Scandalous Desires (9 page)

Silence swallowed. She’d been raised in London as well, but there had been trips to parks and outings to Greenwich and other towns. She’d seen butterflies and more—tame deer, wild birds, lovely gardens, and flowers. What kind of boyhood had he had never to have seen a butterfly?

“Where were you raised in London?” she asked softly.

“St. Giles,” he said, still tracing the gilt pages. “Not more’n a stone’s throw from here.”

She tried to picture him as a boy. He’d have been beautiful, of course, lean and graceful. The thought made her uneasy. Beautiful youths didn’t last long in St. Giles. “You lived with your family?”

“Me mam… and
him
.”

She frowned at the emphasis on the last word. Was he talking about his father—or another man? She glanced at him, but ended up asking the easier question. “Do your parents still live in St. Giles?”

He gave her an ironic look and closed the big picture book. Obviously he had no intention of answering her.

Irritating man. She looked around the little library. “Which book is it?”

“What?”

She gestured to the overflowing bookshelves. “Where is your butterfly book?”

He shook his head. “I don’t keep it here.”

“But then—”

“What a curious thing ye are.” He turned to place the book on a shelf.

She inhaled, feeling frustrated. “What is it you want from me?”

When he turned, his face had gone blank. “What makes ye think I want anythin’ from ye, me darlin’?”

But she wasn’t going to let him slide away from this question. She took a step closer and he made a movement almost as if he would retreat from her. “You didn’t have to give Mary Darling to me. Didn’t have to involve me in your life at all. What is it you’re doing?”

He glanced away from her, a muscle clenching in his jaw. “I’m protectin’ ye and the babe, nothin’ more. All ye have to do is stay in yer rooms and be content.”

Stay in her rooms? Be
content
? Silence’s eyes widened incredulously. “Do I look like a doll to you?”

His eyelids lowered, his beautiful black lashes sweeping his cheeks before he glanced back up at her again. “Nay, yer a lovely woman, ye are. I’d not be mistakin’ ye for any playthin’.”

Her lips parted at his intimate tone.

His sensuous mouth curved at her confusion. “Supper’s early tonight—seven o’ the clock, mind. I trust we’ll be graced with yer lovely presence.”

Silence stiffened. He wouldn’t catch her off guard so easily. “On the contrary, I have no intention of dining with you, Mr. O’Connor.”

The smile was abruptly gone from his face, leaving it rather frighteningly grim. “Then ye’ll fast in yer rooms, me darlin’, until ye can see fit to change yer mind.”

And with that he pivoted and strode from the room.

“But ye can’t!” Fionnula hissed early the next morning.

“Who says so?” Silence asked stubbornly as she took a quick look up and down the hall outside her room. Harry was eating breakfast and she’d just sent Bert to call a servant. She only had a minute at most while the guards were occupied.

“Himself, that’s who,” Fionnula cried in a muted wail. “He’s given orders that yer not to leave the rooms until ye consent to dine with him.”

Silence snorted softly. “Mickey O’Connor is not my master.”

“He mayn’t be,” Fionnula said, “but he’s used to bein’ obeyed.”

“Then Mr. O’Connor is in for a surprise.”

Silence slipped from the room with Mary Darling in her arms and ran lightly toward the back of the hallway—away from the stairs where Bert had gone. She stopped at the corner to catch her breath before continuing more sedately.

A touch at her shoulder nearly made her scream.

“Where are ye plannin’ on goin’?” Fionnula whispered.

“I don’t know,” Silence admitted, “but Mary needs new surroundings to explore. Perhaps a sitting room?”

Fionnula looked doubtful. “I don’t think Himself spends much time sittin’. He’s not exactly gentry.”

“The library, then. That’s below us.” Silence looked worriedly at Fionnula. “But I don’t want to get you into trouble. Perhaps I ought to tie you up? We can say I’ve overpowered you.”

Fionnula rolled her eyes. “As if anyone would believe that.”

Behind them came a noise like an enraged bull. “Oi!” Bert had discovered her absence.

Silence couldn’t restrain a start, but at least she didn’t break stride.

Mary bounced in her arms, looking over Silence’s shoulder. “ ’Ert!”

They reached the stairwell just as Bert caught up with them.

“Now see ’ere,” the guard panted. “Where d’ye think yer goin’?”

“To the library,” Silence said airily as she started down the stairs.

Bert scoffed. “Right next to ’Imself’s plannin’ room, that is. Ye’ll not get two steps past the stairwell.”

The news made Silence’s pulse race. She was already at the landing, but she didn’t stop, sailing through the doorway and into the lower corridor. Charming Mickey O’Connor might discover her disobedience—she was counting on it, in fact—but that wouldn’t detain her. It was important that she assert her rights, her will to not be treated like some pawn at the beck and call to Mickey O’Connor’s whims. In fact—

Hard hands caught her waist and Silence couldn’t help a squeak of surprise and alarm. She was lifted quite off her feet with Mary Darling still clutched to her breast.

“What is Mrs. Hollingbrook doin’ out o’ her rooms?” Mickey O’Connor’s voice rumbled behind her, far too calmly.

Silence craned her neck and saw that the pirate held her at arm’s length, his face quite expressionless. She gulped and faced forward again, only to see Fionnula frozen while Bert opened and closed his mouth like a landed fish.

“Don’t blame Bert or Fionnula,” Silence blurted out. “This is my fault—”

“I never thought otherwise,” Mr. O’Connor snapped. “Take the babe.”

Fionnula darted forward, eyes wide and before Silence could protest Mary was in the maidservant’s arms.

Silence frowned. “Now see here—”

“Not a word,” the pirate whispered, and somehow his lowered voice was even more frightening than a shout.

He swung her and suddenly Silence found herself on her stomach over Mickey O’Connor’s shoulder—a most ignominious position—one broad hand clamped firmly over her bottom to hold her in place.

“Put me down,” she said with as much dignity as
possible, considering that all the blood was rushing to her head.

He didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he simply turned and strode down the hall.

“Mr. O’Connor!” Silence found she had no choice but to brace her hands on his hips if she didn’t want her nose to bounce off his extremely firm rear end.

He didn’t reply as he mounted the stairs—seemingly without effort despite steadying her weight with only one arm—but Silence thought she might have heard him muttering to himself under his breath.

Or possibly cursing.

She gulped. She’d defied him outright this time—and humiliated him in front of his man and Fionnula to boot. There was a very real possibility that his ire might take a physical form. But she’d made up her mind not to bend to his will and she’d stick to her guns—no matter the cost.

So it was with a feeling of both defiance and trepidation that Silence found herself tossed on the bed minutes later. She bounced on the soft mattress, struggling to push her hair out of her hot face. She must present a firm but calm countenance to the pirate.

Still she couldn’t help gulping when at last she looked up.

Mickey O’Connor loomed over her, arms crossed, feet braced wide apart. “What in the name o’ all that’s holy did ye think ye were doin’?”

She tilted her chin. “Going for a walk.”

He bent, thrusting his handsome face into hers. “When I gave ye orders to stay in yer rooms?”

“Yes.” She licked her bottom lip.

For a moment his gaze dropped to her mouth before snapping back up to meet her eyes. “
No
one disobeys me in me own home!”

For a moment she wasn’t sure she could speak. He was crowded into her, his very breath hot upon her cheek. He was so much bigger than she. So much more physically powerful.

But she had determination. “Evidently someone does now.”

His nostrils flared and for a moment all she could do was hold her breath.

Then he abruptly straightened and stomped to her door. He wrenched it open and glared at her. “Stay in this fuckin’ room or I swear ye’ll be regrettin’ it.”

The walls shook as he slammed the door.

Silence exhaled and flopped back on the bed. She felt as if she’d weathered a thunderstorm, but one thought rang gleefully in her mind:

She, Silence Hollingbrook, meek widow of no particular means, had just faced down Charming Mickey O’Connor, the most feared pirate in London.

S
UCH A STUBBORN
little thing she was!
Mick stalked along the corridor to the stairs. When he came to a rag and bucket, carelessly left by a maid, he kicked it over. The clatter of the falling bucket was gratifying, but didn’t tame his foul mood. Why wouldn’t she sit meekly in her rooms? Why wouldn’t she fucking
obey
him? He hadn’t a bloody clue what he would do if she defied him again. The thought of giving her any sort of pain was simply out of the question and if he couldn’t physically punish her…

Mick stopped at the bottom of the stairs and glared sightlessly at a tiny picture on the wall. It was an ancient Madonna and child, their halos layered in gold, Mary’s face was pinched and disapproving and an odd shade of green. The widow had been in his home a mere two days and already she was overthrowing his orderly life.

There was the sound of a throat clearing behind him.

“What the bloody hell is it, Harry?” Mick growled without turning.

“Ah, beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but Bert is upset that Mrs. ’Ollingbrook got past ’im and I was thinkin’—“

Mick shook his head once. “I’m not discussin’
her
right now.”

“Ah…”

“Is there anythin’ else?”

“Bran was wantin’ to know when ye’ll be talkin’ to the owner of the
Alexander
.”

Mick turned at that. “After me supper, but afore midnight. Let the man get sleepy in his great house a-thinkin’ Mick O’Connor has forgotten that he didn’t pay tithe on his last bloody ship.”

Harry pursed his lips. “Sleepy or not, ’e’d be a great fool not to be well guarded in ’is own ’ome.”

“No doubt.” Mick started down the corridor. “Which is why I’ll be bringin’ Pat and Sean as well as Bran.”

“Think that’ll be enough?” Harry hurried to keep up with him.

“Aye. We’ll be a-waitin’ in his room for him when he goes to bed.” Mick reached his rooms and flung open the door. “The shock of seein’ four armed men in his bedroom will, I think, be enough to soften him up right finely.”

Mick stopped dead in the middle of his bedroom. His
bed was a huge piece of furniture with posts as big around as a man’s thighs. He’d slept comfortably there with two other bedmates—and had he wished, could’ve fit another three. The bed was so massive it usually dwarfed whoever occupied it. But not the big dog draped over both his pillows. The animal lay with its pale belly exposed, forepaws up in the air, its great head turned to the side, jaws agape and tongue lolling.

“What,” Mick said softly, “is Lad doin’ in me bed?”

Hearing his name, Lad opened small, piggish, upside-down eyes, gazing with idiotic adoration as his whip-thin tail thumped the covers.