Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(50)

Mick narrowed his eyes. “Every man eats vegetables tonight, right?”

The pirates hurriedly began to spoon up carrots and turnips.

Mick forked up a turnip and bit into it, chewing bland mush.

“How is it?” Silence asked.

“Right tasty,” he lied, swallowing.

“You seem distracted tonight,” she said as she frowned at a platter of artichokes.

“Do I?” If he squinted a bit, he could imagine the shadowy curves he’d glimpsed beneath the chemise this morning. Tantalizing, elusive, damned unclear. Mick sighed and looked up to find Silence staring at him, her cheeks flagged red.

He cleared his throat. “I’ve et yer food. Can ye not taste mine?” He pushed the platter of artichokes closer to her, wanting her to eat the food he provided for her.

“Thank you.” She examined the platter with a small frown. “Are you planning another thieving raid?”

“Pirate’s raid.” He propped an elbow on the table. There was a dish of boiled beef by his side, but he had the feeling it wouldn’t taste that different from the turnips. “Why? D’ye hope I’ll meet me bloody death at the end o’ a sword?”

“Dear Lord, no!” She stared at him, appalled. “I wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone.”

“Even me?” he murmured.

She blushed as she hurriedly helped herself to an artichoke, avoiding his eyes. “Especially not you.”

Something in his chest squeezed.

“Such a saint,” he murmured low. He didn’t want to share this banter with anyone else at the table. “I can almost see yer halo, a-glowin’ in these curls at yer temples.”

He reached out a hand to brush the curls in question. They were little wisps, escaping from the prim knot at her neck, innocently seductive against the delicate skin of her temple.

She caught his hand before he could touch her face.

“Mick,” she whispered, and he felt a sudden thrill: it was the first time she’d used his given name. Her gaze darted down the rest of the table. His men were too smart to be openly looking, but he had no doubt that they were quite aware of what was happening at the head of the table. “Don’t.”

She abruptly dropped his hand.

“Ye wound me, love,” he said lightly, and wondered if it were true. Heaven help him if it were.

“Don’t be silly,” she muttered. “I’m surprised you know what a halo is.”

He grinned. “Oh, I do assure ye the Devil knows his opposite.”

Her brows drew together. “Is that who you see yourself as? The Devil himself?”

He arched his eyebrows. “D’ye doubt it?”

“I didn’t used to.” She poked at her artichoke thoughtfully. “But now I’m no longer sure.”

“Oh, be sure.” He tapped the table with a fingertip for emphasis. “I am the Devil himself, born and bred.”

“Are you? I wonder…” She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment and then down at her untouched artichoke. “What is this thing?”

“The artichoke?” His lips quirked.

“Is that what it’s called?” She stared disapprovingly down at the vegetable. “I’ve never seen the like. It looks like a giant flower bud.”

“Well, ’tis—or so I’m told.” He gently took the fork from her fingers and picked up her knife, beginning to pry apart the dark green leaves. “They’re grown far away in Italy. A sea captain gave me a crate o’ the things some years ago.”

“Gave?” She raised her eyebrows suspiciously.

He shrugged and flashed her a sly smile. “Gave, took, does it matter, love? To be sure the captain hadn’t much choice, but the result was the same: a case o’ artichokes ended up in me care and I’ve had a fondness for them ever since.”

“Humph.” She peered down suspiciously as he parted the leaves to reveal the choke. “That doesn’t look very tasty.”

“That’s because it isn’t,” he said. “Pay heed: the artichoke is a shy vegetable. She covers herself in spine-tipped leaves that must be carefully peeled away, and underneath shields her treasure with a barricade o’ soft needles. They must be tenderly, but firmly, scraped aside. Ye must be bold, for if yer not, she’ll never reveal her soft heart.”

He finished cutting away the thistles and placed the small, tender heart on the center of her plate.

She wrinkled her nose. “That’s it? But it’s so small.”

“Ah, and d’ye judge a thing solely upon size alone?”

She made a choking sound.

He paused, the knife and fork still in the air. “Now what is it yer thinkin’ about in that prim little mind?”

She shook her head mutely and pointed at the artichoke heart. “Go on?”

“Hmm.” He took bit of soft butter and spread it over the little heart. “Well, I was thinkin’ that sometimes the smaller the treasure, the sweeter the pleasure.”

He cut the heart in half and held it out to her on the tip of the fork and found he was holding his breath. Would she let him feed her? Let him care for her?

She stared suspiciously for a long moment before accepting the morsel into her mouth. His heart leaped in triumph. He watched as the taste in her mouth was reflected in her bright eyes.