want a dashing pirate, I want a husband! A husband who will be home at night, who will help me raise children with proper values, who will show his love not by robbing ships, but by fixing the roof when it leaks. Someone who won't mind, or at least will say he doesn't mind, if I put cold feet on him at night to warm them up."

"Is that what husbands are good for? No wonder so many married women sought my company."

"You see? That is exactly the sort of thing to which I refer!"

He looked ready to argue his suitability with her, but instead shrugged his wide shoulders.

"Then take the other option. Sign on as crew aboard the
Prodigal
. I will double your salary--"

"The salary I've yet to see appear."

"The new position is double what I offered you before, and you would be crew, and have a share in any future action."

"Are you shipping back out to sea? With Mattie?"

"Did I not mention that part of the offer? No, your salary would be doubled as Mattie's governess because you would be accompanying us on our most dangerous journey yet. I am going home."

"You have a home?"

"Everyone comes from somewhere, Miss Burke."

"I understand, but--" she stopped speaking and looked down at her teacup, puzzled. Robert let her mull over his offer. He would find a way to keep her with him--for Mattie, of course--of that he had no doubt. He had certainly surprised her when he offered her marriage.

He'd surprised himself. He was sure he hadn't meant to say those words, but they still spilled out of his mouth, almost of their own volition. It was a sensible offer on his part. Mattie needed a mother, and much as he didn't want to dwell on it, he needed a wife. If he was serious about returning home, having a lady beside him would help. Miss Burke--Lydia--was still every inch a lady, no matter what secrets she tucked away in the busy brain beneath her hideous caps.

He'd set his sights on his prize and he intended to have it--her--even if it involved standing before witnesses and a vicar. Lydia had crawled into his consciousness even if she hadn't climbed into his bed yet.

If he was asked what she brought that made her the one, he'd be hard pressed to say. He'd been with women more beautiful, and younger, and richer, but there was something about Lydia that kept him engaged when others would have bored him by now, sending him off to seek the next shiny bauble. He was not sure
why
it was her he wanted, but he wanted her, of that he was sure. He'd spent a lifetime gratifying his desires and knew he could not rest until he had her where he wanted her.

Regardless, if he was going to succeed with his plans, he needed a wife and she'd do quite nicely. Most other women would have run screaming into the night at the thought of marriage to him, but Lydia sneered at his offer and reminded him
she
was a prize, and oddly enough, he liked that about her. She knew her own worth.

"What do you say, Miss Burke? Do you accept my offer to stay on as Mattie's governess? Or my offer of marriage, your choice."

She sniffed dismissively. "I will take the governess position, Captain St. Armand. Less work and I can leave when I choose."

"In that case, you can tear up that letter you were writing to Mattie and we will discuss the arrangements for travel in the morning." He eyed her dubiously. "If you travel with me, I must insist you allow me to clothe you. Those sacks you wear..." He shuddered. "I realize we're in Liverpool, and not London, but I can find you a seamstress who will at least make you look human."

"I will pay for my own garments, Captain, out of the wages you assure me are forthcoming."

"As you wish."

He stood and started to gather up the dishes to leave for the servants in the morning, watching Lydia out of the corner of his eye. She was pleating the cloth next to her plate, nervously, and occasionally glancing at him. Perhaps she was already regretting not taking him up on his marriage proposal?

"I need to sell back my passage if I can--"

"Already done. You will find your coat in the parlor as well."

She stopped and narrowed her eyes at him. "You assumed a great deal, Captain St. Armand."

"As I've said, I get what I want, Miss Burke. Your best option is to see your wishes align with my wants."

She looked as if she would respond to this provocation, but clamped her lips into a narrow line. "We will talk more in the morning, Captain St. Armand. There is one thing..."

"Yes?"

"If I am going clothes shopping I will need to bathe. I saw a bathing room upstairs."

"It was one of the reasons I rented this house. You need me to scrub your back for you?"

"I need you to carry hot water upstairs. Nothing else."

"Don't you tire of leading such a dull and circumscribed life?" He came over to her and leaned down, one hand on the table. She appeared to give his question serious consideration. He was pleased to see the color was back in her face, and the fire in her eyes. They were impressive eyes, he had to admit. Full of life, so clearly showing her emotions, flashing emerald as she sparred with him.

"No," she said, shaking her head, "I do not tire of my humdrum life, Captain St. Armand. As a matter of fact, I find it quite soothing."