Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(104)

And he stood and began loosening his breeches.

Chapter Twenty

Clever John watched Tamara stick her finger in the pie. “I thought of all the possible mistakes I could make in phrasing my wishes, and still I made the most fundamental one of all: I asked for the wrong thing.”

Tamara ate a cherry thoughtfully and nodded. “Yes, but I cannot help you—you’ve used up all your wishes.”

Clever John closed his eyes wearily. “Then might I ask for one of your feathers, sweet Tamara? A purple one? I shall go to the next world with a rainbow of feathers in my hand.”…

—from Clever John

Mick rode around the corner leading to Charlie Grady’s street and into chaos. His pirates were attacking the house. Men were screaming and moaning, some lying on the ground dying, others fighting hand to hand with the Vicar’s men pouring from the house.

Mick leaped from the horse before the animal had come to a full stop.

“Throw me a knife!” he yelled hoarsely at one of his men and then caught the dagger that came flying through the air.

They’d arrested him.

They’d kidnapped his woman.

And they’d f*cking hanged him.

Mick O’Connor was in no mood for any who stood between him and Silence. He flung himself on the first man, grabbing his shoulder and burying the dagger high in the man’s gut. His opponent’s eyes widened and then Mick yanked out the bloody dagger and kicked the body aside.

The next man swung a club at him but Mick ducked and kicked him hard in the knee. The man howled as his knee broke and he went down.

The third man took one look at Mick and simply fled.

Fine with him.

“Into the house!” Mick bellowed.

He charged the door, ramming his way through, and encountered men in a small entryway. Someone was fool enough to shoot a pistol. Smoke billowed and Mick felt a stinging burn on his face. He grabbed the pistol from the shooter and used it to club him over the head.

“Search every room!” Mick ordered his men.

He mounted the stairs three at a time, his heart pounding in his chest. If she weren’t here, if this were a ruse, he didn’t know what he’d do. Mick had no other idea of where the Vicar would’ve taken Silence.

At the top of the stairs was a room with a round table and several chairs. One lone guard was still left and he rushed Mick from above. Mick shifted to the side, pushing the man as he did so, tumbling him head over heels down the stairs.

Mick continued up and saw that two doors were off the outer room. He shoved open the first and saw it was a bedroom, plain and neat and entirely empty. The second door was locked and he kicked it open, the door ricocheting off the wall with a crack.

Inside he saw Silence.

He froze.

She sat, weeping, on the rug next to the hearth. Her hair straggling down the side of her neck, the bodice of her dress was ripped to the waist, and the sweet swells of her breasts were revealed over her stays.

There was a reddened mark across her tender breast.

Dear God, he’d come too late.

WHEN MICHAEL FIRST came through the door Silence thought she’d gone mad. The horrible events of the last hours must have weakened her mind, mocking her with visions of her husband.

Then he opened his mouth and spoke. “I’m sorry.”

His voice was a thready rasp, but she didn’t mind. She was up off the wretched hearthrug in a thrice, rushing into his arms, uncaring of her state or the dirt and powder burns on his face. She wrapped her arms around him and simply held on.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his lips tracing her cheek so softly. “Please forgive me, Silence. I’m so f*ckin’ sorry.”

She murmured and tried to capture his lips with hers, but he pulled back and she saw with wonder that there were tears in his eyes. “I’ll kill him for ye, never fear. Jus’… Jus’ don’t give up on us. I’ll take care o’ ye while ye heal. And ye will heal, I promise.”

She stared at him, bemused. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“The Vicar”—he grit his teeth and exhaled hard—“ hurt ye.”

“But he didn’t.”

“What?”

She took his hand and led him around the bed, pointing without looking. She’d taken one look afterward and it had been quite enough.

She swallowed and whispered, “He tried to… to… well, you know, and I waited until he thought I was quite cowed and then I took the dagger you gave me from my stocking and I killed him.”

She gestured again to the Vicar’s body, lying prone on the floor by the bed. “I’m afraid I didn’t aim for his eyes or his belly like you told me to. I just stabbed him in the back.”

“Ye…” Michael looked, bemused, between her and the body. “Stabbed…”

“Him. Yes.” She wrapped her arms about herself. Charlie Grady was his father after all. Perhaps Michael was in shock or grief. Perhaps—

Michael threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Ye killed the Vicar o’ Whitechapel!”

“Well… yes,” she replied, nonplussed.

“The most dangerous, the most insane bastard in all o’ London, and ye, ye, Silence, killed him with one blow.” Michael wiped away tears of laughter.

“Er… yes?”