Silence glanced up and saw the little maid watching her worriedly. “Oh, yes. Just a little tired.”
She rose to put away a pile of stockings, but as she did she came to a decision: she might be in Mickey O’Connor’s palace again, but that didn’t mean this time had to end like the last. This time the pirate would find that Silence Hollingbrook had a mind and a spirit of her own.
And she would never blindly obey him again.
T
HE LITTLE WIDOW’S
presence in his palace gave him an odd itch ’tween the shoulder blades, Mick mused later that evening as he spread out a great map upon a table. ’Twas a crawling feeling, two parts curiosity, one of lust, with a dram of uneasy wariness stirred in.
Strange, that, since he’d spent the last year slyly planning to get Silence Hollingbrook exactly where she was—under his power and under his roof. It’d been a whim in the beginning. He’d eyed the squalling babe held in the greedy old bawd’s arms, and known at once that the babe would have to be hidden from the Vicar.
And why not her?
he’d thought.
Why not the righteous Mrs. Hollingbrook?
Perhaps it was a way to claim some of that pure virtue she’d blazed at him in his own throne room. To steal by proxy what he could never earn. It had given him a bittersweet satisfaction: to hide the flesh of his flesh with the woman he’d harmed most in the world. To tie Silence to him with bonds of her own maternal love.
Aye, and now at last he’d brought her back to his palace and by rights he ought to be feeling a triumphant bit of glee, hadn’t he?
Not an odd, crawling sensation instead.
“She seems content enough.” Harry’s broad, ugly face wrinkled as if he were thinking on whether “content” was really the word he wanted. “I left ’er with Fionnula.”
Mick shot him a sardonic glance before returning his gaze to the map spread upon a great gilded table before him. Rumor had it that the table had been meant for a royal palace. But that was before Mick had demanded it in tithe from a captain who’d tried to wriggle out from
his just obligations to Mick and his crew. Made it all the sweeter to have it in his own planning room, then.
“Left her alone?” Mick asked with an edge to his voice. Silence was in his palace now—a treasure he’d protect like any other.
“Naw,” Harry said hastily. “Bert’s guardin’ ’er.”
“Good,” Mick grunted. “I’d be best pleased if’n she and the babe were within eyesight o’ one o’ ye at all times. She’s to be guarded well, mind.” He spread the map, leaning on it with both arms outstretched and studied it. “Where’s this dock yer contemplatin’?” he asked the third man in the room.
“Down here,” Bran Kavanagh said, waving his hand over the lower Thames. “It’s rumored that the owners are in debt. They’ll sell cheap.”
The lad leaned forward eagerly, forgetting that he liked to pretend an air of sophistication. Bran had been with Mick for the last six years or more. He was a pretty lad of twenty or so, all light blue eyes and red-brown hair pulled back into a queue. Made the girls quite swoon over him—much to Bran’s discomfort, for the lad was a solemn one.
Except as now when he had a scheme brewing in his brain.
Mick examined the area Bran had indicated. “What’re ye thinkin’ we can do with it?”
“We can buy the docks and charge for the use of them,” Bran said at once. He’d been contemplating his plan for a while, it seemed. “Or sell them again at a higher price in the future. It’s a bit of insurance against lean times.”
“Mmm,” Mick murmured. He hadn’t told Bran, but he already had “insurance.” “I do like the idea o’ insurance.”
Bran grinned, quick and hopeful. “Then you’ll buy the docks?”
Mick sighed, hating to disappoint the lad, but business was business. “If I go a-buyin’ docks and such, then I’ll be havin’ to hire secretaries and managers and the like to run the damn things. Might be more expense than profit.”
The corners of Bran’s mouth turned down—the boy hadn’t yet learned to hide his emotions properly. “If you wait, they’ll sell to someone else. We’ll have lost the docks and another mayn’t come up for sale for years.”
“And if I jump too soon, I’ll lose me money,” Mick said. “It’s an interestin’ idea, Bran, me lad, but I’ll have to think on it a bit.”
“But—”
Mick shook his head once, staring at the boy sternly. “And besides, I’ve other matters to settle first—ones involvin’ the Vicar.”
Bran looked away. “As you like.”
“I do like,” Mick said mildly as he rolled up the map. “What have ye found out for me?”
Bran sighed. “I saw his men lurking around the orphans’ home this afternoon after Mrs. Hollingbrook left. You got the babe out just in time, I’m thinking.”
“Lurkin’ in plain sight?”
“Aye,” Bran replied. “The Vicar’s men have become quite bold. They tramp about St. Giles in packs of four or five without a care in the world.”
“Fuck ’em,” Mick growled. “St. Giles is mine and I’ll see those bloody whoresons run out.” He stretched his neck. “And how did the Vicar find out about the babe in the first place is what I’m wonderin’.”
“You did have men watching her,” Bran pointed out.
Mick looked up, eyes narrowed, only to find Harry nodding thoughtfully.
“Might’ve led the Vicar straight to the babe,” Harry said.
Mick grunted. He didn’t like the thought that ’twas his own error that had led the Vicar’s men to the orphanage and the babe. There was another possibility, too: Had one of his men betrayed his secret to the Vicar?
“Then he knows that I have the babe within me palace,” Mick said slowly.
Bran nodded grimly.
Mick sighed. “Well, ’twas never me plan to hide the fact that I had her safe. He knows he must attack me palace to get to her—and that, I’m thinkin’, he’ll be loath to do.” He looked at Bran. “What have ye found out about the Vicar himself?”
“The Vicar’s got dozens of men around him at all times,” Bran replied. “He guards himself better than you, come to that. It’ll be a right job to get to him.”
“Ah, but get to him we must,” Mick said. “ ’Tis near the end o’ winter and he’ll be runnin’ low on grain for his damned gin stills. Have some o’ me men find out who’s supplyin’ him. I’ll offer the suppliers an incentive to quit doin’ business with the Vicar.”
“Very well.” Bran hesitated, then blurted out, “But I don’t see why you two are at war. He has his gin distilling and you have the river. How do your interests cross?”
Sad brown eyes rose up in his inner mind, the lilt of an Irish voice,
Me darlin’ Mickey
.
Mick grimaced, pushing the memories aside. “It’s a personal matter. One ye needn’t worry about.”
Bran frowned as Mick put away the map. “That’s your
own affair, but we’re spending time on the Vicar and getting no money in return.”
“Aye, and I’m aware o’ it,” Mick said. “If I could end this, I would. But I’m afraid the Vicar isn’t such a reasonable gent as m’self.”
“Then you’ll have to kill him.” Bran’s light blue eyes were young—and utterly ruthless.
“I would, but as ye’ve pointed out, the man guards himself well.” Mick tapped the table for a moment in thought, then came to a decision. “We’re better off takin’ the roundabout way. Cut off his grain, starve him, and run him out o’ St. Giles for good. In the meantime, send some o’ me men about to roust any o’ his crew they find in St. Giles.”
Bran nodded. “As you wish.”
Mick arched an eyebrow. The boy was still lingering though he’d been given his orders. “Somethin’ else on yer mind?”
“What about this Mrs. Hollingbrook?” Bran’s upper lip curled. “I can see keeping the child—
if
you think she’s truly yours—but why insist the wench stay, as well? She’s a distraction.”
Mick’s jaw tightened. “Pardon me, but I wasn’t aware I need explain m’self to ye, lad.”
Bran’s face went a fiery scarlet. A muscle beneath his right eye jumped and then he turned and left the room abruptly.
Harry had been leaning on the wall in the corner, but he stirred now. “The boy’s impatient.”
“That he is,” Mick muttered.
“ ’E’s clever, is our Bran,” Harry said with an air of consideration. “But a bit rash.”
Mick cocked a sardonic eyebrow at Harry, waiting.
Harry straightened. “ ’E may not like Mrs. ’Ollingbrook,
but Bran does ’ave a bit o’ a point. Are ye sure ’tis best to keep ’er ’ere?”
Mick’s reaction was immediate and gut-deep. Silence was his and he would hold her. No one was going to change that.
“Second-guessin’ me, Harry?” Mick asked with silky menace.
The big man flinched, but didn’t back down. “Now, ye know I’d never do such, Mick. But, see, she’s a soft thing, is Mrs. ’Ollingbrook, though she ’ides it be’ind a sharp tongue. She’s a lady, through and through, and easily ’urt. Ye ’ad yer way with ’er once afore. Is it necessary like to play with ’er again?”
Mick glanced down at the papers he’d picked up. They’d crumpled beneath the force of his grip.
Hazel eyes weeping in the night.
“I find m’self in a strangely good mood this evenin’, Harry, otherwise ye know I’d not be allowin’ such questionin’.”
“I know that, I do,” Harry said earnestly.
“Then ye know also that I’ll be answerin’ yer damned questions jus’ this once,” Mick said, his eyes pinning Harry. “I trust ye remember the girl found upon me doorstep jus’ last week?”
“I do.”
“She’d been in me palace only nights afore, though I didn’t take her to me bed,” Mick rasped, remembering the body of the girl. Her face had looked like it had melted off her head.
Jaysus.
That wouldn’t happen to Silence Hollingbrook, not while he still lived. “Can ye imagine what the Vicar would do to someone I might… care about?”
Harry looked away uneasily. He’d been the one to find the body. “Aye, but Mick, the Vicar don’t know ye fancy ’er, does ’e?”
“I don’t know.” Mick felt his jaw clench at the admission. “I thought the babe secret and safe as well—and she wasn’t, was she?”
Harry shook his head soberly.
“Either he knows already or he soon will—he’s not stupid is the Vicar. It’s very necessary that I keep Mrs. Hollingbrook here with me,” Mick said softly. “Do we have a problem?”
Harry swallowed. “No.”
“Good.” Mick nodded. “And Harry?”
Harry, who had turned to the door, froze. “Aye, Mick?”
Mick smiled thinly. “Whatever else I might be doin’ with Mrs. Hollingbrook, I’m not playin’.”
The information didn’t lighten Harry’s expression. He was wearing a frown on his ugly face when he left the planning room.
Mick cursed and flung himself onto a velvet settee. Months of scheming had finally born sweet, juicy fruit and yet he still had a feeling of… What? Some strange emotion, some odd sense that he hadn’t truly won. Mick snorted. And what sort of pirate felt any emotion at all? He had the wench in his grasp, held fast in his own domain where he might examine her at his leisure. Find out why the little widow Hollingbrook brought such an uncommon itch to his skin, making him as restless as a caged wolf. He’d forgotten the face of the lass he’d bedded just the night afore, yet Silence Hollingbrook’s wide hazel eyes had haunted his sleep for months.
Muttering to himself, Mick rang for his accountant, Pepper. The balding sparrow of a man came to him promptly enough and for the next hour or so Mick listened to the man drone on about ships and building materials
until his head fairly ached. Yet at the end of that time, had anyone asked, Mick realized he wouldn’t have been able to report what Pepper had said.
Sighing, Mick sent the accountant away again, then washed his face and hands and headed to supper.
The dining room was a cavernous hall—Mick liked to have all his people eat the evening meal together—and thus the room was usually quite loud. But as Mick entered tonight, what conversation there’d been quickly quieted.
He looked about. Bran was seated next to Fionnula. Pepper was across from him, a book open on his empty plate. A couple of Mick’s current women tittered together in the corner, while Bert glared at them from across the way. And a dozen or so of Mick’s night crew took up the far end of the long tables set end to end. To a man they were a dangerous, shifty lot—and yet not a one could meet his eye. Even the sweetmeats boy, Tris, was seated behind Mick’s chair, ready to serve him.
Everyone was there in fact, except Mrs. Hollingbrook.
Mick strode to Fionnula. “Where is she?”
The girl trembled. “She said that she couldn’t come down to sup.”
Mick bent and whispered softly, “Couldn’t or
wouldn’t
?”
The girl gulped and said bravely, “Wouldn’t”
Mick inhaled, feeling rage boil within his breast. He turned heel and left the room without a word.
No one
ignored his summons to supper—a fact Mrs. Hollingbrook was about to learn the hard way.
S
ILENCE HAD JUST
finished feeding Mary Darling her dinner when Mickey O’Connor burst into the bedroom
without so much as a knock. She glanced up, startled, and then stiffened at the grim set of his mouth.
Mary Darling frowned sternly, looking quite a bit like her sire at the moment. “Bad!”