Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(30)

Actually, Silence was appalled. Here she sat in the near dark cowering from Mickey O’Connor.

Was she a coward?

On that thought she rose and was across the room toward the connecting door almost before she could think. The sounds from the other room had stopped a while ago. Mr. O’Connor had either left or he was alone—perhaps enjoying an after-raid snack.

The thought made her stomach grumble.

Silence took a deep breath and opened the connecting door.

And then she had trouble exhaling.

Mickey O’Connor the pirate king was in the huge bath that they’d used the night before for washing Lad the dog. One arm dangled over the side of the tub, a goblet of amber liquid held carelessly in long elegant fingers. His ebony hair was wet and curling against his neck and shoulders. Those shoulders were broad, covered in smooth, olive skin, and spanned the width of the tub and more. And where before she’d thought that his chest was entirely devoid of hair, now she saw that small whirls circled his brown nipples and a thin line of hair trailed just below his naked navel, disappearing into the water where no doubt it led to other naked things.

Well, of course he was naked, Silence thought, trying to pull herself together. He was in his bath. Who took a bath fully clothed?

She had some vague idea of backing out of the room again, but he’d already seen her.

“Mrs. Hollingbrook,” the pirate drawled, taking a sip from his goblet. “I was jus’ sittin’ here wonderin’ if ye’d spent the day powderin’ and curlin’ Lad’s fur and here ye are. To what do I owe the pleasure?” His voice had suddenly assumed an upper crust English accent on the last sentence, making the words even more mocking.

Silence lifted her chin. She wasn’t going to turn tail and run from a pirate—even if he was naked. She darted a look at Lad—snoring in front of the fire—and decided it was best not to answer Mr. O’Connor’s mocking inquiry. “I’ve come to demand you tell me what is going on.”

He looked at her from under heavy eyelids. “Have ye, now?”

“I have.” She set hands upon hips. “It’s positively medieval, locking me up, refusing me food, never bothering to ask what I want or need.”

“Need,” he mused, his gaze slowly examining her form in a manner that caused her to go hot all over, “now that I’m thinkin’ we might not agree upon—what ye need—but do tell me what ye might be wantin’.”

She threw her hands up. “I want—and need—to eat!”

“Ah, but I’ve said more than once that yer welcome to sup with me.”

She was shaking her head. “You know—”

“I know that Fionnula and Harry and half me staff o’ bloody servants have seen fit to go against me by smugglin’ food to ye.” His voice suddenly held a nasty edge.

She froze, her eyes widening in fear for the others. “You can’t—”

“I can’t what?” he drawled. There was something dark in him tonight—something she’d not seen before. “I can’t turn them off, can’t toss them into the street, can’t make them disappear? The Thames is an easy place to lose a body. A man can slip beneath those dark, cold waters and sink without a trace.”

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

He shrugged one elegant shoulder, making the water ripple in the tub.

She took a step closer. “What happened on your raid tonight?”

He turned his face away, taking a sip from his goblet. “What a perceptive little thing ye are, Mrs. Hollingbrook. The raid went quite well, actually, thank ye for inquirin’. Got a load o’ tobacco and sugar and the only cost was the lives o’ three o’ me men.”

“My God,” she breathed. “What happened?”

He waved a hand, rings flashing. “Nothin’ to concern yerself with, I do assure ye.”

Surely it wasn’t usual for him to lose three of his men in one night? If it was, he’d be constantly recruiting more pirates. Something was wrong.

“Who were they?”

“What?”

“The pirates.” She winced and gestured rather helplessly with one hand, her voice softer. “Your men. Who were they?”

For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer.

Then he took a long swallow from his goblet. “Pat and Mike and Sean. Not the brightest o’ me men, sure, especially Pat, but he had a family and he was always quick with a joke, was Pat.”

She waited, but he didn’t say more.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He grimaced. “Sorry three pirates are dead? Why, Mrs. Hollingbrook, ye surprise me, ye do.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t—”

He didn’t stop to listen to her, talking over her instead. “Now then, tell me: shall I have the honor o’ yer company tomorrow night at me supper table? Shall ye dine upon sweetmeats with me, Silence, mine?”

His words sounded obscene somehow. She frowned, frustration rising in her. He wasn’t listening; it was as if she couldn’t be heard. “I’m not yours and I never gave you leave to use my Christian name.”

“Oh, but do I need leave, now?” Mickey O’Connor whispered. “Yer in me room—and not for the first time, love.”