Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(39)

Much worse.

Still, it wouldn’t do to let her think he was going soft on her. Mick stepped in front of her and slammed his hand against the hallway wall, putting the length of his arm in her path.

She squeaked and bumped into him, soft breasts pushing for just an instant against his muscles. Lad sat down in the hall, looking back and forth alertly between them.

Silence straightened and glared at Mick.

He leaned down close—close enough to catch the scent of lavender in her hair.

“What’s mine is mine, m’love,” he whispered, “and I won’t be lettin’ go o’ anything that belongs to me.”

She scowled at him. “Mary is not a ‘thing.’ ”

“Aye.” He smiled. “But the principle’s the same.”

“That’s not how a father should treat a daughter,” she said, her voice softening.

He narrowed his eyes at her—that tone might creep under his skin if he let it.

Her beautiful eyes widened pleadingly. “Didn’t you have a father?”

He refused to let the memories surface. For a moment he was still, making sure they were properly stowed away, and then smiled. “Why, darlin’ did ye think mine was a virgin birth?”

She blushed as he knew she would. “No, of course not, but surely—”

She might have said more, but he straightened away from her. Her questions were hitting too close to home.

She blinked and looked around.

“Ye were hurryin’ to see the child, were ye not?” he asked and opened the door to her room.

“Her name is Mary Darling,” she said as she sailed into the room. She halted suddenly and turned. “But it should be Mary O’Connor, shouldn’t it? She’s your daughter after all.”

He stopped and blinked. Mary O’Connor. It was a good name. A proper name.

He shook his head to dispel the thought. “Off with ye now,” he said to the maid, hovering near the door.

She bobbed a curtsy and left without a word.

Lad padded around the room, sniffing at corners, before going to settle by the fireplace.

Mick turned to look at Silence who was bending over the baby’s cot. “Happen she mightn’t want to be known far and wide as me daughter.”

“Shh,” Silence hissed, then glanced at him and whispered, “She’s just a baby. Whyever wouldn’t she want to be your daughter?”

He shrugged and came to stare broodingly down at the lass. “I’ve many an enemy.”

The child’s cheeks were flushed deep pink, her black locks plastered with sweat to her forehead. One chubby fist was flung over her head. She was a pretty little thing, there was no doubt.

Mick frowned. “Does she often breathe so loud?”

“No,” Silence whispered worriedly. She laid the back of her hand against the child’s forehead and something deep inside him twisted.

Her palms had been rough, but the back of her hand was soft and cool as she laid it on his forehead and smiled wearily into his eyes. “Have ye a fever then, Mickey, me love?”

Mick felt sweat start on his back. Those memories were buried deep—he’d made damned sure of it, but letting Silence in was resurrecting them. He had the sudden urge to order her from his rooms, from his palace. But he couldn’t do that now. It was far too late. She was already in his palace, in his life. He couldn’t go back—and wouldn’t even if he could. She was so close to him now that it was as if he held her in his palm like a glowing ember—and gave thanks for the pain even as he inhaled the smoke from his burning flesh.

Mick’s chest expanded. He breathed in Silence’s scent, breathed in both pain and comfort. “Is she ill, then?”

“I don’t know.” Silence bit her bottom lip. “She’s hot.”

Mick nodded. “I’ll send for a doctor.”

She looked up, her eyes wide, the gray swirling with the green and the brown, her hand laid so tenderly on the baby’s head. “If you think that’s—”

He didn’t stay to hear the rest of her sentence. The baby needed a doctor… and the room was haunted by memories.

SILENCE’S HANDS TREMBLED as she wrung out a cloth and patted Mary Darling’s little cheeks. The toddler was so hot that Silence could feel the burning of her skin even through the cloth.

The heat worried Silence, but it was Mary’s awful listlessness that struck terror in her heart. Mary’d had chills and fevers before. She’d once whimpered all night long, tugging on her ear fretfully, until in the morning a clear liquid had drained from the ear and she’d slept calmly. Silence had stayed up many nights rocking and walking Mary Darling when she wasn’t feeling well. And in all those times Mary had been grumpy and sad and fretful, but she’d never been listless.

“Himself has sent for the doctor,” Fionnula said as she came in with a fresh bowl of water.

“She’s just so hot,” Silence murmured as she wrung out the cloth and applied it again. “I’ve taken her out of her frock and stays, but she’s still on fire.”

“Me mam used to say as the fever was to burn away the illness inside,” Fionnula offered.

“Perhaps so, but I’ve seen fever kill, as well,” Silence murmured.

There had been a little boy, new to the home and rather sickly. Winter had suspected he’d not had enough to eat in his short life. The child had caught a fever and within two days had simply faded away. Silence had wept quietly in bed that night, holding Mary close to her chest. Winter had said with awful pragmatism that some children didn’t live and one just had to face that fact. But even he had worn a drawn expression when he’d said it and he was especially nice to the small boys in the home for weeks afterward.