Then his eyes opened and the tenderness within them flowed into her much as he began flowing into her like a surging tide, his movements controlled, at first, calibrated, at first. She could see from the strain on his face this was more than either of them could have anticipated, could have prepared for.
Her passion climbed in concert with his thrusts, but she realized the moment before he swore and pulled out that he was not as much in control of himself as he'd wish and he held her hard against him as he spilled his seed onto her belly, as promised.
She sighed, but he put his finger across her lips.
"No, we are not done yet."
"But--"
"Shhh...trust me," he said again, punctuating it with a kiss while he moved his hand down. She felt herself tense, but he only said, "shhhh" again and she closed her eyes when he touched the overly sensitive junction of her thighs, stroking her, so lightly at first, little touches like flower petals tapping at her, then growing in intensity as her excitement ramped up again until she was gripping his upper arms with passion and the feelings mounted in her belly, exploding outward with her cry of release.
He had his arm beneath her, holding her as she relaxed back onto the bed, boneless and replete with satisfaction. When she opened her eyes and could speak again she was surprised to see not triumph in his expression, but tenderness.
"Next time," he whispered to her, "we will complete our journey together."
Next time...
"Oh no, you cannot pull back into your shell now, Lydia," he said, tapping her lightly on her nose. "I can see your thoughts written on your face. No regrets, no chastising yourself, not tonight."
She inhaled the scent of their lovemaking, a reminder of the past as much as memento of tonight's passion, and it brought her comfort, but also concern.
"Robert--there are things about me--"
"Your next words are going to be, 'things you do not know...' No doubt you have a delightfully gothic tale you will share with me at some point," he said with a chuckle. "But it will not be tonight."
He rolled over and put his hands beneath his head, a look of complete satisfaction on his face as he gazed up at the ceiling.
"This room could use some naked cupids frolicking on the ceiling, don't you think?"
Chapter 21
Just before the stars faded, Lydia slipped out of Robert's bed and returned to her own. They'd taken a huge risk last night, gambling Mattie wouldn't awaken and come searching for her governess, gambling no servant or pirate would see her sneaking out of his room, gambling Lydia wouldn't find herself in the same position as Nanette, giving Mattie a sibling.
But as Lydia rose from her bed and stretched, feeling unfamiliar soreness in her limbs and in more personal parts, she could only summon a tiny amount of regret for her choice of the night before. It opened a door, reawakening the girl--no, the woman--within her. She'd locked that woman away, hiding her under ugly caps and dowdy clothing, but she was still a part of Lydia, she still was Lydia, the Lydia who'd turned her back on society's strictures, paid for it, but also earned memories and knowledge of a life lived with passion and purpose, not just existing and hiding and nibbling at crusts thrown her way.
It took a pirate to bring those memories back, and to give her new ones.
She confessed to herself a burning curiosity about Huntley Manor, wondering what she would find in the light of day. And that raised another issue. How long did she intend to stay? Would she ever get her wages, and, if she did, was she still anxious to leave as quickly as possible? There was a part of her--the wild child, piratical Prodigal Son part of her--that favored hunting down her enemy and dispatching him silently and permanently, but it was only a daydream. As long as she felt threatened in England, it was best for her, for Robert, for Mattie if she slipped from their lives. Lord Huntley needed to marry someone who wouldn't be a further embarrassment to him, a wife bringing a sterling reputation to her marriage, if not additional property and wealth. Rich lords only married milkmaids or governesses in silly tales for impressionable and vapid readers. In the world as it truly was, wealth, status, land and societal connections were what mattered.
She chewed her lip, examining her wardrobe. The best course of action would be to continue as she had, wearing dowdy and washed-out gowns. A shudder ran over her frame at the thought, and she reached instead for a new gown, Pomona green with lace at the collar that she was sure she had not authorized as an additional expense. Someone had sneaked behind her back to countermand her orders to the seamstress, but she could not work up much anger over it as the fine fabric slid over her arms, soft as lamb's wool.
She tucked her hair beneath a new cap from the seamstress, because too much change would get people talking and speculating, a complication she did not need.
Wandering the halls of Huntley brought her to the sound of voices and a room with an air of neglect, but admitting a cheerful amount of sunshine. It was much cozier than the formal hall, and Mattie and her father were already at table. Robert rose to his feet at her entrance, giving her a wink as they both recalled her entrance into the study the night before.
Pleased that she offered no telltale blush Lydia ignored that and filled her plate while one of the kitchen girls brought in fresh coffee, and she inhaled the aroma gratefully. Tea was all well and good in the evening, but she'd joined the pirates in an appreciation for a heartier brew to start her day. As Mattie and her father were still talking, Lydia took in her surroundings.
The room was papered with a faded yellow silk and the draperies showed some moth damage and might not be salvageable. Most importantly, the windows were in need of a good scrubbing as were the baseboards and the carpet.
She shook herself mentally. St. Armand asked for her help, but it was too easy to see herself slipping into the role of mistress of the manor. She needed to finish her conversation with him about her duties, in the light of day, without distractions.
On the other hand, she could easily envision herself spread across that wide and sturdy desk of his, being distracted. Or perhaps he'd sit in that heavy chair and she would straddle him, holding on to the back of the chair as she raised and lowered herself onto his thick...
"Miss Burke?"
* * * *
The governess jumped in her seat, yanked out of whatever fantasy had put that dreamy, distracted expression on her face. Naturally, he suspected he was at the center of that fantasy, and would quiz her later on exactly what she'd contemplated.
Last night proved a delight in so many unexpected ways. Lydia was a lusty bed partner, clearly a woman of passion and experience.
It was her experience that concerned him. He was not concerned with being Lydia's first lover, but he intended to be her last. When he had more information, uncovered her secrets, he'd be better prepared to ensure that happened. Binding her to Huntley, and to him, would be a good first step.
"Have you created a schedule for Mattie yet?"
Lydia looked at the child, who tried to speak around a mouth full of food until her governess put a halt to that breach of manners with a stern look.
"I have, Captain. Now that we're on land again, our lessons will resume. I also want opportunities to take Mathilde to church and into the village. Surely there are other children in the area, and it would be good for her to spend time with them. You enjoyed visiting in Liverpool, didn't you?" she ended with a question to her young charge.
"Yes, ma'am. But Papa," she said, turning to her father, "I also want to continue my lessons with you."
It pleased him that the child wanted to spend time with him. He'd come to value their sessions together, time for the two of them alone without distractions. Mattie had a sharp and inquisitive mind and sometimes her questions stumped him, but her trust in him warmed a place he'd never realized was still cold and aching, the void left in a little boy's heart by a father who despised him and tried to make him feel worthless.
"Yes, our lessons will resume this afternoon. I will hav
e targets placed behind the stable, and"--he drew out the tension, enjoying the anticipation on her face--"we will add pistols to our sessions."
He heard rather than saw the governess suck in breath to berate him and preempted her tirade.
"Miss Burke, powder is less expensive than a human life. This is why we have shipboard drills, over and over again. This is why one practices with knife, sword and pistols until you don't even have to think about the weapon, it's simply an extension of your hand. Oftentimes the difference between the quick and the dead is that moment of hesitation."
She closed her mouth with a snap of her teeth, and he knew the discussion wasn't finished. It did not signify. Multiplication tables were her area of expertise, staying alive was his. He would do everything in his power to keep Mattie safe and that included teaching her to defend herself.
"In the meantime," he said, rising from the table, "I need to meet with Mr. Fuller. One of the first improvements I intend to make to Huntley is to the plumbing, which is positively medieval. If I am to live here it should at least be as comfortable as my ship. I want a proper bathing room, hot water, and a Bramah closet."
"Is this our home now, Papa? Forever?"
"Yes, poppet. This is our safe harbor, and our home."
Robert didn't think about the truth of the words until after he'd said them. He did not know he would miss Huntley until he was here again, walking these corridors, inhaling the scents of his childhood, obscured by dust and decay, but still there. He needed to make Huntley a safe harbor for Mattie, and if things worked out as he planned, for Lydia Burke as well.
Issues still remained to be resolved and Horace Fuller found him later in his study, ready to tear out his hair, or even better, hang someone from the yardarm.
"I thought I was the pirate! I'm being robbed by my own employees, Mr. Fuller."
Fuller poured himself a dram of rum and brought one for his captain as well before seating himself in front of the desk. Robert drank, then settled back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. The estate books were a disaster and he feared he'd have to dip into his own capital to keep the manor afloat, something he had not wanted to do. It irked him that his ill-gotten but hard-won silver would prop up the place he'd loathed for so many years.
However, he had the child to think about. And his tenants. And the merchants in the village who depended on Huntley for business.
He stood, but waved Fuller back into his seat.
"Stay there. I need to move about before I grab my cutlass and begin solving these problems like Alexander did with the Gordian knot."
"It's as you said, Captain. Your brother's steward could teach you a thing or two about robbery."
"What did you find?"
"Neglect and theft, but little rot and if your tenants follow your lead, it's not a disaster. Your father left the estate in good condition, but your brother and your cousin took money out without putting any back in. The cold summer a couple years past didn't help. You need new roofs for some of the cottages, better harvesting and crops to replenish the soil, new drains--it's manageable. This is a productive property, Captain, with proper management, and this house is still sturdy."
Robert sighed and turned away from the view out the window, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed.
"You knew you'd be coming back, even before Mattie showed up," Fuller said.
"What I planned, Mr. Fuller, was to return to piss on Ralph's grave, take everything of value that wasn't nailed down, and leave again for sea as quickly as possible."
"This is me you're talking to, remember? I was the one you sent to gather information."
"The only benefit I received from reading about your damned mangel wurzels in those agricultural journals was an ability to fall asleep faster."
Fuller leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankles, lacing his gnarled fingers across his stomach. Those hands were blackened by tar that would never come out, ground into his skin from his life working alongside Robert over the years, then guarding his back when he seized command of the Prodigal Son. The two knew enough about each other to get them hanged together, but he was the one person Robert trusted to be honest with him--though he hoped to add another person to that short list soon.
"More turnips means more cattle, more cattle means more money. You are Huntley," Fuller said, unnecessarily. "No matter what you or your father believed, you belong here. You can do far better than Ralph, and you know you would do better than Nicholas. You have the gift of command, Captain."
"Then let us talk about something more entertaining, Mr. Fuller. How quickly can you bring me John Heath's head on a pike?"
"I have good news for you there. We caught him sneaking away with Lionel Huntley's set."
"Do you need help hiding the body?"
"No. We convinced the steward to show us where he hid the booty, explained to him that crime doesn't pay--unless you're part of the crew--and sent him limping down the road. He won't bother you again, and he'll think twice about robbing anyone else."
Robert frowned. "What's the good of being lord of the manor if you can't display a malefactor's head on a pike as a lesson to the villagers?"
"Welcome back to civilization, my lord."
* * * *
Lydia met with Mrs. Farmer and Braxton to organize the refurbishment of Huntley for Robert and Mattie. She would do her best to put the house to rights, but she would not presume she would be staying. She couldn't do that, no matter how lured she was by her time in Robert St. Armand's arms. It would be impossible to hide her love for him, especially if they were together in bed, and she knew he intended to join her there as often as she'd allow. Why wouldn't he? He was a man, she'd shown herself available, and while she could tell herself that this was what she wanted--because it was true--she also knew only one of them would bear society's censure if word leaked out. And word always leaked out. Servants washed the sheets, they knew when a bed had been used by more than one person. They were not deaf and dumb statues, they could see a lingering glance, a forbidden touch of hands, people standing closer than they should.
In the meantime the butler and the cook treated her with respect. Servants had an unerring knack for determining someone's status within a hierarchy, and Lydia's place had been firmly established at the top, for now. Braxton dispatched William to the local village to get the word out that Huntley was hiring and it was safe to work in the manor again. He seemed genuinely pleased to have Lydia's acceptance of responsibility as housekeeper, if not as lady of the house.
"But Miss Burke," the cook asked, "beggin' your pardon, but we've all heard stories about Lord Huntley before he came home, that he was a--well, you know. Those men of his are a rough-looking lot!"
Lydia smiled to herself as she thought about how once she would once have lumped the crew together as "murderous pirates" before she learned that Nash and Turnbull thirsted for knowledge, that Sails was talented at making ladies' garments, that Paget played the flute like a concertmaster's dream.
"Lord Huntley's men are firmly under his command, Mrs. Farmer, and I can assure you after crossing the Atlantic with them that they will not press unwanted attentions on anyone working here. However," she added dryly, "you might want to keep a close eye on the girls, because I know these gentlemen can spin yarns capable of swaying the most respectable of women."
The home farm was producing well and Lydia was especially pleased by the dairy cows, their milk a welcome addition to Mattie's meals. In the summer she would introduce the child to ice cream, a treat Lydia'd missed in the island.
She hurried off to the child's lessons. Huntley needed a firm hand and a great deal of cleaning to be brought back into shape, but her first responsibility was as Mathilde's governess. The child was in the nursery with her father, playing jackstraws on the rug while Jolly watched them from his bed as he chewed on a piece of rope.
"Miss Burke, there are wonderful things in here! Papa says when he was little he used to play with these, but now I c
an play with them."
"I am pleased you are happy with your new quarters, Mathilde, but if your father will excuse us it is time for lessons."
"Where are Mr. Nash and Mr. Turnbull, Papa? We are studying division now and they said they wanted to learn also."
Lydia'd been wondering the same thing. Some of the men left the crew to ship out with other vessels, one or two left to rejoin families in England, but she hadn't heard from her two other favorite pupils.
"They will be here soon, Mathilde. I gave them a task to perform first, and you know for the men it's duty before lessons."
"Until then, Mattie, we need to resume our lessons," Lydia said.
"I will rejoin you at luncheon, ladies." He picked up Mattie's hand and blew a noisy kiss into her palm, which made her giggle. But when he picked up Lydia's hand, the rogue licked her, which brought heat to her cheekbones.
"Away with you, Captain. We have numbers to conquer!"
Mattie giggled again at Lydia's command and after the handsome distraction left, the remainder of the morning was spent productively. A cheerful fire took the chill from the room while the gloomy skies kept Mattie from whining about being outside, though Lydia planned nature lessons for a better day.
With the materials in the nursery and Lydia's own supplies there was plenty to keep them busy until a growl from Mattie's stomach signaled it was time for a break. After luncheon Lydia thought longingly of a brief nap while Mattie and her father were occupied, but there were new girls in the kitchen who'd come for work, and there was work aplenty for all. Lydia even commandeered one of the younger girls, Sally, to be a nursery-maid and free up the governess for other duties.
A knock at Lydia's door late that afternoon as she dressed for supper showed Robert in the doorway, looking much more Lord Huntley than Captain St. Armand. He wore an informal frock coat in claret superfine, a modest neckcloth and waistcoat of dull gold. His "country squire" appearance did not fool her--the gold loop in his ear was a giveaway that the man still had piratical aspirations.
The Pirate's Secret Baby Page 24
