Visions of Italy and gold coins were blown away like a freezing gale, Thomas's mind twisting even as he tried to twist his hands out of their bindings, but he'd been secured with sailors' knots tied by experts.
"I'll take that as an affirmative," Huntley said. "Haul him away, boys, with my respects to Captain Boylston. Poor man, he loses so many of his crew to death and disease, I'm sure he'll appreciate the offer of a replacement."
The last thing Thomas saw as he was yanked out of the warmth and light of the Knight's Head tavern was Lydia Burke, standing in Huntley's embrace.
Chapter 26
"I suppose I should say thank you, but I wish I could have dealt with Wilson myself."
She tried to step back, but he hooked his arm around her waist and wouldn't release her. It was as good as a declaration in front of Fuller and the other crewmen in the tavern, but she didn't resist when he rested his chin atop her head and held her close.
"Sometimes, Miss Burke, there are situations where only a pirate will do. I am happy we could be of service to you tonight."
"I know--" she started, then sighed. "England is a land of laws, Robert. If you make your home here, then piratical ways will not do."
"What was your alternative? He was neither a thief nor a murderer, not the kind that a court would convict. A man can be transported for poaching to feed his family, but scum like Wilson escape punishment for their misdeeds. Do not scold, little governess."
Lydia let out a deep breath, the tension of the evening draining out of her. It was more than that. She'd been on the run for so long, always looking over her shoulder, always prepared to flee--who would have suspected it would be a pirate who'd offer her a safe haven, shelter from life's storms?
She'd thought herself done with rogues and rakes when Edwin deserted her, but Robert showed her there could be substance beneath a pirate's leer. As she leaned against him amidst the conversation and laughter of her friends and shipmates she acknowledged a truth about herself she'd rejected for such a long time.
She liked bad boys. She always would.
This time she'd latched onto a man who was deadly, conniving and cunning, yes, but who was willing to be all of that for her, and for Mattie, and for his crew, and maybe, with a little direction and some new outlets, he'd be exactly what the people of Huntley needed.
"Come, Lydia. You must be worn out by all that's happened. Let me take you home to Huntley."
Robert left a bag of coins behind for Gibson and the men cleared out. Some of the crew would return to Huntley, but others had secured lodgings in Ashwyn.
They rode home in silence and after checking on the sleeping child cuddled around a puppy, she slowly walked to her room, so drained of energy that after she unpinned her hair she could only stand next to the mantel, staring into the fire.
She heard Robert enter, felt the heat at her back as he fitted himself to her curves, his hands coming around to cup her breasts through the soft wool of her gown, holding them, cherishing them.
"You need a maid, my dear. Tonight, I will play that role."
He steered her to the chair in front of the dressing table and she sat, looking into the mirror. Robert loomed behind her wearing only his shirt and breeches, feet bare, the shirt unfastened and gleaming white against the bronzed planes of his chest. He leaned over her back and taking her brush off the table, began stroking it through her hair, firm strokes that pulled tension from her even as it worked the day's tangles out.
"Your hair is lovely in the firelight, like a fine burgundy, rich and luscious," he said. "Such glory should be appreciated, not hidden."
He spoke no overt threats against her headgear, but Lydia would not be surprised if her caps went missing again. Her eyes closed as she enjoyed the sensation of a strong hand working through her hair, soothing her after the day's turmoil. It was hard to believe in the space of a few hours her life had changed so, thanks to this dangerous rogue.
"Stay with me tonight, and tomorrow we will start our future together."
"Robert--" She took the brush from his hand and stood, moving away from him so she could think. It was impossible to have this conversation when he was so close to her that all she wanted to do was let him embrace her and take care of her problems. It was a solution, but not the one that was best for her, not anymore.
"You were correct, Robert, removing the threat of Wilson was something you could accomplish that I was unlikely to manage on my own. But after Edwin left me I swore I would never be dependent on a man again. That's why I earn my own way."
"I know. Your strength is part of what drew me to you."
"Then you understand, if I am to stay I can only do it on one condition... Pay me my wages."
"What? Why? You don't need the money, you will be my wife and I will take care of you."
She shook her head slowly, never taking her eyes off of him. "I am a woman grown and I will never be dependent on a man again. Pay me."
He stepped back, away from her, and her heart sank. "This is ridiculous! You don't trust me? I cannot believe you will let money come between us!"
She knew what she was doing was risky, but the pirate St. Armand was too used to taking what he wanted, and she was not pirate booty. He awkwardly tugged at his shirt cuff and she felt her heart soften. He was nervous. Afraid she'd reject him, which in a sense she just had. He would to do anything to keep her, whether it was killing a man, withholding her wages, or seducing her into his bed.
Lydia took a hesitant step forward, then another, until she was close enough to place her hand on his broad chest and look up into those eyes, dark as the midnight skies. With her other hand she brushed back that errant curl falling across his forehead and left her hand alongside his face. She could feel a pulse there, strong and steady beneath her fingers.
"Robert--even if you never gave me a farthing, if I want to leave, I will leave. I will find a way, just as you did when you found your situation here unbearable, just as I did in London. But I will not leave the man I love, and I will not leave my children, and I will not have an affair with the dancing master. You must have faith in me. You must trust me, and I will have faith in you if you show me you understand what I need."
His face, usually so full of expression, was unreadable as he looked at her. Then he turned on his heel and left, taking her heart and her soul with him.
Well. She'd gambled, and she'd lost.
Lydia sat on the edge of her bed, her legs unable to hold her. She didn't know how long she sat, listening to nothing but the small sounds of a house asleep, a house she'd thought could be her home after so long. It was better this way. She had to know Robert trusted her, and if he did not, then there was no basis for their marriage. If she stayed there would be some happiness because of Mattie, and having a home, but she'd never have Robert's heart, not fully, not without his trust.
A noise from the doorway made her glance up and Robert stood there, a paper in his hand.
"Here. It is a bank draft. I did not have enough coin on hand."
He walked over to her, put it in her hand, and she did not look at it. She did not have to.
"You have what you asked for, Lydia Burke. You have enough money now to leave, to go back to the islands, to go to Paris or America or wherever you want."
He looked down at her, his heart in his eyes.
"Will you stay?" he whispered.
She set the bank draft facedown on the table next to her bed and stood, taking his face between her hands.
"You are a good man, Robert St. Armand Huntley. Not just a good pirate, you are a good man."
"You are the first person in the universe to make that statement," he said, bemused.
"Notice I did not say you are perfect, or that there isn't room for improvement. Your propensity for solving problems at knifepoint can be addressed."
She brought his head down until their lips were only a whisper apart. "But we can address them another time, my darling."
Her kiss was the ans
wer to his question, the love she had for him pouring out of her, showing him she would stay, telling him he was more precious to her than rubies, than all the gold in London's banks.
He picked her up in his arms and carried her to his rooms, where it was his turn to watch her undress, removing her garments beneath his approving gaze, until she stood before him only in her shift. She put her hands beneath her hair, pulling the mass up atop her head, knowing that the fire behind her limned her body through the cloth, displaying her to his gaze and she smiled at his expression as he removed his own clothes.
"Have I ever told you I adore the gap between your teeth? It reminds me you are as lickerish as the Wife of Bath."
"'Gat-toothed I was, and that became me well,'" she murmured.
He joined her in his bed, the laughter in his face replaced by a gentleness she'd never seen before, a smile unlike the others because he knew now she'd stay with him, forever. He pulled her shift over her head, taking his time, exploring her with his hands, and his mouth, paying particular attention to those areas he'd learned were especially sensitive, moving his way down the length of her.
He whispered French phrases into her ear, telling her how wonderful her responses were, how lovely to see her passion in full play, how fortunate he was to be able to touch her so as he eased her legs apart and placed the fur pillow beneath her. It raised her to his mouth, to those skillful fingers working inside her in concert with his tongue, stroking her, and in the quiet of the room the only sounds now were of him loving her and her own moans as the sensations ramped higher until she had to jam her hand between her teeth to keep from waking the house.
When the spinning room righted itself she gasped, "What Oriental technique was that?"
"I forget if that was number sixteen or--who cares?" he murmured, inflicting small, biting kisses on her as he moved up to her side until he was braced over her, his beautiful eyes veiled by his ridiculously lush lashes. He kissed her languidly, open-mouthed, taking his time to know everything about her. She understood why she'd said yes after so long.
She'd been waiting for Robert Huntley, Captain St. Armand, who swept her up into his strong arms and took her away from her safe and boring existence in the islands to a life full of pirates and puppies and laughter. A life she'd never been willing to imagine for herself after the disasters of London. A life full of all that she'd dreamed of--passion and excitement and adventure. It was the life she was meant for, she'd known that in the constraints of her girlhood, and it was the life she'd chosen, once upon a time.
He pushed himself into her, hard, and it was right, so right, to be taken this way, to release all of her dark desires. He paused, the muscles on his arms straining where he held himself up, looking down at her with burning, black eyes as his chest heaved, sweat gleaming across his face.
"I am going to start moving now, and I am going to thrust deep and fast," he rasped. "Do not fear--when you start screaming in ecstasy I will understand."
Such a comment would normally bring at the very least a snicker, but now his words heated her blood, raising her need to an even higher pitch. He read the expression on her face with satisfaction and a small quirk of those sculpted lips and began to do as he promised. She held on to his hips, her own legs locked over his back, relishing the play of sinew and muscle beneath her fingers as he flexed himself within her. The stark bones of his face were outlined by the tight flesh as he pumped into her with deep thrusts bordering on painful, but it was exactly what she wanted. He kept himself in check, holding back his own release so she would get the utmost pleasure. He was charmingly courteous and considerate for a pirate, and she pulled her legs up and allowed him deeper access, a good move for both of them.
"Lydia," he murmured her name, caressing the syllables, as he moved in her. They said nothing more, words no longer coming between them, no longer necessary as they used their bodies and their passion to show their love for one another.
* * * *
Robert was tempted to burn the letter from his cousin Lionel begging for assistance. Not surprisingly, the presumed heir to Huntley found himself without friends or funds once the actual heir returned. Some might consider the weasel a minor annoyance, but Captain St. Armand knew from experience men killed for wealth and position, for far lower stakes than the barony of Huntley. He'd have to deal with it eventually, but he had more important matters to take care of when he went to London, including ensuring there were no untidy ends left from Thomas Wilson's abrupt departure from the city.
Laughter floated out from the window of the nursery to his study. He'd never grow tired of hearing that sound. For too long Huntley Manor had not echoed with the sound of children's laughter, or the laughter of a woman in love. He needed to secure his future with a beautiful (and amazingly imaginative) wife, more children, and keeping Mattie as safe as he could from an unkind world.
Lydia claimed he was a good man. Now he would prove it.
Chapter 27
"Miss Burke, there is something wrong with Papa. Is he ill?"
Lydia hugged the motherless child to her chest, knowing the thought of her strong father being ill terrified her.
"No, Mattie, I am absolutely certain your father is not ill. His color is good, he had an excellent appetite at breakfast, remember? It must simply be he is adjusting to life here, just as we had to adjust to walking on land after being aboard ship for so long. You had to learn how to be a member of the Prodigal Son's crew, now your papa is learning how to be Lord Huntley."
"I don't like this adjustment," she said with a youngster's honesty. "I want my pirate papa back. And I want knife practice."
Robert had been replaced by a changeling and in lieu of a dashing pirate, the boredom fairies left an English country squire. Serious. Sober. Dressed in browns and grays and muted shades of blue doing little to enhance his appearance. He arose at an early hour and worked all day except to break for luncheon, where he'd quiz Mattie about her lessons. Bedtime tales of bloodthirsty pirates were replaced with books about good little boys and girls who never did anything bad and were always a shining example to others. Lydia caught herself jerking awake out of a doze after one of these instructional interludes.
Knife practice was suspended, with a suggestion that Mathilde work on her needlework instead. It was a suggestion which would have led to a temper tantrum of epic proportions had Mattie not been as stunned as Lydia by the idea.
Lydia would have enjoyed having the pirate back herself. The man sitting in the big chair in the study still looked like Robert, if you squinted and held your head to the side, but where was the earring? The red satin? The kohl-lined eyes?
Sails was so morose she feared he'd turn to drink if he had to keep dressing Robert as he did.
"Cap'n insists on it, Miss Burke. I didn't even know he had such dull clothes in his wardrobe. I figured they were for dress-up, like when he needs to fool the navy or hoodwink someone like that Wilson. Even the vicar's waistcoat has more style than that garment he wore to supper," he said, shaking his head. "I offered him the purple satin, but he said it was gaudy and inappropriate attire. Inappropriate attire! Never thought I'd hear Captain St. Armand say such a thing!"
When they gathered for luncheon the lord of the manor made an announcement.
"I am leaving for London tomorrow, ladies. Mr. Fuller will be here if any difficulties arise, but my business shouldn't take too long."
"I want to go to London too, Papa! I want to see the Tower where people are kept prisoner and tortured and executed!"
"Such an excitable child," Robert murmured, then raised his voice. "No, Mattie, not this time. I promise we will go to London together, perhaps in the springtime before the city gets too fetid."
"Miss Burke too? And Jolly?"
"I will rent a house. Now, no more about this. Shall I bring you a new doll from London?"
"I'd rather have my own pistols, Papa."
"Of course you would."
Robert left the next mornin
g, finally looking more like himself. It gave Lydia hope to see him dressed in a coat of blue superfine, buckskin breeches molded to his long, long legs, and black topboots polished by Sails until they reflected the sunlight poking through the leaves. He looked good, despite his duller than usual plumage. Of course, Robert Huntley looked good in nothing at all, though she'd not been graced with that sight either for the past week. He'd politely said good night to her each evening, then retired to his study or his bedroom.
At first she'd worried that something she'd done gave him a disgust of her--possibly that interlude with the feathers and the string of beads--but when she thought further, she just shook her head. This morning when he picked up his calfskin gloves from the table in the hall he'd paused and looked at them thoughtfully before pulling them on, flexing his fingers inside the soft leather, and when he retrieved his riding crop he slapped it lightly against his palm and smiled, a smile much more reminiscent of the pirate St. Armand than the baron.
But he was sober and thoughtful when he bade them farewell. He hugged Mattie to his chest and she threw her arms around his neck and said, "I love you, Papa, even when you are a baron and not a pirate! I will love you always and forever, that's a promise!"
"It pleases me to hear you say that, poppet. I love you too."
"Will you be careful in London, Papa? It is a big town and you won't have Jolly with you to guide you home if you get lost."
"I will be careful in London, Mattie. And what of you, Miss Burke, will you miss me?"
She leaned closer to him and said into his ear, "I will think of you every night when I play with my toys, my lord."
She was gratified by his dumbfounded expression. His mouth opened, then closed, and he appeared about to say something, but instead mounted his horse and with a final wave, rode off. The ladies held hands and watched until he was out of sight.
It was amazing how empty a big house could feel with the absence of just one man. That night Lydia put Mattie to bed by herself, and Mattie clapped her hands in approval when Captain Johnson's book was retrieved from the shelf, banishing the storybook about the little boy who was horribly good and who kept his room neat as a pin. He probably ate his beets too, Mattie pointed out, good enough reason to push him off a cliff. Lydia didn't remonstrate with her and her eye remained remarkably twitch free.
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