Scandalous Desires

  God, it was good to be home.

  Mick rode around the back and impatiently threw the reins to a sleepy groom. He went in through the kitchens, waving to Bittner and Mrs. Bittner, enjoying their morning tea. Lad, who’d been dozing by the hearth, stood and wagged his tail.

  “Sir—” Bittner called as Mick strode past, but Mick didn’t stop.

  He took the stairs two at a time and then paused at the top. Where was Harry? Damn it, if Harry or Bert were sleeping, he’d dock them their portion of the next haul.

  Mick burst into Silence’s bedroom in a rush, only to pull up short when he saw that the bed was empty. He went through the connecting door to find that his room was empty as well. Only a pair of stockings were laid neatly on his pillow.

  Mick stood a moment, staring at the stockings, an awful foreboding crawling up his spine. Slowly he picked them up. They were of different sizes, the heel of one completely wrong. He recognized them as the stockings Silence had knit in the carriage all the way from her sister’s house. They hadn’t been done when they’d arrived at Windward House, but now they obviously were, folded neatly as if they were a present.

  For a moment Mick held the ugly stockings in his hand, his mind blank. With an effort he made his legs move, climbed up the stairs to the next floor, and checked the nursery.

  A maid slept in the bed next to Mary’s empty cot.

  Mick shook her awake roughly. “Where are they?”

  The girl rubbed her eyes. “They went away in the night wi’ Mr. Harry and Mr. Bert, sir.”

  But Mick was already turning away, dazed, disbelieving.

  She’d left him. Silence had left him and taken Mary Darling with her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Well now Clever John had everything he’d ever wished for: a large and prosperous kingdom, an invincible army to defend his lands, and a treasure chest that never could be emptied. He was awash in wealth and good fortune. Kings and princes sent their daughters, seeking a match with the powerful King Clever John. But no matter how lovely the princess, Clever John merely turned his head aside, his gaze searching the skies for the glimpse of a rainbow wing….

  —from Clever John

  Caire House in London was even more opulent than Lord Caire’s country estate. A week later Silence sat in one of the “lesser” sitting rooms in the fashionable town house, almost too afraid to move. All around her were elegant furnishings, fragile bric-a-brac, and plush carpets and drapes. Actually, she thought with a pang, the richness of the rooms reminded her a bit of Michael’s palace.

  Except everything was terribly tasteful here.

  She watched as Mary Darling played with a stack of wooden bricks that the housekeeper had found for her. The sight should’ve brought Silence joy: a happy, healthy baby innocently playing. But nothing seemed to bring her joy anymore. Silence sighed, propping her chin in her hand. What was the matter with her? She’d lived well enough, contentedly enough, before Michael. Could she not do so again?

  A maid entered the sitting room. “Would you like some tea, ma’am?”

  Silence pasted on a smile. “Tea would be lovely. And could you make a pot for Mr. Harry and Mr. Bert, too, please?”

  The little maid blushed and rolled her eyes. “They’ve already had two pots of tea this morning. Cook is spoiling them something awful.”

  One corner of Silence’s mouth curled up at the thought of Harry and Bert wheedling treats from the female servants in the kitchen. Both Harry and Bert guarded her now, as well as a half dozen of Michael’s crew. The men had simply appeared the morning after Silence had knocked on the door of Temperance’s London home. She was lucky, since neither Caire nor Temperance were in residence, that the housekeeper knew her by sight.

  Silence twitched at a thread on her old brown dress. Apparently Michael had moved quickly to safeguard her and Mary Darling when he found them gone. Silence was grateful, if a little guilty, to have the guards. She could just see one of Michael’s pirates lounging outside the sitting room as the door swung closed behind the maid.

  Harry had given Silence strict orders to stay inside Caire House until Michael dealt with the Vicar. Such a restriction might’ve made her restless in the past, but no longer. She couldn’t seem to find the enthusiasm to do much of anything.

  There was a commotion from the front hallway and Mary Darling looked up.

  Temperance swept into the sitting room a moment later. “Goodness! Where did all these brutish men come from?”

  “They’re guards.” Silence wrinkled her nose apologetically. “Michael insisted on them.”

  “Well, I should hope so!” Temperance crossed to Silence and gave her a hug before pulling back and looking in her face. “How are you, dear?”

  Silence bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “Fine. I’m sorry to have taken over your home.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Temperance said.

  The maid returned with a tray of tea and Temperance waved for her to put it on a low table in front of the settee.

  “Thank you, Perkins,” Temperance said as she sat on the settee beside Silence. She waited for the maid to leave before turning to her sister. “I take it that you’re not safe yet.”

  Silence grimaced. “No. Not while the Vicar is still alive.”

  “Which brings me to the subject of how you left Caire’s country estate,” Temperance said.

  Silence winced. “I’m sorry.”

  “We spent hours searching for you and Mary Darling,” Temperance said in a much too calm voice as she poured the tea. “It wasn’t until one of the maids confessed that she’d glanced out a window and saw you walking away with a ‘tall, handsome as sin man,’ that we realized what had happened. I was all for traveling at once to London, but Caire persuaded me to wait a bit.” Temperance gave her a jaundiced look. “I think he rather feared what I might do to you.”

  “I never meant to make you worry so,” Silence said in a rush. “I did leave you a note.”

  “Not a very helpful one,” Temperance said darkly.

  “It’s just that he asked me to come with him—”

  “And so you did.” Temperance sighed and sat back with her dish of tea. “Without a thought for us.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Silence said in a small voice.

  Temperance took a sip. “He’s bad, you know that, and yet you went off with him without a backward glance.”

  Silence took her cup of tea and held it near her face without drinking. She inhaled the fragrant steam. “I’ve left him.”

  Temperance set down her cup. “Have you?”

  Silence only nodded.

  Temperance eyed her. “Well… I suppose that’s good.”

  Silence closed her eyes.

  “Isn’t it?” Temperance asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why did you leave him exactly?”

  Silence shook her head, staring at her steaming cup of tea, trying to put into words the decision that had seemed so cut and dried a week ago. “He won’t quit his pirating, even though he has enough money, from what I can see, to live happily the rest of his life.”

  “You asked him to quit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well,” Temperance picked up her teacup again, murmuring over its rim, “that by itself would be enough for me to leave him.”

  “Would it?” Silence traced the edge of her teacup, considering. “I think it would’ve been enough for me as well—before I went to live with him.”

  “But now?”

  “Now…” Silence leaned forward, looking at her sister intently, trying to convey what was in her heart. “He’s no longer just a pirate to me. He’s Charming Mickey O’Connor, notorious river pirate, but he’s also Michael, a man who loves butterflies. Who told me about the worst parts of his childhood. Who took me to the opera and sat as if entranced by the music. Who sings to his daughter. Don’t you see? I might be fascinated by Charming Mickey, but I could never love him. Michael I can—I do—love.”


  Temperance gave her a level look. “Even though he’s a pirate?”

  Silence met her gaze, lifting her chin. “Yes. I hate how he makes his money, but I love Michael.”

  Temperance sighed. “Then why did you leave him?”

  “Because I don’t think he’ll ever truly see me as an equal, a partner, someone to trust and love for all time. Someone who is a person in her own right. Someone worthy of making a commitment—changing—for.” Silence’s lips trembled. “I wanted him to choose a life with me instead of a life of pirating—and he couldn’t.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.”

  Silence gasped, trying to smile and failing. “I love him, Temperance, and I’ve been trying to see how I can stop, but there doesn’t seem to be a way.”

  Her elder sister sighed. “No, I don’t really think that love is something that one can control.”

  “And it’s not like the love I thought I had with William,” Silence said, closing her eyes. “That was sweet and light—a girl’s fantasy of love. This… this is violent and emotional, and sometimes I think I don’t even like him. How can that be?” She looked at her sister. “How can I love him and dislike him at the same time?”

  “I don’t know,” Temperance said. “But sometimes I feel the same way about Caire. Sometimes he says or does things that drive me to distraction. Yet I know always that I love him and that he loves me.” She bit her lip. “Does O’Connor love you?”

  “I think…” Silence paused to pat at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I think he does, though he’s never said so. You don’t truly know him. He can be very gentle with Mary Darling and me. He showed me how to eat an artichoke, and he has a big ugly dog that adores him and follows him everywhere, and… and…”

  Well, she certainly couldn’t tell her sister about Michael’s lovemaking! Silence blushed at the thought.

  “He has been kind to Mary Darling?” Temperance asked slowly.

  “Yes! So loving and kind, you would not credit it.”

  “Then shouldn’t you have left Mary with him?”

  “I thought of it,” Silence said quietly. “He is a good father. But he refuses to give up his pirating. What sort of life would that be for her?”

  “Well, then,” Temperance said, “that settles it, doesn’t it? You did the right thing in taking her away.”

  “Do you think so?” Silence asked.

  “Yes.” Temperance smiled tenderly. “I know it feels like the end of the world now, but you’ll get over him, I know you will. And when you do, we’ll find a good man for you. One who loves you and can take care of you.”

  Voices came from outside the hallway. Michael’s guard was saying something loud and angry.

  Temperance sighed and stood. “I suppose your guardians are shooing away one of my afternoon visitors. I’d better go see who it is.”

  Silence nodded absently. Her sister’s earlier words were kind, but they were useless. For while her head knew she had done the right thing in leaving Michael, her heart was not so sure. Her heart didn’t want a good man at all.

  Her heart wanted a pirate.

  MICK LOUNGED ON his throne, a near-empty bottle of brandy beside him, and watched as silver and gold coins fell from his fingers. There were shillings and guineas, but also coins from shores far distant from England. Coins with eagles stamped on them, coins with the heads of princes and kings, coins with symbols he didn’t recognize.

  When he was a lad he’d found it fascinating that there were so many kinds of money in the world. Sailors often brought back souvenir coins from the countries they’d made port in, and Mick would find the coins as he hurriedly searched the ships he raided. He’d take them and later examine the coins, turning them over in his fingers, looking at the strange marks, the stylized profiles. And then he would place the coins in a carved ivory box he’d stolen from a ship’s captain.

  The ivory box was open on Mick’s knee as he stirred the coins within. It might be a king’s ransom that he had in the box. He didn’t know since he’d never bothered counting the coins. He held a particularly large one up, as big across as the length of his thumb. Mary Darling would like it, he thought. She’d grab for it and all the other coins in his box like a greedy magpie.

  But Mary Darling wasn’t here.

  With a sudden movement, he swatted the ivory box off his knee. Coins flew, sliding across the marble floor and the box itself hit the tiles with a crack, breaking in half. Lad, who had been sleeping beside the throne, jumped up, his tail between his legs and ran to hide behind a statue of a Roman matron.

  Pepper cleared his throat at the door behind the throne.

  “Get the hell out, Pepper,” Mick said without heat. All he felt was a vast, terrible weariness.

  He’d left Windward House a week ago. He couldn’t stand the place without Silence in it. Every room reminded him of her. He kept turning, thinking he’d seen her out of the corner of his eye. He’d been going mad, so he’d come here to his palace and commenced drinking. But no matter how drunk he got, he still dreamed of her tear-stained face every night. She’d left him, but she continued to haunt him, damn her.

  “I would retreat, sir, as I did the other times you ordered me from this room,” Pepper said precisely, “but I feel I should tell you that your men are worried.”

  Mick laid his head in his hand. “What the fuck do they have to be worried about?”

  Pepper cleared his throat again. “They wish to know when you’ll go raiding again and if you’ll be returning to the dining room for supper in the near future.”

  Mick felt a headache start in his right temple, dull and throbbing. “Tell them it’s none o’ their damned business when I want to raid and where I take me supper.”

  “Ah,” Pepper said. He sounded nervous. Mick couldn’t remember Pepper ever sounding nervous. “Then might we discuss your various investments? The price of gold has tripled in the last five months. I thought if we were to sell some of your gold and reinvest the money in, say, jewels or silver plate, we would see a tidy profit, perhaps of—”

  “Damn the money,” Mick muttered.

  Pepper paused, cocking his head inquisitively. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said damn the money!” Mick roared, rising from his throne. “Fuck the gold! Bugger the silver plate, damn the jewels, the furs and silks, the china, the books, the spices and tea, and the furniture!”

  “But… but…,” Pepper stuttered.

  “Fuck all me money!” Mick bellowed. “It don’t bloody matter anymore!”

  He kicked a barrel, tipping it over and sending cloves spilling across the floor. Lad whimpered from behind the Roman matron.

  “Sir,” Pepper began.

  The door to the throne room opened and Bob thrust his head around it, looking wary. “Letter.”

  He ducked back, holding the paper out from behind the door.

  Pepper hurried over and took it, breaking the seal. Something fluttered to the floor.

  Mick casually knocked over a China vase, watching with bitter satisfaction as it shattered to pieces in the cloves.

  “Sir, you need to look at this.” Pepper was suddenly by his side, trembling, but proffering the missive bravely.

  Mick took it and glanced down.

  I have them. Meet me where your mother lies.

  He was still staring down when Pepper shoved something into his hand. Mick looked at it and froze. It was a tiny lock of hair, as inky black as his own.

  The guards he’d sent, Harry and Bert, all of them, they’d all failed.

  “Saddle a horse for me,” Mick whispered. His chest had constricted with dread.

  Pepper ran from the room.

  Mick strode to his bedroom, splashed water on his face and neck and made sure he carried his knives on him. He took up a pistol, loaded it, and wrapped a wide belt about his waist to stick it in. Then he ran down the stairs. He couldn’t let fear rule him. They were alive and well.

  And if they weren’t, he’d rai
n bloody retribution down on the Vicar.

  The horse was out front and he took the reins without word to the boy waiting there.

  Pepper stood anxiously by. “Won’t you take some of the men with you, sir?”

  “No,” Mick said and wheeled the horse around. “This’s between me and the fuckin’ Vicar.”

  He urged the horse into a canter, weaving in and out of the late afternoon bustle. He made it to St. Giles-in-the-Fields church in under five minutes, dismounted, and tied the nag to the fence.

  Inside, the churchyard was quiet. He turned a corner of the graveyard path and saw the Vicar standing by Mam’s grave. No one else was in sight. Which didn’t mean his usual guards weren’t about.

  Mick was on him in another two strides. He grabbed the older man’s neck cloth. “Where are they?”

  The Vicar stared up at him with his ruined face and laughed. “Oh, Mickey boy, how should I know?”

  Mick took the lock of hair from his pocket and thrust it into the Vicar’s face. “Whose is this then?”

  “Your mother’s,” Charlie Grady said softly. “She gave me a lock of her hair when we were courting and naturally I kept it all these years. Your mother had that same black curly hair as you and the little lassie.” He winked. “You ought to’ve introduced me to my granddaughter, Mickey. Now I’m afraid I’ll have to be doing it myself.”

  “I’ll see ye in hell first,” Mick breathed, shoving the other man away.

  Gravel crunched beneath a booted foot behind him.

  Mickey whirled, but the Vicar had succeeded in distracting him just long enough. He was a fraction too slow. A split second too late. The knife was knocked from his hand and his arms were seized. Suddenly there were soldiers everywhere in the graveyard.

  Charlie tutted. “Oh, I have no doubt we’re both destined for hell, son, but I fancy you’ll see it afore me.”

  “Fuck ye,” Mick spat.

  An officer in a white wig limped up to Mick. “Mickey O’Connor I arrest you on the charge of piracy.”

  “ARRESTED!” SILENCE LAID down the knife she’d been using to butter a piece of bread for Mary Darling’s tea. They were in the lesser sitting room of Caire’s town house, the sun shining brightly on the silver tea set in front of Silence. She stared dazedly at Bert and Harry, both men solemn and standing shoulder-to-shoulder in solidarity as they brought her the horrible news. “But how? Michael’s been an outlaw for most of his life. How was he captured?”