The Pirate's Secret Baby (19 page)

He raised his teacup, and Nash said, "To our teacher, Miss Burke!"

"Hear, hear!" Turnbull said, raising his own cup, and Mattie followed suit in her own toast.

Lydia knew she shouldn't be glowing in the pirate's praise, but it was hard not to. So often her skills were unappreciated by her employers.
She'd
been unappreciated by them. To be validated this way, to be told of her worth as a person--she blinked rapidly to clear her eyes.

"Thank you for those kind words. Even though I have no plans to become a pirate, I will always be grateful for the opportunity to share what skills I do have with the crew of the
Prodigal Son
. All the crew," she added, not looking at St. Armand, but at Mathilde, whose face lit with a smile, the gaps where her baby teeth were being replaced yet another reminder of how much she'd come to care for this child and how it would tear her heart out to leave her.

But leave her she must, for there was no future for her as a governess in England, maybe no future at all if the wrong people learned of her return.

At the end of their party the captain called over a crewman who went below, returning with Potter, the cook, who took their praise for his efforts with a small bow showing the top of his gleaming pate, his face florid from his work boiling the crew's victuals.

"It was my pleasure, Cap'n, miss. I know how hard Mattie and this lot worked to get to this day. 'Struth, if you'd told me that these two bast--sailors would be able to learn some new figuring, I wouldn't have believed it. Just goes to show you."

Nash looked down at his plate, all modest, while Turnbull grinned, displaying a smile missing some teeth of his own.

"We just needed the right reason to learn more, and the right teacher," Turnbull said.

"All I know is I'm going to keep careful count when I'm playing cards with you two, because it's going to be a lot harder to hoodwink you in the future," Potter said with a sigh.

Nash's face darkened at this revelation that perhaps he'd been taken advantage of and before their party ended in bloodshed, Lydia stood and said brightly, "Well! That was a most delightful afternoon, gentlemen. Mattie, will you help me clear this area so the men can return to their tasks. Perhaps a nap this afternoon will help prepare you for your turn on watch tonight?"

"An excellent suggestion," the captain said, rising to his own feet. "Nash, Turnbull, you have impressed me with your skills today. I hope to see them at work the next time we take a--next time we load new cargo aboard."

Potter retrieved his dishes and the leftover food while Mattie gathered up her dolls and yawned.

"You hold your dolls, Mattie, and I will carry you below."

"You don't need to carry me, Papa. I'm a big girl," but when he gathered her up into his arms she didn't argue, but placed her head on his broad shoulder.

"Can you carry me below without dropping me, Papa?"

"I have carried casks much heavier than you, my dear, without breaking them open. Once I carried a pig, and he was also heavier, and did not smell nearly as pleasant. But he was quite tasty," he finished with a pretend bite at her ear.

He looked over at Lydia then, and his face changed as he looked at her.

"Is anything the matter, Miss Burke?"

Lydia had to swallow around the lump in her throat. "I enjoy seeing a father and daughter smiling together, that is all."

He watched her for another heartbeat or two, as if parsing her words. "Marauding Mattie is my best girl, aren't you? I want to stay on her good side so that she treats me fair when we're dividing up the booty."

Mattie giggled. "You're the captain, Papa. You're in charge of dividing the booty."

"So I am!" he said cheerfully as they moved to go below. "Well then, I have nothing to fear, do I?"

* * * *

The lessons continued as the ship made its way to England and the crew showed its anticipation like a hound scenting supper, watching the eastern horizon, each hoping for the first glimpse of land, the men straining forward as if that would get them to their goal faster.

The stories also continued at bedtime, and Lydia had to admit she was caught up in Captain Johnson's stories of blood, gore and courage.

"So Mary Read's mother, described here as 'young and airy, met with an accident, which has often happened to women who are young and do not take a great deal of care; which was, she soon proved to be with child again.'"

"Was my mother young and airy, Papa?"

Captain St. Armand put his finger in the book to mark his place and looked at his daughter. "Your mother was a delightful lady, and I believe 'young and airy' is an excellent description of her."

"Did you fall in love?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "I loved your mother Nanette as one loves the best of friends. She was someone I turned to for friendship, and for laughter, and we shared that."

"And hugs, Papa?
Maman
was good at hugging," she finished, a catch in her voice.

"Yes, Mattie, your mama was good at hugging," he said gently.

"I am glad, Papa, that you and
Maman
were in love and that you were friends. It is good to have friends. Turnbull and Nash are my friends and my mates, and Conroy also. Are you and Miss Burke friends?"

"Mattie, why don't you let your father continue reading so we don't have to cut your story short at bedtime?"

They looked at Lydia, who'd been sitting quietly on her bunk, listening to Captain St. Armand's deep voice carry her away to far off times and lands. It was best to do that, not to disillusion Mathilde about the relationship between her and the pirate.

"As you say, Miss Burke. Where was I? Oh, yes...so Mary Read was raised as a boy and went into service as a footman..."

He continued with Mary Read's amazing adventures, every bit as fantastical as Anne Bonny's. Read had been a footman, ran off from that post and joined a man-of-war, then carried arms in Flanders in a regiment of foot, as a cadet. While serving in Flanders, she fell in love with a Flemish soldier, according to Johnson, and after marrying him--a move that made Lydia want to cheer for the girl's conventional behavior--began living openly as a woman.

"But then, her husband died and Mary resumed life as a man, shipping out to the West Indies, and she fell in with pirates."

"Is that how she met Anne Bonny?"

"Yes, Mathilde. She also took another husband. Johnson says Mary fell in love again, and 'her young man being made of flesh and blood, he responded in kind and they plighted their troth to one another. She would not name him during her trial for he had been acquitted, not wishing to be a pirate.'"

"Oh, now this is interesting. It says Mary's husband had an enemy, another pirate who intended to do him harm. They quarreled, and Mary's unnamed husband was to fight a duel with the man. Instead, Mary--whom everyone else thought was a man--challenged her husband's enemy herself and fought a duel, killing him two hours before her lover was supposed to fight a duel with the man himself. Now, that's a woman who has your back protected! Johnson praises Mary, saying she was honorable in her own fashion, true to her husbands, modest, brave. All admirable qualities. It's unusual for Johnson to say anything good about pirates, so we can agree that Mary Read was an exceptional woman."

"But what about Anne and Mary?"

"We'll read more about them another time, Maurading Mattie. Now it's time for my goodnight hug."

He set the book aside and leaned down, and two little arms snaked around his neck, squeezing him tight before his daughter smacked a kiss on his cheek. He returned the favor, and then tucked her under the covers.

"Good night, Mathilde."

"Good night, Papa. Good night, Miss Burke," the child said, already halfway to sleep.

Lydia rose to her own feet, looking down at the deceptively angelic face above the coverlet, eyes closed, eyelashes fanning out against her skin. Mattie was browned from her time up on deck, her complexion an inheritance from the Caribbean and a legacy of her African great-grandmother. Life would be difficult enough for Mattie in England as a pirate's bastard, looking like an island child made it that much harder. She had to have some faith Mattie's father would take care of her and see to her welfare and protection.

She hoped St. Armand would marry, for the child needed mothering. But she sighed to herself, knowing there would be women aplenty attracted to the pirate's looks and money, but a good woman willing to take on his bastard child--that would be a rare creature indeed.

"Is it always this cold?"

Lydia bent down and picked the child up in her arms with an "oof." "Mattie, I believe you've grown a foot and added a stone of muscle aboard ship!"

Mattie giggled, but snuggled in closer to her governess to warm up. Lydia couldn't say for certain, but Mattie seemed tall for her age and the constant activity aboard the
Prodigal Son
had added sinewy strength to her body.

Their arrival in Liverpool was marked by a gray mizzle dampening the air and their clothes. It was only autumn, but Lydia'd forgotten, after years in the sunshine and warmth of the West Indies, how unpleasant the weather could be.

"It is often damp and raining here, but the weather can turn sunny quickly. You'll enjoy the summers when the days are long, and perhaps this winter you'll see your first snowfall."

"Do people hide inside when it snows?"

"Oh no, especially not the children! There are snowball fights, and sleds, and making snow angels and skating. And when you're all done, you rush inside for a hot drink and cakes in front of a lovely fire," she said, her memories of much better times in her life rising to the surface. Lydia cleared her throat and brought her mind back to the present. "It's an adjustment, but you'll find much to do here that's fun and new."

The house Captain St. Armand located for them was not far from the docks, but far enough that they'd be spared the noise of carousing sailors and their women. It was modest, the furnishings shabby, but clean and comfortable. Mattie's room was papered with a cheerful blue-flowered print and adjoined another, matching room, which Conroy told her would be her quarters.

"We'll get the rest of your gear out of the hold tomorrow, miss," he said, swinging her trunk down to the faded carpet.

"That would be wonderful, Mr. Conroy," Lydia said gratefully. "At the moment though, I'm still adjusting to a floor that doesn't shift beneath my feet."

"You're one of the
Prodigals
now," he said with a wink. "You'll always have a bit of the ocean in you."

"That will be all, Conroy."

They both turned toward the doorway. St. Armand stood there, unsmiling, hands behind his back. Conroy hurried out of his captain's way, and he watched him, then turned back to Lydia.

"Is he bothering you?"

"No," Lydia said, somewhat puzzled by his demeanor.

"We are ashore now, and the easy ways of shipboard life are not appropriate here."

Lydia could only stare at him, then threw her hands into the air. "You are unbelievable, Captain St. Armand! For weeks aboard ship you acted like...like a mischievous adolescent, stealing my hairpins and caps, teasing me, making inappropriate remarks, and now you preach to
me
of propriety? Unbelievable."

"I'm still the captain," he said, a line between his brows.

"Oh, I beg to differ," Lydia said with a sharp smile of her own. "You are the captain aboard the
Prodigal Son
. You are not in charge of my life, not anymore, not on dry land. I will have the wages you promised me so I can move on. I am in England now," she brazened out, "no longer at your mercy as commander of your vessel."

In response he kicked the door shut behind him, enclosing the two of them in the room, a room that seemed much smaller with both of them in it and the bed behind her.

"For such an intelligent woman you say amazingly foolish things."

He advanced toward her and even though she wanted to take a stand she could feel her feet moving her backward until she hit the wall, but he continued until he was directly in front of her, one hand propped alongside her head.

She heard noises from below, street noises, voices, but all of that faded as her eyes tracked his hand, moving into her line of sight, hovering over her chest. She drew in a sharp breath, but he did not touch her. Not there. Instead she felt his warm fingers sliding along the line of her jaw, stroking back toward her ear, and her eyelids fluttered even as she fought the feelings his touch roused in her. He framed her jaw with his long fingers and angled his head, stopping at the very edge of her mouth, not swooping at her as she'd expect from him. Was he waiting for her to say no?

It was an empty question a heartbeat later as his lips brushed against hers, thoughts of "no" receding into the recesses of her mind. Every time he touched her it was so wrong, but like so many choices in her past, "wrong" was not as important as "right now."

His lips continued their gentle glide, and she leaned forward, away from the wall, closer to danger. That was all the signal he needed to deepen the kiss, moving both hands up into her hair, cushioning her head from the hard plaster, blocking out any noises from the street. She heard only the blood rushing thorough her, her involuntary moan as her lips opened beneath his and her hands reached up to grasp his shoulders.

He started to pull back from the kiss but she put her own hand behind his head and he stilled at her movement, caught by surprise at her response.

She'd be surprised by her response later. Right now she just wanted to feel, to escape her worries for a few moments and only dwell in the present, in the sensations of his mouth, his tongue gliding against hers, his small noise of surprise at her fervent acceptance of his attentions. She deepened the kiss, until a noise from below pulled her back into the present.

Back to sanity.

She opened her eyes when his hands moved on, away from her, no longer touching her.

Instead of the triumphant gleam she'd expect to see in his eyes, he looked bemused, almost unsure of himself as he backed away from her.