Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(11)

“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?”