Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(57)

“As to why I pile me goods in this one room”—he shrugged—“ye yerself told me it makes a certain impression.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Is that the only reason for all your treasure? To impress others?”

He watched her for a moment, and then decided he could tell her. “Ye know o’ me life as a lad. About beggin’ for me supper.”

She nodded hesitantly.

He grimaced and looked around the room at his booty. “Well, when I made me first haul I swore then and there that I wouldn’t ever do that again.”

Her eyes widened. “But… that was long ago. You’ve become a powerful man since then—a rich man.”

“Can a man ever be rich enough?” he asked softly. “Powerful enough?”

“Oh, Michael.”

Her eyes had gone wide, her sweet lips parted, and her face was filled with compassion—for him.

That look went straight through him. He took a step nearer, his muscles tensing, his hand lifting, reaching for her.

Just then two of his men clattered into the throne room.

Mick bit back a curse and pointed to the trunk. “Bring it to her rooms.” He glanced back at Silence, still unmoving by the cherub. “Seven o’ the clock tonight, mind now. Be ready for me.”

And he turned and strode from the room, wondering if he was going to survive courting a chaste widow.

Chapter Ten

“As you wish!” Tamara cried.

At once they were transported to the top of a mountain. Before them were spread rich fields and a huge, sparkling lake.

Clever John’s eyes widened. “All this is mine?”

“Of course, my King Clever John!” Tamara danced a few delighted steps, her bright hair waving in the mountain wind. “What else do you wish?”

But Clever John’s gaze was on the wealth before him. “I shall call you when next I need you.”

Tamara nodded and quick as a wink turned into the rainbow bird and flew away, leaving only one bright red feather to float to the ground in her wake….

—from Clever John

“Mr. Makepeace.”

Winter tamped down a surge of impatience and turned at the feminine tone of command. His morning had been busy enough before Lady Hero had decided to make an unscheduled appearance at the home—and bring Lady Beckinhall with her.

He’d thought the ladies well occupied with Nell, discussing the new venture of teaching the children how to spin, but apparently he was wrong. Lady Hero stood on the upper landing just outside the meeting room of the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children. She smiled brightly and he immediately was suspicious. The lady was the least annoying of the aristocratic members of the Ladies’ Syndicate, but he was beginning to realize that underneath her always pleasantly elegant exterior, she was a bit Machiavellian.

He bowed shortly. “My lady?”

“I have a particular favor I wonder if I might ask of you,” she said.

He sighed, mentally girding his loins, for he had the feeling he wasn’t going to like this favor. “Of course, ma’am.”

She nodded, satisfied. “You’ve met Lady Beckinhall, the newest lady attending our meetings?”

“Indeed, ma’am.”

“Lady Beckinhall would be a wonderful addition to the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children,” Lady Hero said. “But I’m afraid she’s not quite certain if she would like to join us.”

Winter looked at her blankly. “Yes?”

Her smile became firmer. “Yes. And I thought, if you gave her a special tour of the home, she might realize what very good work you do here.”

“Ah…” For the life of Winter, his brain, usually quite a quick organ, was unable to come up with a suitable excuse which would get him out of wasting his time with a silly society matron for forty-five minutes or longer.

“Lovely!” Perhaps Lady Hero had gone deaf, for she beamed as if he’d acquiesced enthusiastically. “Lady Beckinhall is waiting in the meeting room for you.”

And in another minute Winter found himself bowing to Lady Beckinhall.

He straightened and thought he caught a gleam of amusement in her eyes.

“How kind of you to volunteer to show me the home,” Lady Beckinhall said. “I vow the prospect of inspecting children’s beds fills me with wonder.”

“Does it indeed, ma’am?” Winter replied woodenly. He turned on his heel and strode to the stairs, starting up them. His worry for Silence—both her person and the harm she might do the home—was ever constant and now he must pander to this woman.

There was a pattering and a breathless voice behind him. “My! Will this be the five-minute tour?”

Winter stopped and turned.

Lady Beckinhall stood, panting a bit, three stairs below him. From his higher vantage point he had an intimate view down her bodice. Her plump breasts were mounded softly, the cleft between them shadowy, mysterious, and far too alluring.

He looked away. “Pardon, my lady. I did not mean to make you run after me.”

“No, of course you didn’t,” she replied.

He glanced at her swiftly. The lady’s blue eyes were watching him mockingly.