Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(32)

Women were something best bought, he’d found. Pay them, f*ck them, and send them away in the morning. That way avoided tears, recriminations, and feminine disappointment. Oh, and small things like being slapped across the face. Mick rubbed his jaw. But Silence wasn’t one of his whores, as Harry had pointed out. Mick couldn’t send her away. And he couldn’t let her starve herself—he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her, including herself.

Which meant that much as it went against his instincts, he would have to take the risk of drawing her closer. Letting her in, just a tad, mind.

Mick O’Connor never admitted defeat, never backed down, but he might choose to change his plans, should he come head to head with a stubborn widow bent on hurting herself for whatever reason.

The course he’d originally taken with her was not working. Time to take a different tack.

SILENCE WAS DRESSING Mary Darling for the day when the door opened behind her.

The baby looked up and frowned. “Bad!”

Which was warning enough, Silence supposed.

She inhaled and turned to face Mickey O’Connor, biting her lip against the memory of that savage kiss last night.

He had closed the door behind him and was leaning against the wall, his frown nearly identical to Mary Darling’s. “Will she ever find another name to call me, d’ye think?”

“I don’t know,” Silence said with commendable calm. If he wouldn’t mention the kiss, well, then neither would she. “It might depend on if you ever call Mary something else besides ‘she.’ ”

He grunted and shoved away from the wall. “Fair enough.”

She watched him cross to the hearth and stare broodingly into the fire. Fionnula had gone down to fetch Mary’s breakfast, so they were alone for the moment. “What did you come for?”

“Forgiveness?” he murmured.

She blinked, not sure if she’d heard him correctly. “What?”

“Yer not what I expected, ye know.” The curl of his lips seemed self-mocking. “I thought ye’d sit in yer room and knit or do needlework. Come when called, go away when bidden. Upset me fine life not at all.”

Her lips firmed in irritation, but she merely said, “You obviously haven’t seen either my knitting or my needlework.”

“No,” he said. “I haven’t. There’s much about ye I don’t know.”

She shrugged, feeling restless—and hungry. She hadn’t eaten anything since before yesterday. “Does it matter?”

“Aye,” he said slowly. “I think it does in fact.”

She stared at him, nonplussed. Why would he care to know her?

As if he’d heard her thoughts, he shook his head. “Don’t let it bother ye. ’Tis me own worry and none o’ yers. I came with two purposes. The first is to give ye this.”

He strode forward and proffered an oilcloth-wrapped bundle.

Silence took it gingerly.

“Gah!” Mary stood and grabbed her arm, looking on curiously as Silence unwrapped a fine little book with gilt edges.

“Gentle,” Silence chided as the baby grabbed for the prize. “We must be careful. See?”

She opened the book and then gasped herself when she found an exquisite little illustration. Tiny men sailed, crowded on a ship with a square crimson sail on a sea with towering cobalt waves.

“D’ye like it?” Mickey O’Connor’s voice was gruff.

“It’s lovely.” She glanced up at him and was surprised to see an expression of uncertainty on his face.

He shrugged, the expression replaced with his usual insouciance. “I thought ye and the babe might find it entertainin’.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded curtly and moved to the door. “Me other purpose in comin’ was to ask ye to attend me supper tonight. No”—he cut her off as she was about to reply—“don’t give me yer answer now. Jus’… think on it will ye? Please?”

She stared. Had Mickey O’Connor ever begged anyone in his entire life?

He grinned, quick and rueful. “Oh, aye, the pigs’ll be flyin’ today, so I’ve heard.”

And then he was gone.

“Well.” Silence looked at Mary—just in time to rescue the beautiful little book from a curious taste.

Mary was still squawking her indignation when Fionnula came in the room a minute later, laden with a heavy tray.

“Oh, ma’am,” she said, “Himself has ordered breakfast for ye!”

And while Silence watched in bemusement Fionnula began setting out a sumptuous breakfast. She’d never have thought that Mickey O’Connor would give in. He was a pirate—a cruel, unyielding pirate—and nothing else.

Wasn’t he?

ISABEL BECKINHALL, BARONESS Beckinhall, stepped from the carriage that afternoon and immediately saw a half-naked wretch lying in the gutter.

She shuddered. “Amelia, darling, are you sure this is the place?”

“Quite sure,” Lady Caire said briskly. She exited the carriage with the help of a brawny and impossibly handsome footman, then waved a hand. “Disregard the less attractive sights.”

Isabel glanced about the awful neighborhood ruefully. “If I did there would be nothing at all that I might look at. Whyever did you situate the home here?”