She picked up a cloth and wet it in the still warm water left by the maid, wringing it out, then running the cloth over her neck and her arms as she watched her lover in her mirror.
She wanted to tell him how she felt about the evening, how it would be a memory she'd hold in her heart forever, even as she feared she'd soon be on the run again, seeking a safe haven far from all she held dear. She didn't want to use her words to show how much she cared, she had better methods at her disposal.
He came over to her, picked up her wrapper and put it about her, tying it at her waist.
"I will wait for you in my room."
She sighed, hating sneaking around in the middle of the night, and he kissed her on the forehead and said, "Soon this will not be an issue, Lydia. You will see."
She started to say something, but he put his finger across her lips.
"Do not ruin the magic of this evening, my dear hedgehog. Pretend, just for now, that there are no barriers between us, that we are free to love one another as we wish. And trust me."
He smiled at her expression. "I know. Generally when I say 'trust me,' it's good to also have a weapon at hand. Tonight we will simply be Robert and Lydia, two lovers. Two friends."
She only nodded at this, saying nothing more. Tonight they would continue the magic, the joy of being together as lovers, and as friends. If she could not have everything, she could have this.
Chapter 24
Lydia received a summons the next afternoon and she smoothed her hair and looked in the mirror to be certain she was presentable before she joined her employer in his library.
She looked more than presentable, she had to acknowledge, she looked better than she'd looked in years--if ever. Her eyes had a glow to them, the slight lines of tension tightening her face were eased, her new frocks flattered her and made her look like the lady she would have been had she not run off with Edwin.
But had she not run off with Edwin, she never would have met Nanette Lestrange and Mathilde. She never would have met Captain Robert St. Armand the pirate, who changed before her eyes into Lord Robert St. Armand Huntley of Huntley Manor.
She'd like to think that if her path had crossed Robert Huntley's there still would have been an attraction between them, but she could not be sure of that. She was attracted to the pirate before she was attracted to the lord, and she suspected part of his attraction to her initially was the mystery she presented, the Englishwoman in the islands who had no good explanation for how she ended up so far from home.
"Come," Robert said at the knock on his library door. He looked up from the notes on his desk, and ushered Lydia to a chair, then he came around and sat on the edge of the desk, watching her.
"I am meeting tonight with Thomas Wilson," he said without preamble.
Lydia gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. "Wilson is here? I must leave--"
"Calm down, Lydia," he said, looking as if he'd just announced it would rain in the morning. "You are not going anywhere. I will meet Wilson, I will settle this, and tomorrow it will no longer be a problem."
"What? How can you say that? Are you going to kill him?"
"Would you mind?"
Lydia knew her hesitation was wrong, but she had been living aboard a pirate ship for weeks and some of their attitudes were bound to infect her. She felt compelled to add, rather lamely, "It can cause problems, willy-nilly disposing of people, Captain."
He just smiled, a look that said while they weren't in the middle of the Atlantic ocean, willy-nilly disposing of unpleasant people still was not a problem for him.
"Where are you meeting him?"
"At the tavern. He sent a note last night to Lord Huntley, informing me he has information and it is in my best interest to meet with him. As you know, Miss Burke, I always do what is in my own best interests."
"This isn't amusing," she snapped. "The man is dangerous."
Robert leaned forward, put his fingers under her chin and tilted it up. "Lydia, I am dangerous. Wilson is an annoyance. Stop fretting. I said I would take care of Wilson, and I will."
"I want to be there," Lydia said abruptly.
He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked about to deny her this, but then asked, "Why?"
"Because, it is my problem. If I cannot stop Wilson myself, I at least need to see with my own eyes how you deal with it."
"The evening could end unpleasantly."
"Again, it is still ultimately my responsibility, Captain--my lord. Do you think I would stay here idly, wringing my hands while you ride off to fight my battles?"
"What I think, my dear Lydia, is that you have been infected with some of the spirit of Anne Bonny and Mary Read yourself."
She was about to deny any connection between herself and those lady malefactors, but she could not. They were women who'd refused to stand idly by, wringing their hands while their men fought for them. Had not Mary Read fought a duel to save her lover? Hadn't Anne Bonny beaten the man who attempted to take liberties with her? Lydia was, after all, one of the crew of the Prodigal Son. She practically owed it to the spirits of Anne and Mary to be at the meeting with Wilson.
"I will accompany you tonight, Captain. Sally will watch over Mattie while we're out."
Lydia stood, wondering what one wore to meet with one's blackmailer. She almost wished she had a wardrobe like Anne and Mary--much better for intimidating people.
"One other thing... You will not be in the room when I meet with Wilson. You can hear what we have to say from the parlor." He held up a hand when she started to protest. "I have plans, and having you in the room will interfere with those plans. If you accompany me, I will insist on this. If you intend to be one of my crew tonight, you will follow my commands. Even Mattie knows what happens to crew who disobey orders. You don't want to be sent to bed without your supper, do you?"
Lydia said nothing to this, but as she had her hand on the door to leave she suddenly stopped and turned around.
"You knew this last night, didn't you? When Turnbull came to the assembly--" she drew herself up to her full height and pointed an accusing finger at him. "You made love to me last night without saying a word, you scoundrel!"
He leaned back in his chair and had the audacity to grin at her. "When a stunningly attractive woman enters my room wearing nothing beneath her robe but a sheer garment showing off her luscious form, all the ability to think pours out of my brain. I'm certain I meant to say something, but then I was distracted."
"You are an...an annoying beet!"
"A direct hit, Miss Burke. Close the door behind you so I may lick my wounds in private."
Chapter 25
The Knight's Head was enjoying steady business when the traveler entered and paused to scan the room. There were clusters of drinkers near the welcoming heat from the blackened fireplace, and Johnny Gibson gave him a cheery nod and said, "Evenin', sir! Good night to be out of the wind."
The stranger's own smile sat firmly in place. He knew the tavern keeper would see a nondescript individual, clothes slightly worn but clean, thinning brown hair sprinkled with gray when he removed his hat, a face that was friendly without being obsequious.
Thomas Wilson worked hard to cultivate that image. It helped him in his tasks for the Home Office, the tasks the government knew of.
It also helped him in his supplemental profession, the one the government did not know of. Collecting payments for information he gathered was all well and good, but there were individuals who were much more generous than his overseers in London were, individuals who'd pay well--and often--to keep information about their personal and political peccadilloes hidden.
He was confident Lord Huntley would either pay to keep his "governess," if that was indeed the whore's job, or he would throw her out. And if that happened, Thomas would be waiting for her. They had unfinished business, he and Lydia Burke, and he could be satisfied with a pound of flesh in lieu of payment, though if he played his cards right, he might get both--swee
t Lydia and Huntley's money. The night ahead proved most promising, but he only took ale, nothing stronger, because he didn't want to get bosky when there was money at stake.
"I am meeting someone," he said, pushing a coin across to the tavern keeper. "I do not wish to be disturbed. Do you have a private parlor?"
"Afraid it's not available," Gibson said, pocketing the money before Wilson could take it back. "If you take that table"--he gestured with his rag to a shadowy corner near the parlor--"you'll have some privacy. Not as much warmth there, but good for quiet conversation."
Wilson grunted. It would have to do. He wanted to slip out of Ashwyn without anyone remembering him, so he settled at the corner table and sipped his ale while taking stock of the room. There were a few rough-looking types, but most were what you'd expect to find in a village of this size--farmers, merchants, craftsmen. Four sat at a table playing cards, a handful gathered at the dartboard, one older man with graying hair sat reading.
Wilson stretched his legs out and settling in, contemplated the wonderful things he'd do with the baron's blunt. Travel would be pleasant. He could visit France, where English silver was especially welcome now that the war was ended. Italy was warm, and one heard stories of how talented the doxies were in the Roman brothels.
A flurry at the door caught his attention, and someone entered who could only be Huntley. The man's clothes were better quality than the other patrons, but to the London man the poor fit and lack of style had "bumpkin" stitched into the fabric.
As he made his way to the table, Huntley exchanged greetings with a few of the patrons and Wilson rose to his feet. Huntley shook hands with a quizzical smile on his face, then sat.
"Mr. Wilson, I confess I am full of curiosity as to the news you said you had of Miss Burke, my daughter's governess."
Thomas settled back comfortably. He was in his element now. Having hooked his fish, it was time to reel him in.
"And so, my lord, that's the full story as I know it," he said in low, confidential tones. "Your governess was the light o' love of a man who was not her husband, and bad enough as that was, her involvement with radicals could follow her here. One hears things in London," he said hesitantly, "isolated as you are here in the country you may not be aware of how seriously the government takes these activities."
"My dear Wilson! I am so pleased you have contacted me. My Mathilde is a delicate and impressionable child. One shudders to think what would happen to her if she's exposed to anything less than the best influences."
"In that case, perhaps I can help you with your problem, my lord. I can persuade Miss Burke to leave with me and then you won't need to deal with this unpleasantness. I have connections, contacts. I can ensure her whereabouts aren't discovered and no one knows of your having kept her under your roof."
"Miss Burke would go with you?"
"Indeed, sir. I hesitate to mention this, but she and I had dealings when she was living in the city. She pursued me most vigorously, but I was not about to tie myself to a woman of that stamp. I have no doubt she continues to have enough fondness for me that she'll accompany me. Unfortunately, I do not have sufficient funds to undertake her travel expenses. In addition, I'm afraid it cut into my meager resources to travel all the way up here to meet you and there are people who want to know where she's been hiding herself. They may offer me financial incentives to share information, and I would hate to bring your name into the conversation. I know you have to think of your reputation, and of course, the reputation of your daughter."
"I see," said Huntley, frowning. "You would like a payment to stay quiet?"
"I would term it a gift of appreciation, my lord."
Wilson looked around the tavern, satisfied with how he'd presented his case to this rustic flat. The room was emptier than when he'd sat. The cardplayers were still at the table, as was the older man with his book, but the others had left. In fact, the tavern keeper himself was leaving, with a nod to one of the card players.
A chill ran down Wilson's spine. Something wasn't right.
He looked at the baron, who sat, calmly watching. Wilson start to rise from his chair, but two hands on his shoulders shoved him back down.
He glanced up and behind him. The older man stood there, looking at Huntley.
"Thank you, Mr. Fuller. Now the fun begins."
Fuller moved to a chair at Thomas's back and sat, and Thomas could feel his eyes boring into the back of his head as he watched him. He ran a finger around his suddenly too tight collar.
"Fun?"
"Why, yes, Wilson. I've enjoyed your tale this evening. Most entertaining. I especially enjoyed the part where you suggested I show my appreciation in the form of a monetary gift, because that's something I understand quite well. However, I did not come here to allow you to bleed me of my gold, and I certainly cannot allow you to abscond with my governess."
He sat back and gazed at Thomas almost benevolently, but a wild glance around the room showed the others seated there were not looking benevolent at all.
"Why then?" he croaked.
"Do you think you found me by chance, Wilson, or through your own skills? You are not that intelligent. You were directed here, much as a steer is led to the slaughterhouse. You may recall my men over there, the ones who stood you a round in London."
He pointed out two of the darts players. One was a tall, bald mulatto, the other ginger-haired and missing two fingers on his left hand. Thomas remembered them. They were sailors off a ship newly arrived from the Caribbean.
"The Prodigal Son," he whispered in rising horror. "You are the pirate St. Armand."
"Nonsense," the pirate said, with a smile out of Thomas's nightmares. "I am Huntley, everyone knows that. Gibson knows it, which is why he was willing to give me the use of his establishment this evening."
"You can't try anything," Thomas protested. "There's someone in the private parlor."
"Indeed there is, and I imagine that person has been listening to our conversation tonight with great interest."
He raised his voice at the end of this and to Thomas's dismay, Lydia Burke stepped out. She was more mature than the apprehensive girl who'd fled his grasp, and she did not look cowed or scared now. Rather, she looked ready to injure him again and he hunched over, protecting his gonads.
"Since I'm Huntley and not this St. Armand fellow, I understand I must challenge you to a duel for insulting this lady. If I were a pirate, I would just dispose of you, but I'm willing to give you a fighting chance."
"You do not need to battle this man on my behalf," Lydia Burke said, scowling.
"I must have some reason. Sails, why am I challenging this bilge rat to a duel?"
"His waistcoat's ugly, Cap'n--I mean my lord. Ugly enough to make birds fall from the trees dead with horror."
"There you have it, Wilson. I cannot allow you to walk around slaughtering innocent larks. You will meet me tomorrow morning, at dawn, for your insults to the lady, and on behalf of the birdies. It does not matter whether you choose swords or pistols," he said, waving his hand negligently. "I have a great deal of experience dispatching faster, smarter, and stronger men than you. This is what will happen... If you bring swords I will first disable your arms, then slice low across your belly. With your arms injured you will find it difficult to tuck your guts back in, trust me on this. If you bring pistols I will blow your balls off. That is not always a fatal wound. You may survive, whether you want to or not. If you bring clubs, I will club you until your brains spatter my boots. Then I will sit down and eat a hearty breakfast. I love mornings that start that way."
Thomas wiped his damp palms on his lap. He realized two things. One was that something went terribly wrong with his plans. The other was he was in imminent danger of pissing himself, but he hadn't gotten this far in his career by caving in to the first sign of trouble.
"You cannot threaten me in front of all these witnesses, whoever you are, Huntley or St. Armand. I don't have to duel with you. I have friends in Londo
n, powerful friends, they'll take care of you and that strumpet."
There was a stirring from the men in the room but Huntley held a hand up and they settled themselves.
"I said before you are not as clever as you think you are, and you just proved it by threatening me and insulting Miss Burke, again. You're correct, you do not have to show up for a duel. You should know, though, men who threaten me tend to have odd accidents."
"Accidents?"
"One ready to testify against me fell on a knife and disembowled himself. Another had an unfortunate episode where his bedsheets became tangled around his neck. Then there was the poor sod who walked off a sea cliff after managing to tie his hands behind his back. I still don't know how he did it. All of your so-called witnesses?" He gestured to the room so quiet now Thomas heard the soft scrape of a knife being dragged across a stone to hone its edge. He did not look around to see who was doing this, but kept his eyes on the man in front of him, still talking in the same soft tones.
"These men are quite fond of our governess. Their intention is not to let you leave alive this evening. I'm prepared to offer you an alternative."
"Alternative?" he croaked
"Life--of a sort."
He nodded and rough hands grabbed Thomas, yanking his arms behind his back and securing his wrists. When he started yelling for help, they shoved a dirty rag in his mouth.
"That's better," Huntley said, standing and leaning close to Thomas. He was no longer smiling.
"Since you don't wish to duel, you will take a sea voyage, Wilson. If I ever hear a whisper, a word, a rumor that your carcass is back in England, you will wish I finished this tonight. If that's clear to you, bob your head. If you need further clarification, these gentlemen will be happy to help you understand your choices."
The Pirate's Secret Baby Page 31