Author's Note: Hello and welcome to chapter ten of "Little Lordie". I would like to extend my most sincere thanks to everyone who read the last chapter and those that reviewed Tiera-Tarie, Zahrah and DCHeesegirl. I have no beta for this fic (although it has been thoroughly proofread) so any grammatical or spelling errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean. However, I do own Maggie, Harry and all OCs mentioned herein.

Chapter Ten

Maggie was perched by her writing desk, a pale hand pressed to her brow. Beckett followed her gaze to a small map. It was a tiny scrape, a fragment of the Caribbean with just a hint of the North American provinces. And yet Maggie studied it with unmeasured intensity. Her features folded in a deep frown. Beckett traced the worried lines on her forehead with his eyes and the sad way her lips were pressed together.

She looked so very alone, standing in her cabin like a frightened recluse. He noted the way she twisted a thin arm about her waist and how tense her legs were, ready to dart and dash away.

Maggie was not the confident, calm lass he had taken her for, not the devil-may-care captain heading a crew of dandies. No, she was small and alone and so very frightened.

An oh, it would be easy for him to take advantage of her.

Beckett stepped closer to the cabin door and knocked, the soft thud causing her to start and glance around with wild anxiety.

"Oh." She smiled when she saw him.

"Thought I was Sparrow?" he asked. Like a sleek cat on the prowl, he slipped into the cabin and shut the door behind him.

"No." A nervous chuckle parted her mouth and her tongue swept across her lips. "Harry, rather, come to scold me. He has a way of doing that sometimes and he is always right."

"Smart man," Beckett said. He leaned on the table, his hip crushed against the edge. "Surprisingly tactful."

"Very." Maggie put her back to the writing desk. "You should have seen him in his day on the high road. Could talk a man out of his money without even showing a pistol." She shook her head. "I was never quite so circumspect."

Silence descended and Beckett let it stretch to the breaking point. He wanted her to be uncomfortable, yes, he wanted her to rely on him alone.

"I've been there," he said at length and gestured to the map.

"Where?" Maggie stepped to the side, her hands clasped over her forearms. She was in her shirtsleeves again and Beckett much preferred her reduced state. Without her coat, she looked much more mortal and he could see her flesh beneath the white layer of cotton, her human flesh.

"There." Beckett left his place by the table and hovered by the writing desk. With a finger, he tapped the colony of New York. "The harbor is magnificent."

"I went to Boston once, but that was only for a fortnight." She lowered her eyes. "Where…where else have you been?"

"Oh, many places." He ran his palm over the map. "Let's see, India, that would be…here." Using an inkwell, he marked off the place to the right side of the parchment. "And the Caribbean, of course. And I've seen a good deal of Europe. France, Italy, Spain, Greece."

"Oh," she breathed, "oh, my stepmother used to read to us about such places. But never was I afforded the opportunity to visit them."

"Yet." Beckett touched her chin with his thumb, the rest of his fingers curled about her jaw.

Maggie swallowed and pulled away "You must have seen Athens then, and Rome. Paris."

"Indeed."

The sun was setting slowly, magnificently and its dying fire swept through the open window and into cabin, lighting the side of Beckett's face. A soft, quiet blue touched the rest of the sky.

Again, Beckett allowed for torturous silence and this time, Maggie seemed to break beneath it.

"What do you want?" she asked in a tight, tense voice.

"To see you," Beckett said and instinctively, his face softened.

"I don't believe you."

"Why? What reason have I to lie?"

"Did someone send you?" And she glanced over her shoulder, dissecting the growing shadows with wide eyes.

"No."

"I don't believe you," she repeated breathlessly. "There has to be some reason behind it. Oh, you hate me so. Why should you come to my cabin?"

Her shoulders slumped and Beckett recognized the protective stance, the very insecurity that tormented her.

"Hate you?" he said with a little laugh. "Now that's a rather harsh assessment, don't you think?"

"It's spot on." She nodded, her face hard with surety. "You would dance upon my grave for twelve months and a day, I know you would. Perhaps your thinking of selling me to Sparrow even now. Yes, that would fetch you a fine price, but not your freedom. Sparrow would never let you go."

Beckett shifted his weight. "Paranoia does not quite suit you, darling. You look like a fox trapped between the hounds and hell."

"Which is why I don't like you coming into my cabin acting like the master when you should be begging for table scrapes." Maggie wagged a finger in his face. "Yes, table scrapes," she spat.

Panic knotted in Beckett's stomach and he beat it down with a placating smile. He ran a high risk of losing her now.

Maggie turned from him, her hips swaying a little as she sauntered away. Her stride was powerful again, confident.

Damn.

"I thought you wanted me in your cabin," Beckett said, sucking in his breath. "You said I might stay here and after all, I think it would be foolish to consign me to the brig now."

"Yes, but you're getting a bit too clever for your own good." She half-turned and glanced at him. "Remember your place."

"I'm not quite happy with my 'place'." Beckett lowered his chin. "In fact, it's not at all to my liking."

"Which is why you hate me."

"I never said that." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Now come, you've snapped at nearly everything I've said this evening. Compose yourself, madam."

Maggie slammed her fist against the table. A set of pewter mugs rattled. "If I'm vexed, the fault is all yours."

"And you should be!" Anger touched Beckett's tone, drowning the reason that usually governed his voice. "If a volley of cannon does not take you from this world in a day or so, then the noose surely will."

"No!" A fine layer of sweat made her face shine and Beckett thought he beheld a madwoman.

Maggie drew back her lips in a horrid sneer. "I'll never hang!"

Beckett observed her coolly. His serenity contrasted harshly with her unbridled emotion. "But the thought does frighten you," he said softly, "does it not?"

Maggie wavered at his words and seemed to swoon. She collapsed. Her body went limp in the arms of a chair. And in her terror, she clasped her hands over her neck. "You shan't send me to the gallows, to writhe and gasp and smother before crowds of poor fools who know nothing of me." A cry strangled her words and Beckett was stunned to see tears slip down her cheeks.

"The lady highwayman they'll call me," she said with a shudder, "or something worse. And then after my corpse alone remains, they'll tear away my clothing like dogs and shred it for souvenirs. It's a shallow grave for me and a sad end to a life that could have been put to better use."

She sighed once, weeping into her hands like a wretch of the lowest degree. And Beckett felt an odd pinch at his heart as her newfound frailty beckoned to him.

He shut his eyes, swallowed and tried to remember his purpose. With one hand, he grasped her shoulder.

Maggie flinched. "Don't touch me!"

But Beckett wasn't about to heed her sob-strained orders. He pulled her to her feet, taking her into his arms and pressing her body against his. Through the soft layers of cloth he felt every nuance of her, her sharp knees, her round hips, her soft breasts. She gasped, her breath a breeze across his lips.

"You need to stop this now," he said in a voice that was ragged from fighting lust rather than emotion. "Stop. Stop this whining. It's becoming pathetic."

"What do you want from me?" she asked and in her eyes, he saw the same desperation that had once plagued him.

Oh, how things had changed. So easily could he torture her now and let his words weave a web of fantastic terror in her mind. But unfortunately, he needed the woman yet.

"Should I play coy?" He drummed his fingers on the small of her back. "Should I trade you a mango for a pardon? Hmm?"

Maggie shook her head, straining against his hold. "Please, let me go."

"Oh it's 'please' now is it? I don't believe it was 'please' before when you wanted to bed me." His fingers moved through her hair like treacherous snakes. Maggie snarled and almost too late did Beckett realize her intent.

He jerked his face away, a dangerous inch from her bared teeth.

"Stop." He shook her fiercely. "Listen, if you will. I'm a kinder soul than you, Maggie, and I shall tell you what a want. No more foolish rigmarole. No more games."

"No." She said and suddenly fell limp against him.

Beckett ran his finger along the top of her ear. "You're not a pirate, my dear, but it seems you have dealt with them enough to know their ways. Tell me, do you not have the means and knowledge to find the pirate lords?"

Maggie nodded slowly. "Yes, though they can be hard to keep track of. I've found that pirates aren't prone to consistency."

"Intentions, my dear," he purred, "it's all in your intentions. If it truly is your wish to stamp out piracy, well then, your desire will be quite enough." And he rolled his hips against hers. The blood rushed into Maggie's face, leaving her cheeks warm and rosy.

"You are going to give me the pirate lords," Beckett said, "starting with Sparrow, of course. And when the seas have been made safe, I'll let you stand by my side. I'll let you partner with the Company."

"I can't trust you."

"Yes, yes you can."

"No." Maggie thrashed about, her body revolting against his own. "You would betray me."

"A strange worry coming from such a woman as you," Beckett snapped. He wrapped his hands about her wrists. His nails burrowed into her skin.

"I'm no traitor and I don't expect I ever will be," she groaned angrily.

"Then accept my loyalty."

"No!"

"You can, Maggie." He held her fast. "Do you think I would bring you to harm?"

"Yes, I-"

Beckett touched her ear with his lips. "It would go against my heart."

"You speak naught but lies!"

"Then ignore my words and listen to my actions instead," he said. "How can I prove myself if you will not give me the chance?"

Beckett had caught her then and Maggie knew it.

She whimpered softly and crushed her head against his shoulder. For a moment, he felt the happy return of triumph. His eyes shone and a smile encroached upon his lips. But just as quickly as it had come, so did Beckett push it away. She must not see his joy. No, not yet. There would be time for such later.

"Let me care for you," he crooned and pressed her to him until he thought they both would break. "Wouldn't it be so much easier that way? Wouldn't it be a pleasure to trust me and let me hold you and help you and save you. I can and I will. Maggie, please."

She looked at him with a sort of childish apprehension. Their was a question in her gaze and much fear…and slow acceptance.

"You won't hurt me, will you?" her voice was a mere echo, a shade of its previous power. And as she clung to him, Beckett realized how very weak she was.

"Now that is a useless sort of question," he replied, "especially when I know you must have the answer already."

She seemed to hesitate then, but defeat soon claimed her, crushing her beneath misguided trust and love. "I don't have much of a choice, I suppose," Maggie said.