"I started following the canal, knowing it eventually would take me to the sea. The first night I slept under a hedgerow and nearly froze to death. But by my second day I saw a man limping along, and I recognized him."
"The footman?"
"Yes. He was on his way to Liverpool, where he planned to take ship and leave England. He didn't want me tagging along with him, but he wasn't in a position to push me away, and he soon realized a young, pretty boy begging farmwives for food was more likely to get something than if he'd asked."
"Did your father look for you?"
"I don't know. I don't care. I was done with that life. My home now was on the oceans and it was a life that suited me."
"What about the footman?"
"Life aboard ship suited Mr. Fuller as well."
"Ah. That explains much," she murmured, then was silent, thinking it over.
"What happened to Ralph?"
He sighed, and she grasped him tighter, which helped him continue.
"I had contacts with people who kept me apprised of the situation here. I did not return when my father died. He'd made it clear through his solicitor in London that he was not interested in having me return and left money with his man to encourage me to stay away."
"Did you take it?"
He pulled his head back and looked at her. "Do I strike you as the sort of person who would leave free money on the table? Of course I took it. Some of the finest taverns and brothels in the islands grew richer on my patrimony."
She made no comment to this, but asked, "And what happened to your eldest brother?"
"Fortunately for the people of Ashwyn, Ralph did not survive my father's death for long. While he was alive, father could keep the worst of Ralph's excesses in check. Once he was gone--you heard about the difficulties keeping maids here. I have no doubt we'll hear further tales of depredation that can be laid at my late brother's feet. He died after falling off of his horse in a drunken stupor and drowning in a ditch. I received word in the islands that I was now Huntley and you know the rest, Miss Burke."
He stopped talking because he was increasingly aware of the woman he held, her soft, comforting curves nestling against him, her warmth seeping into places in his bones he hadn't realized needed warming until this moment. He put his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face up so he could look into her eyes. They were clear, and aware, and expectant.
He was the one who was nervous as his lips hovered above hers for a breath, and she was the one who sighed and closed the brief gap between them, looping her arms around his neck, drawing his head down to hers as she opened her mouth to him.
He took his time, letting her warmth flow into him like the noonday sun after a stormy night, relishing the feel of the rightness of her body close to his, only thin layers of clothing separating them. She made a needy sound he felt as much as heard and he slanted his mouth against hers, drawing out the mingled sweetness and tartness of her kisses, of her essence. He knew now why he'd had to bring her here, why he'd shown her the portrait, why he'd told her the story. She was the one who would bring the light into his gloom, her, and Mattie, and the puppy, and even the weak winter sunshine of England.
It was why he'd left the tropics, why he'd finally returned to this place, why he was tentatively ready to call it home without the tinge of sarcasm discoloring what this land was to him, what it could be to him in the future.
Huntley could be his home again. Whether or not his father's suspicions were correct, he was the baron now and he felt that obligation, the need to see to the estate and the village and the land just as he'd always seen to his ship and its crew. He could not do it alone. He needed his hearty crew, rascals all, including their lovely, luscious--dare one hope for lusty?--governess.
Ah yes, that was the cue he'd been hoping for. She moaned, and her mouth opened farther as he slanted his lips across hers, caressing her, slipping his tongue inside to deepen the kiss, to get all the sweetness he could from her mouth, from her soul. She tightened her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, her hands fisting in his hair as he moved down to embrace one soft, full breast, the nipple peaked in anticipation as his sensitive fingertips learned every inch of her form.
When the kiss ended, as all kisses do, he looked down into her face, her gaze dreamy, her lips moist and inviting, and he took a chance, every bit as risky as facing down a well-armed frigate.
"Stay here, Lydia. I need you."
"I cannot--I cannot make any promises to you. There's too much I--"
He put his finger over her lips. "Stay with me tonight."
* * * *
Four words. Not words of love, or words of commitment, but words flowing deep into her, moistening her parched core, bringing a hope of renewal, a yearning for something more than mere survival and existence, one day following another at the beck and call of people who did not value her.
The pirate valued her. He showed her in his insistence that she was a member of his rag-tag crew, in protecting her, in allowing her to love and care for his most precious treasure, Mattie.
She knew she was a good governess, but there were times she suspected she'd be an even better pirate. Pirates Anne and Mary lived lives that were short, but they were full lives. They took what they wanted, wrenching their happiness from danger and despair, living lives of color and passion.
She could only lie to herself so many times. Inside, she was still that girl willing to risk it all for love and excitement. Color was returning to her life, to her heart. Bright colors, bold colors, the colors of passion. The sapphire blue of glowing eyes, the burnished ebony of thick hair, a fine form kissed golden by the sun and chiseled with muscle and sinew to make a woman's pulse race.
She'd had passion in her life and reveled in it. With Robert St. Armand there would be passion, of that there was no doubt, but she'd have more. It was time to take the leap, to embrace what life offered her once again, to let the lush blooms inside her heart burst out in bold colors and make a statement that Lydia was here, she was alive, and she could not be ignored.
So it took little effort now to look into those eyes darkened to onyx ringed with blue fire, to reach up and caress the face she knew now was more than just a pretty façade, to see his long lashes flutter down as he turned his head to place a soft kiss in the center of her palm.
Tomorrow would bring...tomorrow. That's all anyone knew. Not whether the day would be for good or for evil. She owed it to herself to have tonight for her own well-being, to have her own needs satisfied.
She also knew, whatever tomorrow brought, she would not face it alone. She was a Prodigal, part of a pirate crew that took care of one another, starting with a badly beaten man and an emotionally beaten child bolstering each other as they escaped to freedom on the seas. She'd seen army and navy veterans discarded in Liverpool like so much trash now that the war was over and they were no longer needed, but pirates took care of their own.
And tonight she suspected Robert St. Armand--for that is how she would always think of her pirate captain--needed her. She understood better now the pain in his eyes when he talked of home, how important it was to him to create a real home for Mattie, and for himself.
Maybe, just maybe, she could be a part of that home too. It was a great deal to hope for, and she suspected she'd still have to leave rather than face her own past mistakes, but tonight could be hers. Tonight could be theirs.
He brought his eyes back to hers, still holding her hand.
"Yes."
One simple word that could change a life.
He scooped her into his arms and she looped her hands around his neck. He looked around the room in its disarray and said, "Not here."
She understood. Too many ghosts would crowd into their bed in this room.
"Your room," she said, and he nodded, still carrying her as he walked the short distance to his quarters. Paget and William the footman had cleaned in here, removing evidence of his cousin and preparing the space for the house's tr
ue master. Robert kicked the door shut behind him and gently put her on the wide bed, saying nothing more, but turning to light the lamp.
She must have made a noise because he turned back to her with a wicked twist to his lips and said, "I have been dreaming about what you look like underneath those garments, Miss Burke. I will not be denied this opportunity."
She propped herself up on an elbow. "I seem to recall you had an eyeful when I was bathing."
"A glimpse! A mere taste of what the feast would be."
He returned and loomed over her until she lay back against the pillow.
"Tonight I intend to feast my fill, little hedgehog."
He stepped back and began removing his clothing, starting with untying the cravat at his neck.
"Here is your revenge. You will see me naked while you are still clothed, so we will be square on this."
"You are hardly acting like this is a hardship for you, Captain, disrobing before me."
He paused, the two ends of the long cloth grasped in each hand, his collar undone. He let the silk sift through his fingers before discarding it on the floor.
"That is because I know what a magnificent sight I am in the nude, Miss Burke. And soon, you will know too."
That noise emerging from her couldn't possibly have been a snicker, but really, the man was ridiculous!
Ridiculous, and beyond handsome. She wouldn't say it, at least not at the moment when he seemed inflated enough. He continued with his boots, seating himself on the wooden chair to pull them off, not hurrying, but letting her get her fill as he unfastened his breeches, slowly, button by button, knowing that she watched.
Lydia never before appreciated the beauty of a man undressing, particularly this man who knew how to dress--and undress--with a skill rivaling that of a professional courtesan. Each garment removed was handled deliberately, her eyes following his hands as he grasped the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head.
At the end, when his smallclothes were laid neatly atop the breeches and shirt, he stood straight, hands by his sides.
He was without a doubt the most beautiful man she'd ever seen, far more beautiful than any engraving or statue she'd ogled. She'd shared her bed with men who were more muscular, but there was nothing lacking in the pirate. He walked back to her, his fencer's form lithe and supple, muscles moving in a smooth dance of their own beneath his skin, no excess flesh marring the ripples across his hard belly. When he saw the appreciation evident on her face he gave her a smile that said, "Yes, I am one devilishly handsome specimen and I know it," then turned so she could appreciate the view from all sides.
And it was a view worth appreciating. The muscles of his chest were mirrored by the anatomy of his back, and he raised his arms and folded them behind his head, flexing so she could see the lean flesh tighten and move in concert. Deep dimples on his bottom were echoed by the indentation in his face when he looked over his shoulder and grinned extravagantly at her.
"Never tell me you practiced that maneuver in front of a mirror!"
"I am used to a certain amount of appreciation, even awe when I disrobe--please don't giggle, it ruins the moment."
"Then you must restore me to my mood, Captain St. Armand," Lydia said.
He grinned wider, untying his hair where he'd restrained it at his neck and he turned back to her. He ran his fingers through the curls to loosen them and they clustered around his bronzed face, making him look like the kind of mischievous angel who would have been chucked out of heaven for tying the others' wings together.
A line of dark hair arrowed down from his chest, spreading to frame his anatomy, his cock dark with his desire, heavy and full as it stood before him. Her tongue darted out to lick lips gone dry at the thought of having all that flesh, all of his strength, in her arms. She longed to be free of her own restraints and sat up, undoing the fastenings of her garments.
"Let me. Please."
He silently came to her and stilled her fingers as he sat beside her, removing her clothing. He did not rush. She would have expected him to be the sort who ripped wrapping off of gifts, but instead he focused on delicately undoing every knot, pausing as each garment fell away, revealing more of her. Goose flesh ran over her arms when he pushed the folds of her dress apart and studied her chemise and corset clad form.
"You deserve silks and satins, Lydia. The finest, softest linen, but none of that would make you more beautiful to me than you are at this moment."
He undid the rest, and she placed her hands on his wide chest, so warm, so full of life.
"Robert," was all she said, and at his name on her lips he stopped, and closed his eyes, and when he opened them they were nearly black with heat. He took her shoulders and brushed his lips across hers, caressing them, learning them, gliding his tongue across the seam where they were shut until she opened for him, allowing him entry, and his tongue glided inside as his hands moved up to frame her face.
She put her hands on his shoulders and felt the tension vibrating through him, the sweat beading at his neck. He did not rush his exploration of her mouth but acted as if that alone was the most important thing he would accomplish that evening, as if kisses alone could bring him complete satisfaction. His hands roamed down her, leaving pleasure behind as he caressed her with those skilled fingers, taking his time, punctuating it with kisses.
It warmed her and nourished her soul, those kisses, each cherishing movement across her mouth, against her tongue, across the tiny gap in her teeth feeding the flames bursting into life in her heart. When he put his head down and sucked on her breasts, laving the tips with his tongue, she could only make inarticulate sounds of need, sounds he interpreted correctly and encouraged with further loving by his mouth. He was skillful, as promised, but it wasn't a mechanical skill--she could offer herself that with her own hand. It was a skill born of experience, but also awareness of whom he was loving, of her as a person. The events leading to this night, to her finally being in his arms, gave their lovemaking a tenderness she'd never anticipated. She'd promised to stay with him until he was home, and now he was, and she was in bed with him, doing what she once swore she would not do--entangle herself with another unsuitable man.
It was not a fair comparison. Edwin never took the time to know her needs so well, to put her pleasure so far above his. Sometimes she climaxed during their lovemaking, sometimes she simply enjoyed the closeness and the time together, but when Edwin finished he'd roll over and go to sleep, while she'd lay beside him, fists clenched in frustration as she wondered what she'd done wrong, why she couldn't find her release.
She was older now, and knew from the life she'd led that she was entitled to satisfaction. Clearly, Captain St. Armand had learned the same lesson.
Or perhaps it was because Robert was one of those rare men who truly appreciated women and their needs. He certainly understood what she was needing, sometimes intuiting it, as he did when he stroked her neck and felt how her pulse raced, or by asking if she liked being touched with two fingers there or perhaps she enjoyed it more when he stroked her here. He was aptly named a prodigal, for he gave lavishly, freely, holding nothing back as he pleasured her with his hands, his mouth, his body. She panted in his arms as his mouth moved across her shoulder, little bites exciting her nerves, making her back arch.
However, she had not completely lost her mind in sensation.
"Wait--Robert--do you have a French letter?"
He pulled his head back and looked at her, eyebrows raised. "You are a well-educated governess."
She was glad he'd lit the candles, because the expression on his face was priceless, and she smiled gently at him, raising her hand to stroke the back of her fingers down his tanned cheek.
"I want this, but what I do not want is to find myself with a case of the pox or in a situation like Nanette's."
"We will deal with this, my dear, but tonight"--he put his finger over her lips, hushing whatever she would have said--"put your trust in me. I am clean, and I will not l
eave my seed inside you."
His disheveled hair fell across his forehead as he brought his mouth down to a sensitive point on her neck.
"Trust me," he murmured again.
Oddly enough, she did trust him. In this bed, in her arms, she trusted him. He was not any other man, he was Robert St. Armand Huntley, her pirate, and a glimmer of hope began to grow in her chest that perhaps she could have a future here. Wasn't it one of the reasons she'd said yes tonight? Not just for the pleasure, but because she'd finally allowed herself to believe in the possibility of a full life, a life of satisfaction and love?
She knew now she loved Robert, and tonight she could show him some of that love. Clearly he cared for her, and for now, just for tonight, it was enough. He was holding himself back, she could feel the tightness in his frame, and when she moved her hand down between their bodies she felt how hard he was, how ready, and her stroking grasp made him swear a mighty oath.
"Lydia--"
She opened her thighs and he took those long fingers, the hand that had proven itself capable of not just harm and destruction, but also of cradling those in need of protection, and delicately ran his knuckles over her, spreading moisture, preparing her.
"I need you, Robert. Now."
The finesse vanished as he yanked the bedding back, his arms braced alongside her shoulders and she knew a moment's trepidation as he loomed over her, his eyes glittering with lust and heat. She also knew a moment of feminine triumph that this beautiful man was in her bed, with her.
He entered her as carefully as a thief sneaking into a jewelry store in the dark, watching her face in the candlelight, pausing at her gasp.
"Too much?"
"Not enough," she gasped, "but let me--" She raised her legs, allowing him to go deeper and her purr of satisfaction was reflected in his own guttural sound as he pushed fully inside her. There was discomfort, because it had been a long, long time for her, and the strain on his face, his eyes shut in concentration warmed her as he gave her body time to adjust, to relearn what it needed.
The Pirate's Secret Baby Page 23
