Lydia And The Rogue

deux

          IT WAS AROUND THE... the umpteenth time of guaranteeing Claude Fabron that'd he'd take care of his daughter that Nicholas Claremont became crossed. It took several long moments before Claude finally decided to descend and fled the ship without looking back, which Nicholas thought to be a blessing. He promised to care for the child as if it were his own sibling, but there was little he could do to ensure the child didn't feel a neglected notion. Lydia was a blossoming flower with hopes of a future, a religious girl with little to know about the outside world. Poor child, Nicholas had thought, but then rolled his eyes and thought better of it. He'd feel no sympathy towards her with the amount of kindness he'd show her within the next few weeks.

          The only thing he hoped for was that she wasn't a crying mess, dispirited from the wake of her father's absence. He was never good with crying people, much less women, though the pansy crew that ran his ship along with him sometimes proved to be more womanly then others, and thats when he'd cut them abroad. He need a strong crew. A backbone.

          Her pampered life would soon come to an accelerated stop overseas on the Northton and if he very well had to break her into habit to forget formalities with his crew, so be it. It would ensure stability for her time abroad with him. Up until they left the harbor he'd try to get that into her brain. A wench or a spoiled wench, it'd do. He promised Fabron that his daughter would be safe. Girding her loins would provide just that.

          Nicholas breathed a deep sigh, shaking his legs in order to ready him for meeting the child's grief stricken face.

          The bloody hell?

          Damnation, had he been defrauded?

          Quickly, he realized the problematic 'child' had grown oversized into quite the dilemma. Feeling duped, he let his already pushed smile reel.

         For the fact his charge was certainly no child. She was neither homesick, grief filled or overwrought by being left by her father to a hardly equipped stranger! Well, that was pushing it. He was indeed adequate, but he was not provided for... for this. He let his jaw go slack from it's tight teeth on teeth pressed position. It dropped nearly to his hessians and into the floorboard. As she smiled the broadest smile he's ever seen, he looked back towards the door. The charming woman in front of him could not be Claude's cloistered daughter by any means.

          The fool, he'd been so handedly duped.

          Lydia vaguely reminded him of an English beauty he met in... Jamaica, was it? She fled England to be free of her tormenting husband and he relieved her burden by an ounce in one night, and by the end of the week while his ship was being replenished, he'd removed every burden. Twenty pounds of it all. He let a captivating smirk double his features all the way home those some five years ago. But now... Lydia was far more ravishing and delectable. She had fair and creamy skin, olive around her temple and coral coloured lips like her father.

          Her hair was golden like the sun, perfectly arranged with very large hazel eyes and sooty eyelashes. Her olive dress complemented perfectly with her colouring, and he watched as it spread along his four-poster and draped over across it. He found himself then gazing at her moist and pouty lips for a moment too long, flicking his own tongue over his pigmented chops in hunger.

          "Salut! I am, your charge, Ly-Lydia," With the exception of her quick stutter, her voice was silky just as the rest of her body proved to be. "I want to thank you, if not for you, Captain Claremont, I would not be here today. Non, I'd be back at home. Merci."