The Pirate's Secret Baby

by Darlene Marshall

  Nash and Turnbull dropped unsubtle hints as they ate that they wanted to know what Miss Burke was hiding, but she had no intention of sharing that information. It was bad enough Robert knew her secret.

  "Are you planning on staying here?"

  "Not for long, miss." Nash looked around him. "They do things different in the country than aboard ship. They let chooks run around underfoot instead of keeping them in their proper place like we do at sea. Ain't natural. And hearing birds singing in the morning? Gives me the collywobbles, it does."

  Turnbull stuffed a buttered roll into his pocket and rose. "Me and Nash are old seadogs, ma'am. We can't hardly walk without a deck rolling beneath our feet. Captain has some tasks for us here, and we'll see what he intends with the ship and then decide. He's holding our money for us, says we can come back anytime and he'll find us a berth here."

  Lydia knew if she left Huntley she would miss not only Mattie and Robert in her life, but she would also miss the crew of the Prodigal. Where else could she have a friendship with men like Turnbull and Nash, who treated her as a mate and looked out for her?

  There were worse things in life than having pirates watch your back and keep you from harm's way.

  * * * *

  Robert dismounted, carefully, wincing at the sudden reminder of the previous evening's entertainment. It had been a night of unexpected delights and he looked forward to turning the tables on the little governess at a future date. He had plenty of cravats.

  He paused at the entranceway once again struck by the activity, the feeling of weight dissipating from Huntley. Maidservants scrubbed down the front hall, a pair of gardeners were cutting back the dead growth from the shrubs in the front, and he found Lydia in the study, examining a globe with Mattie. Dark circles bloomed under Lydia's eyes and Robert felt an unusual pang in his chest. It took him a moment to remember what that feeling was, and then it struck him.

  It was guilt.

  "Miss Burke, you are working too hard."

  She raised her brows at this abrupt greeting. "Good day to you also, Lord Huntley."

  "Papa, we are studying geography," Mattie said. "I can see on the globe where I was born, and where we are now. Do you know why it is colder here than in the islands?"

  "Because God wants England to suffer?"

  "Ahem."

  "I believe Miss Burke is trying to convey to me her disapproval of that answer."

  "Indeed, Captain. Mattie knows why England is colder than the islands, don't you, Mattie?"

  "We are farther north, Papa, and the farther away you go from this line here--"

  "The equator," he said, but at the governess's scowl realized he should have let Mattie answer.

  "Yes, Papa, the equator. The farther you go, the colder it gets. And right here, at Greenwich, that's where we measure all of east and west from. But you knew that."

  "Indeed I did, child, measuring latitude and longitude is a sailor's life. We'll talk more about that later, but for now it's time for luncheon. Run along and wash, Mattie. I'd like a word with Miss Burke first."

  When the child was gone, Robert stepped up to Lydia and put his hand beneath her chin, frowning at the fatigue he saw.

  "You will hire a housekeeper, Lydia, before you work yourself to a nub. It is too much, trying to oversee the house and care for Mattie. I did not bring you here to slave away at getting Huntley in shape. That is what servants are for. The locals will be glad of the employment."

  "Is it bad?"

  "If Huntley were a ship, the captain would deserve being marooned by his own crew for mismanagement, theft, dereliction of duty... I received an education today, Lydia, on what happens when you only take money out of property and do not put any into growth and maintenance."

  He stepped away from her and ran a finger over the globe, giving it a gentle spin on its stand. "Ships are in constant need of work and repair. Careening and scraping the hull, replacing rotted wood, mending the sails. If you don't care for your vessel, it becomes a death trap. At the very least, it won't serve you as it should. I suppose an estate is much the same, isn't it? No wonder so many boys dream of running away to sea, though of course, they're just replacing one set of tasks with another. Ah well, at least there's booty to be had at sea."

  Lydia did not add that it had been his intention at one time to do the same thing as his brother and cousin--take what he could from Huntley and turn his back on the estate without another glance. Now, having seen the condition of the cottages, the hope in the eyes of the farmers who talked with him about what the land could do with proper seed and equipment, he felt that unknown feeling in his chest again.

  The guilt was tempered by something else, a drive to succeed. He prided himself on reaching his goals, whether it was having the best wardrobe of any sea rover in the Caribbean (hardly a contest, given the competition), being the most favored patron at the most notorious brothel in the islands (ditto), or simply being alive each night with his limbs intact and the ability to fight another day--Robert thrived on success. Transferring his goals from shipboard to land management was not as much of a wrenching experience as he'd feared.

  The hardest part would be not being able to deal out summary punishment to malefactors. As he'd learned today in his ride around the land, one couldn't simply maroon or flog people who didn't do as they should, who didn't evidence good self-preservation skills when confronted with Captain St. Armand. He'd already had a discussion with Cyrus Pilling, whose ramshackle dwelling and slovenly yard did not bother Robert nearly as much as the bruises on Mrs. Pilling's face. He took Pilling for a stroll and explained to him that if he wanted to continue in good health he'd keep his fists to himself. Robert made a mental note to mention it to Lydia. She could check on Mrs. Pilling more easily than he could. Sometimes women shared confidences about such things.

  It was what Lydia would do if she were Lady Huntley.

  And she would be Lady Huntley, he simply had not figured out the best way to make that a reality. One could carry off a bride and hold her captive until she said yes to his charms--he knew from experience that didn't always end well, but it was an option.

  He could dangle Mattie as a lure, but that too wasn't enough. He wanted Lydia to stay because she wanted to stay with him. He was puzzled, naturally, as to why she did not fall into his arms without argument as so many others had done. He knew he wasn't losing his touch. Her cries of fulfillment in his arms last night, the way she gasped out his name when he used his mouth to bring her body arching off the mattress in delight, it told its own tale. The responses from the farmwives he'd met today satisfied him that his smiles still had the same effect on the female population they'd always had. It was just that one, nagging, annoying, prickly governess with her knowing jade eyes and her hair capturing sunlight in its strands and reflecting it like an autumn sunset, her delightfully long legs that wrapped around a man just so--she was the only woman he could not be sure of. His luscious, lovely, lickerish Lydia, who, whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not, was born for a pirate's life and to share a pirate's bed.

  Now he needed to guarantee he was the pirate in her life.

  Eliminating Thomas Wilson would be an excellent first step in making that happen, but he needed to woo Lydia, not just present bodies at her feet like a cat bringing its mistress a mouse.

  "Do you want a hug?" he asked abruptly, turning away from the globe spinning like his thoughts.

  Lydia paused from where she gathered books on the desk and stared at him. "A what?"

  "A hug. An embrace."

  She watched him, puzzled. It was not a difficult question, but suddenly the answer mattered a great deal. "Yes, Robert. I would like that very much."

  She spoke softly, but it was as if a band constricting his chest loosened. She wanted a hug. From him. He opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace and he clasped her to him, feeling the tenseness in her body, and then the relaxation of her muscles as she sighed, and rested her head on his shoulder.<
br />
  He knew his shoulders were broad. He'd admired his form enough in mirrors to understand the value of such things in swinging a cutlass or making a coat fit well, but now he was glad his shoulders were broad so she could lean on him. He could hold her and they could stand there together in the silent room, listening to each other's breathing and heartbeats.

  But a pirate always wants more, doesn't he? That's why they seek more gold, more jewels, more riches, more wine.

  This pirate did not want more women. He wanted the one who trusted him to hold her, to let him kiss her atop the hair that smelled of lemons, to place his fingers alongside the warm skin of her cheek and angle her face off of his shoulder so he could brush his lips across hers, coaxing her, lulling her, sneaking past the starchy barricade of her reticence to explore her mouth, to taste the passion she kept hidden but for him.

  "Lovely," he murmured against those soft lips. "My lovely Lydia."

  He eased her back against the desk, running his hand up her leg and raising her skirt but she moved her hand across his mouth when he would have resumed his exploration with his tongue.

  "The open windows--the door--anyone could walk in."

  "Marry me, Lydia."

  She stiffened, then pushed against him.

  Numbskull! He beat himself mentally. If he boarded ships as blindly as he just blurted out his command, he would have been skewered, shot or hanged long ago. It was strategy as well as skill which carried the day.

  She pushed harder and he sighed and stepped back, adjusting his clothing because it was clear he wasn't going to get relief for his throbbing member any other way.

  Lydia brushed down her skirts, then patted her hair.

  "It is still pinned. No one will suspect anything."

  She stopped and looked at him.

  "We cannot make this situation worse, Robert--"

  "Yes, yes, I know. I am good enough to sneak into your bed at night when the house is asleep, but not good enough to marry."

  "What? That is insane!"

  "Is it? Then what is your resistance, Lydia? Why do you keep pushing me away?"

  "I will not be bullied into marrying anyone. I am tired of men pushing me around and telling me what to do! I will make up my own mind about what I want, and when I want it, and that reminds me--where are my wages? You promised--repeatedly--to pay me what I am owed and I am tired of asking for what is mine!"

  She glared at him and he gritted his teeth to keep from saying what he feared. If he gave Lydia her wages she could leave him, go away, hide and begin her life anew. One did not make a successful career of piracy by letting others possess the weather gage.

  He had to come up with a way to keep her here without her feeling bullied or pressured to stay. He had to find a way to convince her to stay because she wanted to be with him more than she wanted anything else.

  Fortunately, there was a scratch at the door.

  "Enter."

  "Luncheon is served, m'lord."

  "Thank you, William."

  She gathered up her papers, a move that did not allow him to take her arm, and brushed past him and out the door behind the footman.

  * * * *

  "Let us say there are two hundred and forty-two barrels of rum in a cave, and seven pirates. How do you divide the rum so each crewman gets his--or her--fair share?"

  "If you slice one bugger open, it's only six, and that's easier to divide into an even number."

  "Mr. Nash, you can't slice a shipmate open," Mattie scolded him. "Miss Burke's right, we need to figure out how to divide with odd pirates."

  "Some of 'em are odder than others." Turnbull snickered, elbowing Nash. "Remember Gunner Goose?"

  "Gentlemen, we need to concentrate. Mr. Nash, take your slate and show us how you would divide the rum among the actual number of pirates."

  Nash hunched over his slate, the child-sized chairs in the schoolroom looking even sillier with the taller Turnbull perched atop it, and Lydia made a note to herself to have more adult seating brought in.

  "There! It's thirty-four barrels for each pirate, with a remainder of four. Swive me, that's a good haul!"

  Lydia rubbed the throbbing bit between her eyes. "If you would, share with the rest of the students how you did your work. Without oaths, if you please."

  "I used my multiplication," Nash said proudly. "Because I could recite my tables I could look at it and know that seven, the...the..."

  "Divisor," Mattie whispered.

  "Right, the divisor. Seven times three is twenty-one and seven times four is twenty-eight, and since the first two digits in the"--he furrowed his brow in thought--"the dividend is twenty-four, that's bigger than twenty-one and smaller than twenty-eight, so it must be three first in the quotient."

  "Hurrah!" Mattie said, clapping her hands.

  "After that it was easy," Nash preened. "When you subtract down, twenty-one from twenty-four, you get three, you bring down the two for thirty-two, and seven goes into thirty-two four times. You write the four up top in the quotient and the answer is thirty-four with a remainder of four barrels!"

  "That is correct, Mr. Nash. Well done!"

  "Thank you, Miss Burke."

  "Teacher's pet," Turnbull muttered under his breath.

  "Sod off, ye beet lovin' bugger."

  "Gentlemen! Remember you are in the classroom, not aboard the Prodigal."

  "Yes, Miss Burke," her errant pupils said in unison. A knock at the door interrupted the intricacies of long division, as Sally entered and asked if she and Mattie could join the master in the parlor. They had visitors.

  "Do you know who it is, Sally?"

  "It is Mr. Castle, the vicar over at All Saints, and his wife and they have their little girl with them."

  Mattie looked intrigued at the idea of visitors. It would be her first encounter with the locals and she was no longer just a rough-and-tumble crew member of the Prodigal Son. Learning to navigate the rocky shoals of society was a task Mattie faced as she grew older. Robert knew this when they took the child from St. Martin to England, and all they could do now was stand by her if there were difficulties as she adjusted.

  "Very well, Sally. Please tell Lord Huntley we will be down shortly, and if he has not already ordered tea, ask Mrs. Farmer to prepare a tray."

  "Yes, miss."

  "Mattie, wash your face and hands. Gentlemen, we are done for now. Here are some problems for you to work on tonight, and we will go over the answers tomorrow."

  She passed them each a sheet of foolscap with problems in division, and reminded them that while they could assist one another, it did not mean copying answers.

  * * * *

  Lydia entered the parlor holding Mattie's hand. The two of them looked so right together that it made Robert's heart stutter. He could not envision any other mother for Mattie. Nanette knew what she was doing putting Mattie in Lydia's care, and Robert sent a silent prayer of thanks to the dead prostitute who'd given him this most wonderful gift.

  Robert and Mr. Castle rose to their feet to greet the ladies, and Robert did the introductions. He'd been suspicious when Braxton announced the visitors, but Martin Castle and his wife Susanna, a round woman with a substantial bosom Robert couldn't help but admire, appeared to be pleasant, ordinary people.

  It was rather refreshing to socialize without worrying overmuch over about whether your visitors would attempt to kill you.

  Their daughter Nell was quiet and sat patiently as the adults conversed while waiting for the others. Nell was flaxen haired and pink like her mother, and looked to be close to Mattie's age, but smaller. Given that the vicar was a good head shorter than Robert it was to be expected.

  Mrs. Castle seemed fascinated by the earring Robert wore, and he couldn't resist giving her a wink when he caught her peeking, causing her to rosily flush. What was the fun of being a pirate if you couldn't brighten up the afternoon of a country lass, even if it went no further than a wink?

  Now Mattie greeted their adult guests
and walked straight over to Nell.

  "I am Mattie St. Armand. Do you want to play pirates?"

  Nell's eyes grew big as blue saucers and she nodded eagerly. "Oh yes, please! I want to be a pirate ever so much!"

  "I'll be Anne and you can be Mary. Jolly--he's my puppy--was digging in the garden this morning--it might be buried treasure!"

  "Mattie, Nell needs to ask permission of her parents before going off with you," Lydia corrected the child gently.

  "Playing pirates sounds like a perfect idea," the vicar said with a smile. "There are many sunny afternoons, Miss Burke, when I'm sitting in the study wishing I was off playing pirate instead."

  Susanna Castle reminded the girls not to go far, and had a hug from her daughter before the two skipped off to plot mayhem, passing Braxton and the maid with cakes and tea sent up from the kitchen.

  Robert motioned the butler over. "Tell Paget to secure the weapons locker, Braxton. I would hate for the small pirates to become carried away with their adventures."

  "Yes, m'lord."

  Braxton was in his element, setting out the gleaming silver service for tea. He had a new spring in his step as Huntley was restored to a semblance of its former glory. If there were still moth-eaten draperies in need of refurbishment, at least the tables were dust free and freshly waxed, the windows sparkling in the autumn sunlight. Robert relaxed against his chair, watching Lydia pour from where she sat at the tea table. She was every inch the lady, far better than he could have ever hoped for with his dissolute ways. He could have won a bride with his looks, his social graces, his title and, of course, his money. That was never in question. He could not have hoped to win a woman like Lydia though, someone who would stand toe-to-toe with him and tell him when he was full of bilge-water.