"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.
"I cannot let you deal with Wilson for me, Captain St--Robert. It is my problem, not yours."
"Come here."
She didn't move, so he stepped closer to her. The only sounds in the quiet night were the call of an owl hunting its prey. She knew how that poor little mouse felt, worried about being consumed by something so large and fierce. Robert grasped her arms, holding her in place.
"Lydia Burke. I have two things to say to you. You are brave and resourceful and you've done a marvelous job taking care of yourself these past years, even if you had to hide your beauty behind such a drab front. That is thing number one. Thing number two is, you are an idiot. You are a governess, but I am a pirate. I do not attempt to teach higher mathematics or write stories, you should not attempt to stop me from doing what I do best--removing unpleasant people."
"Idiot? How dare--"
She would have finished that screed but he shut her up by pulling her against him and kissing her. He used some diabolical technique learned in his travels to the Orient because her brain ceased functioning under the assault of his lush mouth. As far as her newly roused passions were concerned, the only idea that made sense right now was adjourning to his bed and exploring his skills in depth, doing further thoughtless and foolish and passionate things with him simply because they made her feel so alive.
His lips were his weapon as he overcame her resistance and her scruples. His soft lips, moving across her own, coaxing her mouth open, prompting her to lean into his embrace, a broken moan escaping from her.
It was all too much, the tension of the night, the highs and lows of their interaction, this too visceral reminder of what life was when it was full of excitement and color. Once she'd led a life where she was warmed by the passion of people arguing late into the night, the passion of sharing her bed with a man who wanted her, at least for a while, and now that she was wanted again and it made her feel--everything.
More than that, in Robert's embrace, in his kisses, she felt things she'd never felt before. A wholeness from sharing this experience with him, not because he could ravage her senses with his skills, but because it was Robert, her Robert, the man who loved puppies and had tea parties with little girls and could take men destined for the gallows and give them another chance, a chance to be a part of a crew of shipmates who watched each others' backs. She was a Prodigal and that warmed her, but Robert's kisses inflamed her, caught her up in a tide of feeling.
When they broke apart both were breathing heavily and she looked up into his eyes, then felt her own narrow. She saw triumph in his gaze. He thought he could keep her here with his body, with his kisses, with his handsome face. She was still put out with him for sitting in the dark again, waiting to scare the life out of her. And for calling her an idiot. And for--well, for being the notorious Captain St. Armand and Lord Huntley and such an outright rascal. Tonight he would learn that he could not always get his way. She knew things, Lydia did. Even if she hadn't done everything she'd written as Randy Scribe, she'd done enough and knew enough to teach the pirate a lesson or two.
"Trust is so very important in a relationship, Robert," she said softly. "You want me to trust you, to let you take over all my problems and fix them for me, correct?"
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Do I make you nervous?"
She ran her finger down the front of his open shirt, feeling the robust flesh against her hand. Oh yes, skin this firm would respond nicely to what she was contemplating.
"Do not be ridiculous," he scoffed. "What could you possibly have in mind that would make me nervous?"
She thought of the objects deep in the bottom of the case where she kept her most personal possessions, used on those evenings when she sought self-gratification. After all, there weren't always pirates around when you needed them. Most of those implements were more exotic than this evening called for, but at some point it might be amusing to pull them out and give him an experience he'd not soon forget. In the meantime there were other things she could do.
She smiled at that thought, leaving his embrace and walking over to his chest of drawers, to the top one where she knew he kept his cravats. Lovely cloth, linen and silk, finely made, some stiff with starch, others comfortably pliable. They were exactly what she needed.
She turned back to him and ran one of the lengths of silk through her fingers and his eyes followed her motions, darkening as his breath caught. He was, after all, an experienced man with a certain reputation in the brothels of St. Martin, she'd heard that for herself.
"You want me to restrain you," he said huskily.
"You forget, Captain St. Armand. I am the governess here."
"Oh? Oh!" he said, licking his lips nervously. "I don't know if that is such a--"
"Silence."
He shut his mouth so quickly at her quiet command that she heard his teeth click. But he didn't run, he didn't come over and take the cloth from her and turn the tables, he only stood there looking slightly ill at ease.
Slightly ill at ease, but with a noticeable tenting of the fabric in his breeches.
Lydia leisurely walked to the armchair, turned it around and seated herself, sprawling in a way that would have earned a reprimand from her own governess, but it suited her mood. Tonight she felt like a queen, a barbarian queen with serving boys at her beck and call. Or like Anne Bonny, picking the most strapping and handsomest of the pirates to service her.
"Tonight you will serve me, in all ways, Captain, as a demonstration of trust. If I am pleased with your service, you will be rewarded. Otherwise, ther
e may be...punishments. And I warn you, I can be an exacting and strict mistress. I have long felt your unruly ways would benefit from some discipline. From a firm hand."
She continued running the silk through her hands while she spoke, and at the end snapped the section of cloth taut between her fists. His eyes widened, but he made no move toward her, nor made a move to stop her. He cleared his throat.
"I am not unfamiliar with these games, Lydia--"
"Miss Burke, or Madam, to you."
"Miss Burke," he continued, "but I am the one in charge when I play."
"Then tonight will be an opportunity for you to try something different, won't it?" Rising from her seat, she strolled over to him, walking around him in a circle, standing behind him. She draped the white silk across his shoulder, gliding it up across his chest as she spoke softly in his ear.
"Think about it, Captain--tonight you are not in command. You are not responsible. You do not have to decide anything. All you have to do," she said, running her fingernail up his neck, a move that brought a twitch and a shiver, "is feel. All you have to do, is give in to your desires, and obey."
She savored the moment, the tang of the light sheen of moisture rising on his warm neck, the heartbeat she saw accelerating in his neck. She debated tying the cloth around his eyes, but thought it would be more satisfying for him to see her, to know exactly who was toying with him. She walked back to her chair, her face set in stern lines as she took her seat and steepled her hands in front of her, a gesture mirroring one he'd used many times.
"As I was saying, I am in charge. You will remove all your clothing, fold it--neatly--and place it on the floor at your feet. Silently," she added with an upraised finger when he opened his mouth. That lovely mouth was set in mutinous lines, but she wasn't quelled by his frown. He was clearly much more engaged with her commands than he let on. There were certain things a man could hide, but a gratifyingly large cockstand wasn't on that list.
He took his time, and she enjoyed the show. When he finished she rose again, walked over and looked at the pile of clothing. He'd disobeyed her command. Rather than fold the shirt and breeches, he'd dropped them on the floor.
"Tsk. You are greatly in need of correction. I will deal with your insolence. For now, lie down on your bed, hands over your head. Higher."
His eyes were on her as she gathered more cravats, and when she leaned over his prone form he inhaled, and she knew what that meant to a sensualist like Robert Huntley. All his senses would be engaged. Hers were as well, hearing his breathing deepen, seeing the drops of liquid pearling at the tip of his cock, scenting the unique musk of an aroused male, feeling the heat of his skin beneath her fingertips. She lashed his wrists and ankles to the bedposts with his silken neckclothes, and if her knots weren't shipshape, they were sufficiently well done to keep him in place.
Lydia surveyed her handiwork, then undid her hair, running her fingers through it to loosen it, let it fall forward as he watched intently. Finally she untied the plain wrapper she wore and let it drop to the carpet. Beneath she wore only her stockings, held up by cunning garters Nanette crafted for her. They were red satin with lush black roses bearing prominent thorns, the black silk stabbing through the red material in embroidered spikes. She wore these garters on those occasions when she wanted to feel like the woman she'd once been.
It was time Randy Scribe came out to play.
His eyes widened.
"How long have you been wearing those?"
"Do you like them? I save them for special occasions. I wore them when I met you at Madame Olifiers's house. I wore them tonight anticipating your coming to my bed. You didn't come to my bed, Captain. You kept me waiting, which was so very wrong of you.
He could only nod, and ran his tongue over his lips.
"If you're a good boy, I'll let you untie these garters. With your teeth."
She leaned down and put her mouth lightly on his, just touching him, pulling back when he strained to kiss her deeper. He swore in frustration.
"No," she placed her finger across his lips. "If you speak out of turn I will have to gag you, and I have plans for this lovely mouth."
She finished by running her finger over his lips, and his tongue darted out to lick it, sending a frisson of anticipation down her back. Such a naughty boy! It had been forever since she'd engaged in these sorts of games, and she felt her own heightened arousal at the thought of having this large, muscled pirate under her hand.
"Hand" gave her an idea. Lydia went to his chests and rummaged until she found his new gloves. Lovely things, soft calfskin, beautifully tanned. She examined them in his full view, running them through her fingers, then taking one and snapping it against the palm of her hand, smiling a satisfied little smile when his eyes grew large. He was learning who was in charge tonight, and it wasn't the notorious Captain St. Armand.
"For the love of God, Lydia--"
"Tsk. I did warn you, didn't I?"
She leaned over him again, the sweat-sheened face as he strained at the ties gratifying her.
"Open," she said, tapping his mouth.
He only frowned, keeping his lips tight like a little boy unwilling to take his medicine, but there was nothing little about this naughty pirate. She lightly tapped him across the face with the glove, not a hard slap, but hard enough to make her point.
"Open."
He grudgingly opened his mouth and she slipped the edge of the glove in, knowing as he tasted the clean leather it would remind him of a bridled horse, a stallion kept firmly under the hand of his knowing mistress.
"If you release that glove before I tell you to, I will whip you with it."
She didn't wait to see his reaction but turned around to retrieve the other item she wanted--yes, there it was. She walked across the room, slowly enough that he could get a full view of her from behind, then leaned over at the waist, legs straight, and picked up the fur pillow from where he'd carelessly tossed it. She turned back to him and taking the rich sable held it to her chest, embracing the sensual caress of the silken hairs, easing it across her flesh, over the nipples standing erect, eager for a firmer touch, down across her belly, his eyes never leaving her hands as she fondled herself with his pillow. She walked back to the bed, holding it against her belly, then took the fur and mimicked her actions on his body, enjoying how he bowed up at the center, pulling at his silken ropes. She set it aside for later and settled herself atop him, straddling his muscled thighs.
He made a noise behind his glove. His body spoke for what he was feeling, and as she adjusted herself against his shaft she gave herself, and him, a moment to savor the sensation, their bodies slick with desire, hot with anticipation. He throbbed against her and she slid herself on his straining length, the warmth and strength of him captive beneath her as stimulating as she'd fantasized.
"Now, my naughty pirate, let's discuss the price to be paid for all those caps of mine disappearing..."
Chapter 22
At breakfast Mattie chattered away because Turnbull and Nash were back, and they'd join in her lessons, if Miss Burke permitted.
"How can I refuse to teach two of my best pupils?" Lydia smiled at the child. After breakfast Mattie took Jolly out for exercise and to take care of his needs, and Lydia enjoyed a second cup of coffee. Robert was gone that morning, off early with Fuller riding outlying areas of the estate to let his tenants meet the new lord and see for themselves that he wasn't Ralph or Cousin Lionel.
She was stirring in a spoon of sugar when the door to the breakfast room opened.
"Ah. Just the men I want to see."
Nash froze, his hand on the doorknob.
"We can come back later, ma'am. Don't mean to disturb your meal or nothing."
"Come in, Mr. Nash. Mr. Turnbull also. Close the door."
Reluctantly, the two entered, Turnbull yanking his cap from his mostly bald head. They stood like schoolboys expecting a scolding and she let them suffer. She knew the effectiveness of silence and waite
d until Nash blurted out, "We had to report everything to the captain, Miss Burke!"
Turnbull nodded rather frantically. "That's right. Captain gave us orders, he did, and we had to follow them."
Lydia toyed with letting them suffer longer, but it wasn't their fault. "I am not angry with you gentlemen," she said. "I know you were under orders. In fact, I suppose I should thank you."
They looked at each other, then back at her. Today they were dressed more as seamen from Liverpool than pirates ravaging the Caribbean, but they were still festooned with gold earrings and likely had a weapon or two tucked away.
"Thank us?"
"Yes, Mr. Turnbull. Please, have a seat."
The men sat, and poured themselves coffee, eyeing the freshly polished silver on the table with a professional appreciation for its value.
"Captain's doing all right for himself here," Nash said with approval.
"Remember, he ain't the captain now, he's Lord Huntley," Turnbull said. "Who would have guessed it, our own Captain St. Armand a baron?
"See, Miss Burke, this is why we went poking around in London. Captain says he wants to drop anchor here, settle down with Mattie, and with you."
Lydia paused from the act of refilling her own cup. "With me? He said that?"
"Not in those exact words, no, miss," Nash clarified. "What he said was, he needed to know what you were hiding from, and if you were facing a hempen jig, we should get the scuttlebutt to make sure that don't happen. People who make the captain's neck twitch tend to disappear, and it's clear to all of us that he cares about your neck too."
"Yeah," Turnbull added from the sideboard, where he was filling a plate with the sausages and steak left from breakfast. "I dunno what you did to annoy that poxy dog Wilson, but getting him to accidentally fall off a pier wouldn't make me shed a tear. Word around the docks is he peaches on his mates, and that ain't right."
Braxton entered the room as Turnbull seated himself, and the butler pokered up at this democratic assembly, but didn't say anything. Lydia knew there would be unavoidable questions and comments downstairs. Part of the problem with St. Armand reestablishing himself in England with his crew at hand was that his pirates were not servants nor were they sailors serving before the mast. They prided themselves on their independence, and while they'd follow a strong captain, he too could have an accidental fall off a pier if the crew wasn't happy with him.
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