Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(98)

“Gladly,” she breathed.

He bent his head and kissed her, but just as she opened her mouth beneath his, he jerked his head up.

“My lord!” A soldier had come running up to Maximus. “There’s rioting just to the west of here. Shall we send for reinforcements?”

Hero looked at Griffin in horror. “That’s where the home is!”

He nodded. “Right.” He glanced about and bellowed, “Deedle!”

Griffin’s valet appeared, his hair on end, one arm bloodied, but he was standing upright. “Aye, m’lord?”

“Have the Vicar’s men taken the bait?” Griffin asked cryptically.

Maximus frowned. “What’s this?”

Deedle grinned from ear to ear. “ ’Is men are in and ours are out, m’lord.”

“Then do it.”

Deedle nodded. He placed two fingers between his lips and blew a shrill, piercing whistle.

Griffin turned to Maximus. “I suggest you call your men to you.”

Maximus raised his eyebrows suspiciously but shouted, “To me!”

At once the remaining soldiers started for him.

“Taking a while, isn’t it?” Deedle said worriedly.

BOOM!

A huge concussion made the very ground shake. Bricks tumbled from the nearest buildings while at the same time an intense light lit the night. The smell of smoke filled the air.

Hero grabbed for Griffin. “What was that?”

“That’ll cut the Vicar down to size.” Griffin grinned ferociously. “Nick would’ve liked the pretty trap we set for the Vicar and his men.”

Maximus, who had been eyeing the explosion, turned to look down at them. “You blew the still, didn’t you?”

Griffin grinned. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. But if a still did blow, it might be because a very insistent lady recently showed me the evils of gin and gin distilling.”

Hero’s heart swelled as tears pricked her eyes. “Oh, Griffin!”

Maximus grunted. “You’re an annoying prick, but I suppose I must accept you into the family.”

He glanced at Hero.

She tilted her chin up. “Unless you prefer I elope?”

Maximus shuddered. “I’d never hear the end of it from Cousin Bathilda if you did.” He leaned down and offered his hand to Griffin. “Pax?”

Griffin took the proffered hand. “Pax.”

“Now.” Maximus straightened in the saddle. “Where is this orphanage?”

SILENCE LOOKED UP at the drunken tough advancing on her and wondered if she would want to live after he finished with her.

A shout came from behind the man. Since it was merely one of many raucous voices raised in the night, her attacker ignored it. But he couldn’t ignore the gloved hand that slapped down on his shoulder. The drunken lout began to turn, but he suddenly spun in an oddly graceful movement that ended with him face-first on the ground.

Silence blinked and glanced up at her savior.

And then she could only stare. The man before her looked like something out of a pantomime. He wore breeches and a tunic patterned all over in a harlequin’s red and black diamonds. On his feet were tall black jackboots, and cuffed black gloves covered his hands. A grotesque half-mask with an enormous hooked nose concealed his features, leaving only his mouth and chin bare. As she looked at him, he doffed a huge wide-brimmed black hat and swept her a courtly bow.

“You’re the Ghost of St. Giles!” she blurted.

His mouth curled at the corner, but he made no sound, simply gesturing with his hat before him as if to direct her path.

“I live over there,” she said, feeling a bit foolish for talking with a mute comic actor.

His mouth tightened, and again he bowed and most definitely directed her in the opposite way from the home.

“I suppose I can trust you?” she said.

He grinned, which did not at all set her mind at rest. On the other hand, he had saved her, and with such a notorious escort, she had no fear of being accosted again.

“Very well.” She lifted her skirts and then stopped as she saw someone beyond him.

There on the other side of the street was Mickey O’Connor. He stood facing her, hands on hips, a slight frown between his beautiful brows, making no attempt to conceal himself from her.

But then why would he have any reason to hide from her?

He nodded, acknowledging he knew she’d seen him, and she looked away, her breath trembling in her throat. That was when she realized that the Ghost had tightened his fist on the hilt of his sword.

“No, don’t,” she said, laying a hand on his arm.

He looked at her, his head cocked to the side in inquiry.

Silence didn’t know if she was worried for him or for Mr. O’Connor. She only knew she’d seen enough bloodshed for the night. “Please.”

He nodded once and removed his hand from the hilt of his sword.

Silence couldn’t help it. She looked again across the street.

Mr. O’Connor’s black gaze bored into her. He didn’t look at all happy.

She deliberately turned away. “This way, did you say?”

The Ghost nodded and they set off. For the first couple of minutes, as Silence picked her way over the cobblestones, she felt Mr. O’Connor’s gaze on her back. She refused to turn around, to acknowledge him in any way, and after a bit she no longer felt the sensation.