Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(36)

Mickey O’Connor seemed to sense her faint disapproval as one of the serving maids placed a bowl of oysters before them. He cocked a black eyebrow at her. “I’m proud of me table, Mrs. Hollingbrook. I like good food and me men work better for it.”

She pursed her lips. “The price of those oysters could feed a St. Giles family for weeks, maybe months.”

He smiled lazily. “Would ye rather I dined upon bread and water?”

“No, but—”

“Come,” he said in his deep, black velvet voice, “the oysters are already cooked and they don’t keep at all well. ’Twould be a pity to let them go to waste.” He picked up a shell and pulled the pearly, succulent flesh free with his fingers, holding it out temptingly.

Silence’s stomach growled and she flushed.

The corner of his mouth curved with roguish charm. “Tisn’t a sin to enjoy good food.”

“A special treat once in a while is one thing,” she said severely, “but you spend your life in constant excess. Does it not become boring after a bit?”

He smiled wolfishly. “Never.”

She reached for the oyster he still held, but he moved his hand back out of her way.

She looked at him coolly. “I’ll not eat out of your hand.”

His bold mouth compressed—he didn’t like her refusal, but all he said was, “As ye wish, me darlin’.”

He placed the oyster on her plate.

She bit into the savory oyster and contemplated telling him that she wasn’t his darling, but it seemed a waste of breath. Besides, the oyster really was terribly delicious. She licked her lips and glanced up. Mickey O’Connor was watching her, his black eyes narrowed, a corner of his mouth faintly curled. For a moment she felt caught in his gaze, her heart beating faster.

Then Tess bustled over with a tray of tiny tarts.

More dishes were set in front of Mickey O’Connor and without asking he served her something from each and filled her glass full of what proved to be sweet red wine. Silence ate and for several minutes she was quiet, her entire being concentrating on the food and filling her empty stomach, for although she’d had a lovely breakfast it hadn’t quite sated her after more than a day without food.

When she looked up again, she met Mr. O’Connor’s gaze. He was leaning back in his chair, his own food untouched, apparently content just to watch her eat.

She swallowed. “It’s all quite good and I enjoyed it very much, but…”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Your food seems very rich.” The pirates were still busily shoveling in their meal. Harry had got up and left the room, and now he was replaced with Bert. “It can’t be good for your constitution to eat such rich foods regularly. Aren’t you afraid of gout?”

Mickey O’Connor grinned and ran his hand down his flat stomach, his rings flashing on every finger. “Never occurred to me, to tell the truth.”

She shook her head. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t. You do like to revel in excess, don’t you?”

He raised a mocking eyebrow.

She tilted her chin toward his hands. “Those rings, for instance. They’re so gaudy and they must be worth a fortune.”

He spread his hands before him, fingers wide. “Oh, two fortunes at the very least, but I only started wi’ one ring.”

She peered at them curiously. His extravagant, jeweled rings seemed such a part of Mickey O’Connor that she couldn’t imagine him without them. “Which one?”

“This.” He held up his right index finger. A round ruby so dark it was nearly black sat in a worn gold ring. “Got it on a raid with me first crew. In point o’ fact it were me only part of the raid, it were worth so much. I forfeited me portion o’ the gold for this here ring.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Why didn’t you take the money instead?”

He sat back and eyed her and she realized suddenly that his playfulness had vanished. He was quite serious now. “Because a poor man don’t wear a ring like this. Everyone who saw me wear this could tell: Charmin’ Mickey’s come into his own.”

Silence stared down at a lone pear remaining on her plate, thinking about his words. How odd. She’d never been rich—certainly not as rich as Mickey O’Connor was now—but she’d never really desired great wealth. Certainly there had been times when she’d looked longingly at a fan or heeled slippers in a shop window, but those were mostly fancies. Her everyday needs had always been quite satisfied. In contrast, Mr. O’Connor, by his own admission, had spent his childhood in poverty. Perhaps that then was his basic reason for flaunting the wealth he had. Once one had longed for something—hungered after it day and night—would that well of want ever truly be filled?

She shivered at the thought and looked up. “And the rest of your rings?”

“Oh, picked up here and there. This one”—he waggled his left pinky where a great black baroque pearl sat—“I found in the chest o’ a ship’s captain. He had a bit o’ a reputation, that one. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’d got it piratin’ from the Frenchies.”

Mickey O’Connor grinned and popped a hothouse grape into his mouth.

She looked hastily away from the sight of him lounging like a sultan, and saw Fionnula sitting a little way down the table with Bran beside her.