Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(24)

“Told ye ’e’s not dangerous,” Harry said proudly.

“He might not be a danger,” Silence conceded, “but he certainly needs a bath. He reeks.”

“Well, he does usually spend most of his time in the courtyard,” Fionnula admitted.

“Then what was he doing in Mr. O’Connor’s bedroom?”

“Lad has taken a fair likin’ to Himself,” Fionnula said, shrugging. “Even though it was Harry who rescued him from the bull-baitin’ pits.”

Harry nodded in agreement.

“Lad was a bulldog?” Silence asked in horror. The sport was a popular one, particularly among the poorer denizens of London, but Silence had always thought it terribly cruel.

“ ’E was bred a bulldog,” Harry rumbled, “but ’e were no good at it. Seems ’e were afraid o’ the bulls. I took ’im off a man about to drown ’im.”

“Oh,” Silence said softly. Lad was large and ugly and very smelly, but it seemed a shame to drown any creature, even an especially unbeautiful one.

As if he knew her thoughts, Lad sat and wagged his tail.

Silence placed her hands on her hips. “Well, no matter how he came here, one thing is for certain. This dog needs a bath.”

“D’YOU THINK HE’LL pay the tithe now?” Bran asked Mick that night.

They were tramping back to the palace in the company of Pat and Sean, four abreast down the middle of the street. Any they ran into in the dark made a wide berth around them.

“Aye,” Mick replied with satisfaction.

The owner of the Alexander, a large, round man with sallow, hanging cheeks, had gone a rather sickly green when he’d walked into his bedroom to find it full of pirates. He’d nodded vigorously to everything Mick had said to him, while clutching his banyan about himself like a frightened virgin.

“Then that’s done,” Bran said.

“Not quite,” Mick replied as they turned into an alley. They were nearly to the palace now, but he couldn’t help but feel that they were being trailed. Well, this was as good a place as any—and he had his men at his back. Mick flexed his arm, feeling the sheathed knife bound to his forearm. “He’s agreed to me tithe, but I don’t think he understands the error o’ his ways. We’ll be raidin’ the ship when it makes port.”

“Aye,” Bran began, nodding.

A shape suddenly dropped from above, landing just in front of the four men.

“Jaysus Christ!” Sean shouted, leaping back.

Mick had his knife already drawn and was looking around warily, watching to see where the other attackers might come from. Several yards back two shadows drifted into the entrance to an alley. Mick shifted, keeping both the attacker in front and the men behind in his sight.

The shape in front straightened and became a man. Mick squinted. The figure wore a harlequin’s motley and a wide-brimmed hat with a feather. Beneath the hat the upper part of his face was concealed by a black half-mask, the nose grotesquely long and curved.

In one hand he held a sword.

“The Ghost o’ St. Giles,” Pat whispered, crossing himself.

“We’re right honored,” Mick drawled. Pat might be superstitious, but the man before him looked real enough to him. “But yer barrin’ our path.”

The ghost cocked his head, eyes glittering behind the mask.

Mick’s eyes narrowed. “What do ye want?”

At that the ghost smiled and pointed to his eyes. Slowly his forefinger swiveled until it was pointed at Mick. The message was quite clear.

“Fuck that.” Mick lunged for him.

The ghost made an impossible leap, grabbing a balcony overhanging the alley. He swung himself up, nimble as an acrobat, and continued climbing up the side of the building.

“Jaysus,” Sean breathed. “I’d ’eard ’e could climb where no mortal man can.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Bran snapped. “Anyone with enough training and practice could do that.”

Sean looked doubtful. “Don’t think I could.”

“Nor I.” Pat backed a couple of steps, looking up the building’s side. “Couldn’t jump like that if me life depended on it. Were almost as if ’e ’ad wings, it were.”

“Aye.” Sean sounded admiring. “Right nimble ’e was, if ’e weren’t a ghost or phantom or some such. Think ’e were givin’ ye the evil eye, Mick?”

“No, I don’t,” Mick said shortly. He glanced behind him, but their followers seemed to have disappeared without making any move on them, perhaps made cautious by the Ghost. Uneasiness crawled up Mick’s spine. He could handle an attack against himself, but that wasn’t his weak point.

And the Vicar knew it.

Mick looked at Bran. “On the morrow we’re movin’ Mrs. Hollingbrook and the babe.”

Bran nodded without comment.

“Best we were back,” Mick said.

So saying he continued down the alley, though he didn’t sheath his knife again. His thoughts turned to the unexpected confrontation. The ghost wanted him to know that he was keeping a watch on Mick.

The only question was: why?

“ ’IMSELF WON’T LIKE this,” Bert growled. He’d returned from exile just in time to be caught up in Silence’s plans for Lad the dog.