But the man who’d spoken had been to her left, and she glanced up to find he was sitting on one side, a choleric-looking gentleman who’d probably never been to sea in his life. Beside him was a beautiful young woman, with hair so blond it was almost white, pale skin, and blue eyes that hadn’t even bothered to glance at the troublesome servants. The man she’d spied through the window was at the foot of the table, so he was clearly not the captain, and her eyes swung immediately to the far end, for her first glance at her elderly employer.
She almost dropped the shard of glass she was holding, and she clutched it instinctively, barely feeling it bite into her skin.
She knew that face, even though he was talking with the beautiful woman beside him, not even looking down at the mess his servants had made. Knew that mouth, had felt that mouth on hers what seemed like a lifetime ago, but in fact had only been a few hours ago. He still hadn’t bothered with a proper neckcloth, but he had something draped around his neck as a nod to propriety, and his dark, curling hair had been pushed back, probably another sop to decency, though it only exposed the barbaric gold earring. He had a strong profile—a long nose, flashing eyes, his dark brows slanting upward and his cheekbones high and sharp. She already knew too much about that wicked mouth of his.
He must have felt her eyes on him, and he turned, but she was fast enough to duck her head and finish cleaning up the broken dishes. There was blood dripping onto the tray, and she realized she’d cut herself more deeply than she thought. With the last bit of food scooped onto the tray, she rose, lifting the wretchedly heavy thing with her, and it was all she could do not to stagger, her legs and arms ridiculously weak. Keeping her face glued to the tray, she backed out of the room, while Wilf was continuing on with his convoluted tale of how it had been all her fault, when she heard his voice again.
“I really don’t give a bloody damn how it happened,” her employer said irritably.
“Captain!” the old man huffed. “There are ladies present. Moderate your language.”
There was no apology. “How it happened doesn’t matter,” the captain continued after a weighted moment. “Just get it cleaned up and see to the girl. She’s cut herself on the broken glass.”
So he’d noticed that, had he? What else had he noticed?
But Wilf, the idiot, didn’t get the message. “She’s unbearably clumsy, Captain. We’ll see she’s bandaged before she leaves.”
“She’s not going anywhere. This house is a disaster, and you and your wife have been complaining that you need help for months. This is her first day and she’s allowed a few mistakes.”
Defending her again, she thought dazedly. But did he even get that good a look at her? He didn’t strike her as a knight errant by nature. His smile was too wicked.
By that time she’d backed out of the room, setting the heavy tray on the counter in the pantry, and she was trembling slightly as the door swung shut behind her, hiding her from view.
“Well, I for one do not tolerate shoddy service,” an older woman’s voice broke in. The pirate’s future mother-in-law. “And I would hope my daughter would follow my standards in all things.”
“Not in all things, I hope,” the captain said lazily, and Maddy wondered if she were the only one who caught his subtle, sexual hint in that statement.
There was a laugh from the far end of the table, and Maddy knew she wasn’t alone.
“Of course I shall, Mama,” came a meek voice. Poor girl. She was bullied by her parents, for doubtless that blustery old man was just as controlling, and she was about to marry an indiscreet lecher who kissed strange girls on the street. Though he also rescued them from rape, she had to admit fairly. So despite his thoroughly bad behavior in claiming her mouth she ought to put that out of her mind and concentrate on the fact that his act had been essentially noble.
Of course, putting that kiss from her mind was far from an easy task. When she thought about it, a strange tightness caught beneath her breasts, and heat bloomed where it shouldn’t. Would her husband kiss her like that? She could teach him to.
Except maybe she wouldn’t be wanting to kiss her husband like that, depending on whom she landed. She was going to be practical and hardheaded, and the unfortunate fact was that titles and large incomes tended to come with elderly, pockmarked, overfed men like Lord Eastham with too much hair on their faces and not enough on their heads. The captain’s smooth-shaven face was another sign of his disdain for society. How would it feel to kiss someone like that when they had a moustache, and perhaps side-whiskers? Tarkington had had a luxuriant mustache, but he’d never kissed her like that, even when they…
Maybe she should stop thinking about kisses, but at least it kept her mind off her sore feet and aching muscles.
“Pssst.”
It took Maddy a moment to realize Mrs. Crozier was signaling her. With a sigh she hoisted the tray once more and carried it down into the kitchen.
“Set it on the table, you stupid girl,” the woman snapped. “At least you had the sense to keep your mouth shut. And stop bleeding all over my clean kitchen. There are supplies in the cupboard where you found your aprons. Clean yourself up.”
Easier said than done, and by the time she’d managed to wash the blood away and wrap a crude bandage around her hand the bleeding seemed to have stopped. She’d allowed herself a moment to sit while she tried to bandage herself, and it would have been so easy simply to close her eyes and sleep, just for a few seconds.
Life had suddenly become a great deal more complicated. Instead of an elderly sea captain full of bluster she found herself in the household of a… a gypsy king. With those long, black curls and a golden hoop, he was a far cry from anything she’d ever dealt with. He was more like something from her childhood dreams, when she’d wanted nothing more than to run off and live in a gypsy caravan, traveling the country.
She’d even done so for three days. She’d been ten years old. Her father had disciplined her for shoving Sophie in the pond at Somerset, which was ridiculous because Sophie had always been a great swimmer, and in affront Maddy had decided to run away. She’d gotten as far as the neighboring Gorton Woods, only to run across an encampment of Travelers.
She’d been dirty, wet, hungry, and miserable, and the grandmother, who seemed to be in charge of the group rather than the old man, took her in, bathed her and fed her and tucked her up inside her own vardo. And Maddy had immediately decided right then that she would marry a gypsy and live in one of those wonderful caravans and travel the world.
Of course, she had been so young. And the grandmother had returned her to her father three days later, a brave act since she could have been accused of kidnapping. But her father had always been a fair man, and he knew his rebellious middle daughter well, so he’d simply thanked the grandmother, gave her a gift of wine and foodstuffs, and told her they would always be welcome to camp on his land.
But it wasn’t his land anymore. She hadn’t seen them for years, but she hoped they wouldn’t return to be faced with the new viscount.
Now here she was in the household of someone who looked like her adolescent dream of romance, with that honey gold skin and flashing eyes. And he’d kissed her! So much for her plan to slip through the household unnoticed. Most people never even gave housemaids a second glance, and despite Mrs. Crozier’s complaints Maddy had made herself as plain as possible. An elderly sea captain might not notice her, but the man who’d accosted her this afternoon certainly would.
She should have paid more attention when her father spoke of him. She’d known he was a far cry from the other men who commanded Eustace Russell’s ships, with his mysterious background, a stint at piracy in the Far East, and a gift for getting a cargo where it needed to be faster and safer than anyone else. Sailors fought to be on his ships. Her father had trusted him implicitly as one of the most valued of his employees, or so she thought, until they’d found that scribbled note after he died. Never trust a pirate, he’d written. Why couldn’t he have said more?