He smiled at her suddenly, handsome and wicked. “Are you afraid I’ll see how clumsy you are?”
She stuck out her tongue at him.
“Careful,” he said low, though the smile still played around his lips. “I might abandon this lesson for one far more to my taste.”
Her eyes widened, unsure how to take his teasing tone.
“Come, it’s not so very hard.”
His voice was gentle now—and he was far too perceptive.
She inhaled, looking away from him, touched by his tenderness.
He took her hand. “The main thing is to always look as if you have a poker up your”—he cast a sideways glance at her—“er, back. Watch.”
And he patiently demonstrated the steps to the dance, coaching her to follow him as the music floated through the open balcony doors. Temperance studied his graceful movements, trying to imitate them, but what seemed inborn to him was a confusing series of steps to her.
“Oh, I shall never be able to do this,” she exclaimed after several minutes.
“So dramatic,” he murmured. “You’re doing quite well, I think.”
“But I keep confusing the steps,” she said. “You make it seem so natural.”
“It is natural—to me,” he said flatly. “I spent hours upon hours practicing these steps as a boy. If I misstepped, my dance master had a cane he would bring down on the back of my calves. I learned quickly not to misstep.”
“Oh,” she said rather inadequately.
His world was so different from hers. While she’d been learning to cook, mend, and pinch pennies as a child, he’d learned to master these silly, intricate steps. She pictured him, a proud little boy, dancing all by himself in a large, elegant ballroom, his only company a cruel dance master.
She shivered.
His brows knit. “You’re cold. Let’s go in.”
She nodded gratefully.
They stepped back into the ballroom, which seemed more crowded than ever.
“Would you like some punch?” Caire asked.
Temperance nodded again. He found an empty chair for her near a huge vase of flowers, and she sat while he went off in search of refreshment. The hour was growing late now, the scent of half-burned candles pervading the room. Temperance saw several ladies employ their fans and wished rather wistfully for one of her own. Then she was chiding herself for wanting more when Caire had already given her so much for this night. Perhaps he was right: perhaps no matter how much a person had, they could still be unhappy.
A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she saw Sir Henry making his way through the crowd. Oh, goodness! How awkward if he should see her. Temperance turned her head away and lifted her hand to her coiffure as if checking to see if her jeweled pins were still in place.
“Have you dropped something?” a feminine voice said nearby.
Temperance looked up, startled, and met Lady Hero’s wide gray eyes. She had taken the seat next to Temperance’s, and while the lady didn’t smile, her expression was quite pleasant.
Temperance realized she was staring and remembered that she’d been asked a question. “Oh. Oh, no, my lady.”
“Someone has told you who I am,” Lady Hero said.
“Yes.”
“Ah.” Lady Hero looked at her lap. “It was to be expected, I suppose.” She glanced up and caught Temperance’s eye, smiling a little crookedly. “I find people treat me differently when they know my name.”
“Oh.” Temperance wasn’t sure how exactly to respond to that, because, of course, Lady Hero was quite correct: A duke’s daughter was treated differently. “I am Temperance Dews.”
Lady Hero smiled more fully. “How do you do?” This close, Temperance could see a fine sprinkling of freckles across her nose. They only served to highlight Lady Hero’s smooth, white complexion.
Sir Henry chose that moment to walk past them. She met his embarrassed eyes before quickly looking away.
Lady Hero followed her gaze. “That man is a toad.”
“I beg your pardon?” Temperance blinked. Surely she hadn’t heard correctly. Did the daughters of dukes call gentlemen toads?
Apparently they did. Lady Hero nodded. “Sir Henry Easton, yes? He looks agreeable enough, I’ll grant you, but he has definite toad tendencies. I say”—her brows knit slightly—“he hasn’t done anything to you, has he?”
“No.” Temperance wrinkled her nose. “Well, yes. He tried to kiss me.”
Lady Hero winced. “Horrifying.”
“It was, really. And rather disappointing, too. You see, I thought he might be interested in my foundling home, but he wasn’t. I’m afraid it was rather foolish of me.”
“Ah,” Lady Hero said, sounding wise. “I don’t think you should blame yourself, you know. Toadlike gentlemen generally try to kiss ladies entirely unprovoked. Or at least that is what I have been led to believe. No gentleman has ever attempted to press his unwanted attentions upon me, of course. Duke’s daughter and all that.” Lady Hero sounded just a tad disappointed.
Temperance smiled. She would never have guessed that a duke’s daughter would be so delightful to talk to.
“But tell me about this foundling home,” Lady Hero said. “I’ve never met a lady who managed one.”
“Oh!” Temperance felt a pleasurable rush of confusion. “Well, the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children is in St. Giles, and we take care of eight and twenty children at the moment, but we could take care of ever so much more if only we had a patron for the home.” Her shoulders slumped. “That’s why I was so hopeful of Sir Henry.”
Lady Hero shook her head. “I’m sorry. Do you have both girls and boys at your home?”
“Yes, we keep them in separate rooms, of course, but we accept all children up to the age of nine. They’re apprenticed out at that age.”
“Really?” Lady Hero said. Her hands were folded gracefully in her lap, and she made no movement, but she seemed somehow to be genuinely interested. “But then how—oh, bother.”
Her gaze had gone beyond Temperance’s shoulder.
Temperance glanced quickly and saw a rather stout matron gesturing imperiously.
“It’s Cousin Bathilda,” Lady Hero said. “She probably wants me to go in with her to dinner, and she’ll only become more irate if I pretend not to notice her.”
“Then you had best go.”
“I fear so.” Lady Hero inclined her head. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Dews.”
“Mrs.” Temperance said quickly. “I’m widowed.”
“Mrs. Dews, then.” Lady Hero rose. “I do hope we meet again.”
Temperance watched her make her way to “Cousin Bathilda.”
When she turned back, Caire was standing in front of her, a glass of punch in his hand. “You’ve been in rarefied company in my absence.”
Temperance smiled at him. “You wouldn’t credit how nice she is.”
He glanced in Lady Hero’s direction, then back at her, his expression indulgent. “Is she? Come, drink up your punch and then I shall feed you some scandalously decadent dinner before I take you home. Your brother is bound to be pacing by the door as it is.”
Indeed, it was nearly an hour before they finally made their way to Caire’s carriage. Temperance was yawning widely after the rich food and richer wine. Caire settled her on a seat, knocked on the carriage roof, and then sat beside her, drawing her into his arms. He threw a fur across them both, and she drifted in and out of sleep as his carriage rumbled across London.
It was like a dream world. She felt so safe and warm in his arms, and she could hear the strong beat of his heart under her ear. He was different from her, an aristocrat from a marvelous spun-sugar world, but his heart beat just like any other man.
The thought comforted her.
When next she was aware, the carriage had drawn to a halt and he was gently shaking her shoulder. “Up, my sleeping beauty.”
She opened her eyes and yawned.
“Is it dawn?”
He glanced to the window. “It soon will be. I have a feeling your brother will take a strip from my hide if I don’t have you home before the first light.”
That woke her up a bit more. She scrambled upright and felt to make sure her hair was still in place. “Oh, I’ve lost a slipper.”
She bent to look on the floor, but he’d already knelt and felt along the base of the seat. “Here ’tis.”
He took her stockinged foot and gently slid the slipper back on. She stared, dazed, down at his silver head.
He must’ve felt her look for he glanced up, his eyes darkening. But he merely said, “Ready?”
She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
He helped her from the carriage and walked her to the door of the foundling home. The light had turned gray as they’d approached, but no one yet stirred on the street. She turned as they reached the door, placing a hand on his chest.
“Caire…” She wasn’t sure what she was about to say, but it didn’t matter anyway.
He bent his head and brushed her lips with his, murmuring, “Good night, Mrs. Dews.”
He turned away.
She watched his broad back blend into the gray mist; then she opened the door to the foundling home with her key. She yawned as she barred the door behind her, then hopped on first one foot and then the other as she removed her heeled slippers. Afterward, she wandered into the kitchen.
Four male heads swung around at her entrance. Temperance stared. Surely her brothers hadn’t waited up all night just for her? But there was something else wrong. For the fourth male was her brother-in-law, William, and his eyes were red.
Her gaze flew to Winter. “Silence.”
Winter looked drawn and years older than his true age. “Silence has been missing since yesterday afternoon.”
HE’D TOLD HER to unlace her bodice and to take down her hair, so she had.
Silence walked from Charming Mickey O’Connor’s bedroom with her hair trailing down her back. His bedroom was on the floor above the throne room, and in the hall outside, she came upon a maid—the first female servant she’d seen here. The woman stared at her and then looked quickly away again, back to her work of polishing the multicolored marble floor. For a moment, Silence wondered if the maid had any help in her chore, or if perhaps that was all she did? Polish yard after yard of amazing marble floor? If so, it was a task she did not envy the woman.
“This way, miss,” a male voice called.
She looked up and saw that Harry waited for her. His eyes were filled with pity.
Silence straightened her shoulders. “Thank you.”
The guard hesitated. “Would you like to put yourself to rights?”
He kept his gaze firmly away from the tops of her breasts, revealed by her open bodice.
“No,” Silence whispered. “No, thank you.”
Charming Mickey had made it plain that straightening herself was not allowed.
Harry looked at her helplessly for a moment and then nodded. He turned and led the way down the curving marble stairs. Other people were up by now, for it was well past dawn, and the expressions as they saw her varied. Some were pitying like Harry. Some—mostly women—looked envious. But the majority were merely contemptuous; one bold fellow even dared to wink at her before Harry shoved him hard into the wall. After that, most turned their faces away as she passed.
They came to the front door, and Harry held it open for her.
“If’n you need anything, miss, just ask,” he muttered as she passed.
“Thank you,” she replied politely, “but I have everything I came for.”
And she walked into the bright, merciless sunshine.
Charming Mickey had been quite explicit in his instructions, so she placed one foot in front of the other and walked up the middle of the dingy St. Giles street, her long hair blowing in the wind. She didn’t look left or right but kept her eyes focused straight ahead, even when the whores returning home called crude things to her.
She closed her ears and heart and heard nothing, saw nothing, until directly in front of her she saw Temperance’s face, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Then Silence gasped once and felt the sting of tears at her own eyes.
But by then she’d made it to the end of the street, so it was quite all right. She’d followed his instructions, done everything he’d said, and he’d honor his part of the bargain as well.
Except her life would never be the same again.
Chapter Twelve
Meg sighed. “This is not love, Your Majesty.”
King Lockedheart froze in the act of feeding a small morsel of cake to the little blue bird. “Then what is it?”
“Fear,” Meg said simply. “Your courtiers fear you, Your Majesty.”
The king grunted and seemed pensive.
“Take her back to the dungeons,” he ordered the guards. “And, Meg?”
“Your Majesty?”
“Take care you comb your hair when next I see you.”
“But I need a comb and pins to dress my hair,” Meg said softly.
The king only nodded impatiently and once again Meg was led away….
—from King Lockedheart
Temperance held Silence close and gently laced her bodice as the rented carriage rattled back to Wapping. Silence was limp, but her breath was rough and Temperance could feel her tears dropping to her fingers as she worked at the gown.
“Do you need a doctor?” Temperance finally asked.
“No. No, I’m fine,” Silence whispered.
That was so obviously not the case that Temperance felt fresh tears start again. She swiped at them fiercely with her wrist. Now was not the time to succumb to her own horror and regret. She had to be strong for Silence.
“What”—she had to stop and inhale—“what did he do to you, dearest?”
“Nothing at all,” Silence said tonelessly. “He never even touched me.”
Temperance started to protest but then reined herself in. Quite obviously Charming Mickey had done something to Silence, and just as obviously she couldn’t talk about it right now. For the next several minutes, Temperance concentrated on finger-combing her sister’s long russet hair. She parted and braided it and, using a few of her own hairpins, wrapped it in a crown about her head.
Silence lay against Temperance’s breast while Temperance stroked her forehead as if she were a little child.
She broke the quiet after a bit. “Dearest, whyever did you go to that man?”
Silence sighed, the sound lost and lonely. “I had to save William.”
“But why didn’t you come to me first? We could have discussed it, perhaps found another way to help William.” Temperance tried to keep her voice even, but she knew some of her despair leaked through.
“You were so busy,” Silence said quietly. “With the home, with the children, with Lord Caire and your hunt for a new patron.”
Her words were like a knife to Temperance’s breast. How could she have become so involved with other things that her own sister had not thought to come to her for help?
“It wouldn’t have mattered anyway,” Silence whispered, closing her eyes. “I had to go to Charming Mickey alone. I had to make the bargain I did with him alone. And it worked, you know.”
“What worked, dearest?” Temperance murmured.
“My going to Charming Mickey. My bargain with him. He says he’ll return the Finch’s stolen cargo.”
Temperance closed her eyes as well. She hoped that the pirate king would keep his word, but even if a miracle happened and he did, that would not change things for Silence.
Her baby sister was ruined—now and forever.
LAZARUS HAD RISEN only moments before when the argument started outside his bedroom door that afternoon. He looked up from his desk, where he’d been sitting in his banyan and breeches, and watched his bedroom door burst open.
Temperance marched in the room. Behind her hovered Small.
&
nbsp; Lazarus took one look at the evidence of tears on Temperance’s face and snapped to his valet. “Leave us.”
Small bowed and drew the bedroom doors shut.
Lazarus stood slowly. “What has happened?”
She looked at him, tragedy in her gold-flecked eyes. “Silence… Oh, God, Lazarus, Silence.”
He noted absently that she’d never addressed him by his given name before. “Tell me.”
She closed her eyes, as if to steady herself for the recitation. “She decided to try and get back William, her husband’s, cargo herself. She went to the dockyard gang lord, a man named Mickey O’Connor….”
He’d heard vague rumors of a flamboyant dockyard thief in his wanderings in St. Giles. The man was dangerous. Caire frowned. “And?”
A silver tear slipped from beneath her eyelid and dropped, sparkling, in the afternoon light, to the floor. “He agreed to return the ship’s cargo… but at a price.”
A lifetime of cynicism made him know what the price was, but he asked anyway. “What was it?”
She opened her eyes, shining gilded brown. “He made her spend the night with him.”
Lazarus exhaled at the confirmation. He’d never met this Silence, knew nothing of her, and even if he had, he would probably care not a whit for her. Except that she was Temperance’s sister.
And that made all the difference in the world.
It was a strange thing, this feeling of empathy. He’d never experienced it before. He realized that what hurt this woman hurt him as well, that what made her bleed caused a hemorrhage of pain within his soul.
He held out his arms to her. “Come here.”
She dived for his arms and he caught her against his chest, shards of exquisite pain prickling his bare skin where the banyan parted and exposed him. She smelled so sweet, of dawn and woman.
“I’m sorry,” he crooned, the words foreign on his tongue. “I’m so sorry.”
She sobbed once. “When I came home this morning, William said Silence had never returned the night before. He suspected she’d gone to O’Connor, but it was too dangerous to venture into the gang lord’s territory at night.”
Lazarus thought silently that if it had been Temperance, if he’d had knowledge that she were in a den of thieves, her person and soul imperiled, he would’ve retrieved her no matter what the cost.