The Pirate's Secret Baby (27 page)

She'd kiss his chin. And other parts of him as well.

Lydia eased back into her dark room and her narrow bed and nearly burst out weeping, angry at herself.

How could she love Robert St. Armand? It was ridiculous. She'd already been disastrously in love with one feckless male. Was she that stupid? That weak?

She ran these arguments through her mind, but like lawn bowls they were knocked asunder by what she'd observed. St. Armand--Robert--was not a feckless boy. He took action, caring for his men aboard ship, seeing to their comfort--heaven knows she'd seen ship's captains in the islands who cared only about profit, and not whether their crew had decent food and foul weather gear.

Robert cared for Mathilde. Robert loved Mathilde, but he understood you showed love to a child by being a proper parent, one who ensured she was adequately fed and housed and shod and who assured the girl her papa loved her and would not desert her. He'd taken on the responsibility of the child and never looked back.

Robert cared for Lydia. He was a scoundrel and a sea thief, but he'd never forced himself on her. He lured her, he enticed her, he intrigued her, but he did not use his brute strength to get his way. He did not have to. His kisses were dangerous weapons wielded by an expert. She did not know if he exaggerated his supposed repertoire of sexual skills, but she suspected not. Yes, men did like to brag about their supposed prowess in the boudoir, but based on snippets of conversation with Nanette--who of all women Lydia knew was the expert on men and their skills--he'd been more than her protector and financial support, he'd also been a welcome lover.

For the first time since the notorious Captain Robert St. Armand kidnapped her, Lydia began to nurture a tiny seed of possibility inside her chest. That rebel girl was battering at Lydia's restrictive walls, demanding to be released again. Maybe, just maybe, there could be a future for her with the captain.

Provided they weren't hauled off to the magistrate for impersonating members of the peerage and defrauding innkeepers.

"You are dwelling on this deception business far too much. I am paying well for staying here. Now, finish your bacon so we can get on the road again."

He picked up a well-polished spoon and paused, distracted by his own reflection.

"You are like a magpie, Captain. Stop admiring yourself in bright, shiny objects and tell me where we are going!" she snapped.

He smiled inwardly. Every time he flustered the little hedgehog into becoming all prickly he wanted to swoop her into his arms and cover her with kisses until she melted. It was enjoyable and helped distract him from thoughts of what lay at the end of the journey.

He put the spoon down abruptly.

"You are so demanding, Lady Huntley," he said as the door to the private parlor opened, but it was only Mattie returning with Jolly from his walk. The fresh air added pink to the child's cheeks and he opened his arms to hug her, inhaling the fragrance of the crisp morning and little girl.

Jolly sniffed all around the carpet as Mattie climbed onto Robert's lap, telling him of the horses she'd seen, the chickens who'd scurried away when Jolly barked at them, and how she had helped Norton with the harnesses for their carriage. Mattie casually munched on some bacon off of Robert's plate, and Robert didn't say anything when he saw Lydia slip a tiny piece to Jolly beneath the table.

For all her prickly outside, the governess had a soft center, a fondness for little girls, and puppies, and maybe, possibly, even a pirate. He had plans for the governess, but much would depend on what they found at journey's end. Conroy came to tell them the horses were ready, so he gathered up the ladies, accepted the innkeeper's bowing thanks for the patronage of Lord and Lady Huntley, ignored Miss Burke's frown and put them in the carriage.

The muscles in his neck tightened as the miles rolled away beneath the carriage wheels, the landscape becoming familiar. The nearer they drew to their destination, the more he recognized. That elm, he'd climbed it as a lad. The old sycamores and oaks along the lane. Even the cattle looked the same as the ones he'd seen more than twenty years past.

He startled when Lydia put her hand over his. She looked at him with concern in her eyes, shaded by her bonnet but still reflecting the light of dusk coming through the windows.

His hands were clenched on his thighs, so tightly fisted they ached when he moved them to open his fingers and stretch them. Mattie slept on the seat and didn't hear her governess ask him if there was anything the matter.

"What could be the matter? The prodigal son is returning home."

He knew he was smiling, but had no description for this smile, because what he felt was something he hadn't experienced in years, a mixture of anxiety and nausea and wanting to hunch his shoulders and appear small and unnoticeable.

She looked ready to say something, but Norton pulled up on the horses, bringing the carriage to a stop.

"It's Mr. Fuller, Cap'n. He's waiting for you."

Fuller rode up on a horse that looked nearly as battered and grizzled as thefirst mate. Robert jumped down and twisted his neck back and forth, working out the kinks from sitting, and from the tension.

"Stay here," he said, walking out of earshot to Fuller before the governess could argue with him.

"Did you find him there?"

"Aye, Captain. He's in residence with his mates." Fuller glanced at the governess, talking to a yawning Mattie, who'd poked her head from the carriage. "Are you certain this is how you want to play it out?"

"A fast strike is an effective tactic against an unprepared foe, Mr. Fuller. It's time to hoist the black flag and make our presence known."

"Aye, Captain," Fuller said with a nod. "The others are in place, and we'll be ready for action."

"Ride beside us then, Mr. Fuller."

He climbed back into the carriage. Mattie started to say something, but Miss Burke whispered in the girl's ear and she quieted, watching her father with large eyes.

Robert knew his fingers were drumming on his thigh, but he couldn't seem to stop them as the carriage jostled into an open drive overgrown with neglected hawthorn, the road narrow and pitted.

"Is this your home, Captain St. Armand?"

The governess frowned, looking out at the dilapidated condition of the property they rode into.

"I lived here."

"That is not what I asked."

He didn't have to respond to that because the carriage lurched to a stop.

"Come down, Miss Burke, Mattie. I want you close by me."

"What about Jolly?" the child asked.

"He'll stay in the carriage."

"Jolly won't like that, Papa."

"Do as I say!" he snapped. The governess and his daughter looked at him with wide eyes, and he took a deep breath. "I am not angry with you, Mathilde. Leave the dog. We'll fetch him later."

"Yes, Papa," the girl said in a small voice and Robert mentally punched himself for taking his nerves out on the child. He was better than that. He had to be, because he swore Mattie would not grow up as he did. He smiled at her, but it fell short of the mark and she clung to her governess for reassurance.

He almost offered his arm, but thought better of it. He wanted both hands free and could more easily step in front of the woman and child this way.

The Tudor manor was much as he remembered, and the sandstone facing looked warm in the afternoon light. It was deceptive. His memories of the house were of it being cold, dark, always a step away from dangerous for a boy no one wanted.

At least it had been well-maintained then, but it was neglected and dirty now, and his lips curled up at the corners to see what had become of it. At one time there were flowerbeds at the entrance, now there were only weeds and untrimmed shrubs.

Robert thought about banging on the door, but it opened on its own. An old man in a worn suit of black clothes waited there, clinging to the oak, and while his smile missed a few teeth, it animated his face.

"Master Robert! Fuller said it was you coming, but I had to see with my own eyes."

"Braxton," he said, striding over to the elderly butler and clasping his hand in both of his. "Finding you here is more than I dared hope for."

"I knew you would come home someday, Master Robert--I mean--"

His words were cut off by raucous laughter from the interior of the house. Robert looked down the darkened hall and his hand moved down to his coat pocket pulled askew by the comforting weight of a pistol. Strapping on a cutlass would no doubt have alarmed the ladies, not to mention ruined the line of his coat, but he'd never cross this threshold unarmed.

"Would you care to announce me, Braxton?"

"It would give me the greatest pleasure. This is your child, Master Robert?"

"My daughter, Mathilde St. Armand, and Miss Burke, her governess," he told the butler.

"Welcome to Huntley, Miss Burke, Miss Mathilde," the butler said with a bow.

"Captain--"

"Not now, Miss Burke. All your questions will be answered in time, I assure you."

"Captain, Mattie may enjoy a visit to the kitchen while you...talk," Fuller said.

"I could get Jolly a bone," Mattie said. "Then he won't be sad about being in the carriage."

A young, wide-eyed footman peered around the corner and Braxton motioned him over.

"That's a good idea. Why don't you ladies go to the kitchens, and see if something can be found for you to eat? For Jolly also," he added, looking at his daughter and giving her a wink.

At Braxton's order the footman nodded, never taking his eyes off of Fuller and Robert, then led the women into the house.

Mattie's good humor was restored as she went with her governess, asking her a hundred questions the poor lady was not prepared to answer. She appeared dazed by the latest turn of events, but Robert knew she was up to the task ahead and he would deal with her later. For now, Lydia and Mattie were out of harm's way.

Fuller and Conroy accompanied him inside, and they paused outside the closed doors of the great hall. Drunken laughter and the sound of breaking glass drifted out as Braxton opened the door, and Robert stepped into a scene of debauchery and destruction. It did not have the same cachet when he was not at the center of the debauch. It also did not have the same cachet when it was his money being wasted, but his entrance had exactly the effect he'd desired.

The butler straightened as best he could and in a voice no longer quavering said, "Robert St. Armand Huntley." Then he bowed in Robert's direction and added, loudly enough for the others in the room to hear every word, "Welcome home, Lord Huntley. You've been missed."

The men in the room gaped at him like fish hauled out of the ocean. The one at the head of the table started to rise, wobbling on his feet.

"It's the Frenchwoman's bastard!"

Robert almost smiled at this. He and Mathilde had more in common than Miss Burke imagined. His boot heels rang on the stones of the floor, part of the original hall. Huntley was a hodgepodge of additions over the years and this room was one of his least favorites. Cold, drafty, but impressive as hell as he walked past the now silent crowd, watching him as if they were at a London play.

He intended to give them their money's worth, well aware of the figure he presented, especially compared to the sot at whose side he now stood.

"Well, Lionel? No welcome for the prodigal son? I see you already slaughtered a fatted calf or two. My calves, I might add."

"But...you can't be here. You're dead! I'm the baron!"

"No, I am not and no, you are not. Get out of my chair. And my house."

His cousin blinked blearily at him. Lionel's neckcloth hung loose and his shirt was open and wine-stained. Lines of dissipation were already forming on his face, though he was three years younger than St. Armand. He had the true Huntley coloring, thinning blonde hair and hazel eyes, but softer eyes than the late baron. The cousins had not known one another well as children. Uncle Alfred was a weasel unable to hide his resentment that he was the spare, not the heir, and Robert's father enjoyed pointing out that with his three sons--even one of questionable provenance--Alfred would never be baron.

The junior weasel was doomed to disappointment as well.

Lionel pushed himself to his feet as his drinking cronies muttered to themselves uncertainly.

"Here now, Huntley, you can't let this man stroll in here and throw us out!"

Robert looked at his cousin, not bothering to glance at the other man.

"Tell him, Cousin Lionel."

Lionel floundered for something to say, but Braxton spoke up first.

"I have served in this household for longer than you... gentlemen... have been alive. This man"--he pointed dramatically at Robert--"this man is the heir to Huntley. The baron is Robert St. Armand Huntley, not Lionel Huntley."

"I will fight this!" Lionel blustered.

"You are welcome to try,
Mr. Huntley
, as long as you use your own funds and do it elsewhere. You may wish to stop first at the office of my solicitor in London. He tells me he assured you I was still alive and that you were not the inheritor of Huntley, or the title. This is the last time I'm going to say this... Leave. Immediately. Or my crew will be happy to help you leave. All of you," he said raising his voice at the end to be sure they heard.

There was more muttering, but Conroy and Fuller, joined now by Norton, looked prepared to handle a bunch of drunken town louts with ease.

"My clothes...my possessions..."

"Will be sent along after you give us your direction, cuz. If you wish to leave with your skin intact and not leaking blood, you will not worry about that."

Robert's demands finally penetrated through the drink fogging Lionel's brain, for he moved away from his chair and waved at it with a shaky hand.

"So, all my father wished for has come to naught,
cousin
."

Robert shrugged and walked over to the chair, seating himself, and propping his feet on the table. It was already a mess, so he wasn't concerned about making it worse, and his pose sent its own message to the inebriates beginning to gather their gear together, still muttering amongst themselves.