The Pirate's Secret Baby (34 page)

"My writing entertaining stories is nothing like robbing people, Captain St. Armand!"

"Entertaining stories? Is that what the Society for the Suppression of Vice is calling it these days? I know I would have remembered stories written by Miss Lydia Burke, so what was your
nom de plume
?"

She mumbled something and he cocked his head at her.

"Louder, please, I didn't quite catch that."

She sighed. "I wrote under the name Randy Scribe. Not very original, but it made a point."

Now his smile threatened to split his face. "You wrote the book about the gardener, the vicar, Lady Buxom, and what the milkmaids saw?"

"You read that?"

"Read it? It was my favorite! If there hadn't been a war on and ships to pillage I would not have left my berth for a week!" He bounced on his toes, all thoughts of murdering her gone. She hoped. Perhaps like Scheherazade, her storytelling abilities would keep her alive for now. However, there were still other issues to deal with, so she returned to her chair and sat, resigned, as he enjoyed the moment at her expense.

"Wait! There were drawings! Did you illustrate your own stories?"

"No, I have no artistic talent of that sort. Others supplied the illustrations."

"Pity." He sighed. "I liked looking at the pictures."

"Are you quite done enjoying my discomfort? If you recall, you threatened to kill me and I would like to know if we have moved beyond that."

"Never assume someone's not going to kill you, you'll live longer. I'm ready to hear the rest of your story, Miss Burke--or should I say,
Randy
?"

"If you do, I'm liable to throw that cup of rum at you, Captain."

He just grinned again. "Wasn't Randy Scribe the author of
Birching the Barrister
? I'm sure someone with such a fertile imagination can find a better way to punish me than by throwing things. How
did
you gain the skills to become a writer of such renown?"

"Our little group of malcontents enjoyed sharing books frowned upon by the church and Crown--
The Memoirs of A Woman of Pleasure
,
The Frisky Songster,
tracts on the philosophy of birch discipline, that sort of thing. After reading these salacious works I knew I could write them as well as most of the people being published, if not better. The combination of morality, political philosophy, the rights of women, and entertainment intrigued me. Most importantly, it was what the publisher was buying. The more I wrote, the more I could pay the rent and purchase food."

"A very practical attitude. I approve."

"You may laugh, but it was my association with Drysdale and his publications which forced me to flee England. There was an underling at the publishing house, an odious little man. Thomas Wilson. He was popular with the writers and hangers-on because he was willing to buy them drink in the tavern where we'd congregate."

"The tavern where you talked radicalism."

"Exactly. He was a government plant, brought in to keep notes on the Spencean Society and others in our group. Wilson's value to his masters increased with our supposed illegal activities, so the more they drank and talked treason, the more he had to offer. Since he worked for Drysdale, he naturally knew about my writing. Wilson felt my status as Edwin's paramour and my writing gave him license to take liberties with me."

"Did he assault you?"

The question was asked softly, but with an undercurrent that chilled her. "Not successfully. He did corner me in the offices, but I'd learned a trick or two from the women in the marketplace. He did not take rejection well."

Lydia leaned forward. "Wilson used his connections at the Home Office to discover my background. He threatened to publish articles highlighting my salacious career, my involvement with radicals, my living with Edwin without benefit of clergy. There was also the issue of my companions. He could make a case to his superiors I was involved in seditious activities. Now that I'm returned--remember, Peterloo is still much on peoples' minds, and the government is watching to see who stirs up trouble, or is perceived as stirring up trouble. Arrest and exposure of my activities would bring attention to my family, the family that told everyone I was dead. I'd made my choice to reject them, they do not need to suffer further because of my actions. I understand that and I accept it, even if I do not like it."

"Bollocks."

She raised an eyebrow at the obscenity.

"I will not apologize. If your family cared about you, they would stand behind you."

"Actions have consequences, Captain. Isn't that what we're teaching Mathilde? If one acts in such a fashion as to being shame on one's family, there is a consequence. I will not do that to them, not to make my own life more comfortable."

"Do you think I could ever abandon Mattie? Even when I was looking for someone to care for her in St. Martin, it was because I wanted to do the right thing for her. Your having to run and hide from this worm is not a consequence you should be forced to bear alone. We prodigals must stick together because who else will stand by us?"

"I seem to recall the Bible story having a different outcome and message."

He waved away that point. "You understand what I am trying to say. You, me, Mattie, we are all of us frowned upon by society for our behavior, or simply for what we are. We're outcasts. When the enemy is preparing a broadside you have only your own cunning and your shipmates beside you. Knowing those other outcasts stand with you gives you the courage to fight, and win gold and booty."

Lydia looked at the man standing before her who combined some of the best and worst of human nature. He loved his daughter and was a good commander, but he was also a pirate and a reprobate. His deeds were not written on his face, it glowed with good health, showing none of the signs of his riotous life--yet--but she knew him. If he continued on his life's path it would only be a matter of time before disease or disaster caught up with Robert.

She'd never believed a good woman could change a bad man, but a flawed man could change himself into a person a flawed woman could stand beside. It was a fragile candle flame of hope inside her chest after the emotional turmoil of finally telling him her whole story, but he'd been correct about one thing. It was time he knew it all. Whether that made a positive difference in her future remained to be seen.

"Your philosophy of life and mine are not aligned. I hope for more than a good fight and ill-gotten gains."

"Then I think you've put your finger on exactly what your problem is, Miss Burke."

"No. My goal is to be a better person than I was in my youth. I am an adult now, I have put away childish things. And you, Robert, you like to paint yourself as only a pirate, but you are much more than that. You were not the prodigal son. You did not take your patrimony and spend it wastefully until you had nothing. You built your own fortune. Granted, it was a fortune built on piracy, but it was your own hard work, nonetheless--I cannot believe I am saying this," she muttered. "Regardless, your ship is not aptly named. Yes, your crew may be free spending with their booty, but... I cannot believe I am defending all of you!"

"All of
us
, don't you mean?"

"Yes, me also, because I too threw away my life of safety and security to live passionately, if not profligately."

"There is nothing wrong with living life passionately, Lydia. It is the only life we have, so why not take advantage of fine fabrics, furs, good food and drink? Leave the righteous crusts and thin broth of sanctity to those who will nibble on such fare and judge themselves, and others, in their gray, colorless manner."

He began to pace around the room, hands clasped behind his back. His focus had shifted from her as a threat to him onto a different plane. "Now that I'm home, I could become that prodigal son, Lydia. I could spend down the remaining monies in this estate, ruining it even further. Huntley's almost there already, thanks to my brother and my cousin. With just a slight push it could all topple into dust. That is what I intended with this return."

"Then what?"

"How do you mean?"

"So you ruin the estate further, throwing even more people out of employment, not bringing your custom to the local merchants, not holding up your end of your ancestors' bargain. For that's what it was initially, was it not? The baron protected the people and in return they supported him.
That
is your patrimony. Not the beatings and ill-feeling of your father and brother, but the agreement between lord and land, your responsibility to your people. You are Huntley. Not your father, not your brother, not your cousin. You."

"And what of you in this plan, Lydia?"

She took a deep breath. "I agreed to see you to your home, and care for Mathilde. I have done so. But my problems remain, Captain, and I still must leave so you can move on with reclaiming your legacy."

"Do you want to leave?"

"You know I do not, especially now. But you and I both know that part of your responsibility is to marry and father your own children, because otherwise your cousin will inherit the estate."

"I could easily eliminate him..."

"Not a good solution, Captain."

"I don't know why you say that when accidents are so common. I could see a fool like Lionel accidentally falling on a knife."

She felt that twinge behind her eye signaling a headache if she didn't steer the conversation in a different direction.

She stood, and her feet moved her toward his bed, where she could grasp hold of the post at the end. She looked down on the old bed, carved long in the past, and she'd wager it had been slept in by Lords Huntley going back generations. Robert had replaced the bedding, but kept the furniture. Was that a conscious decision on his part? A link to the men whose name he bore, whether or not he believed himself the heir by blood? She knew what she had to do if he was going to truly take on the baron's role.

"I would embarrass you if I stayed."

He laughed aloud at this, and she turned and looked over her shoulder. He was close behind her, and put his hands on her shoulders.

"My darling Lydia, I am a pirate--or so people say--and you think you would be an embarrassment to me?"

She turned to look in his eyes. "You're handsome, titled, rich, from a good family, sometimes you display a modicum of wit--hostesses will poison each other for the opportunity to invite you to their soirees, and mothers of marriageable daughters will find ways to thrust their offspring into your path. You must marry, and marry well. Your past will be overcome by your obvious assets, not nearly the barrier you would think. To be fully accepted into society though, your wife must be above reproach."

She smiled, but she knew it was a fractured smile because it reflected the truth, as unpleasant as it was.

"It's different for a woman. I did spend my currency prodigally, my currency being that of other young women--my reputation."

His hand rose and cupped her cheek, and her eyelashes fluttered down at the tenderness of his touch. It was something she craved, something she'd tasted during those brief moments when he held her to comfort her, and when he loved her in his bed.

"If you marry me, you will be Lady Huntley. That is all anyone needs to know," he said softly.

"Please, Robert, do not do this to me--not tonight. There is too much happening."

He sighed and stepped away, and she gripped the post for support until she was sure she would not weep, or collapse onto his bed, a far too tempting option. Instead, she returned to her chair and sat while he replenished their rum.

"Let us return to our original problem then. Is Wilson the only person threatening you?"

"To the best of my knowledge he's working alone. He's greedy and would not want to share with anyone else. I'm living under constant threat as long as I am in England, because I don't know where Wilson is and I could be spotted or recognized by someone who knew me or who knows my family."

"As it happens, I know where Wilson is. He's in London."

"Nash and Turnbull," Lydia whispered.

"Yes. I knew you were fleeing from something or someone, and my men--those two in particular--are good at ferreting out information in unsavory settings. I told them to spend money freely and to drop your name into conversation."

"You had no right to interfere with my life that way!"

"I had every right. My daughter is in your keeping. I would not risk her well-being. I would not risk
your
well-being. Information--knowledge--is power. I'm not only a successful man because of my skills at sea, but because I know information is itself a currency and I gather as much as possible when planning my business opportunities. The men learned Wilson spent a great amount of his time and coin a few years back asking about a woman named Burke. He seemed to think you'd gone to ground in London."

"I could have stayed in the islands, as I wished! I would have been safe if you had not kidnapped me!"

He shrugged. "I will not apologize. I am glad I took you, Lydia. You belong with me. Stop worrying about Wilson. When he contacts you I will deal with him."

"Wait--when he contacts me? How can you be certain he will?"

"Because Turnbull told him you're here."

"What?"

"Do not screech, you will wake the household."

She didn't realize she was on her feet, fists clenched, until she saw Robert eyeing her warily. Good. He should be afraid. How
dare
he throw her into harm's way when she'd worked so hard to hide from Wilson.

"Be reasonable, Lydia. You cannot spend your life running, looking over your shoulder in fear of this worm. He will come here. I will take care of him. It is simple."

Hope flared in Lydia's breast. How wonderfully easy it would be to put her head on Robert's broad shoulder and let him put her under his protection, solve all her problems.

She couldn't do that. She'd put her fate in the hands of a man once, and when he abandoned her she ended running away, threatened with ruin and possible imprisonment.