Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(64)

“Steady on, ma’am,” he growled, but she wasn’t reassured.

She’d lost sight of Michael and because of the melee she couldn’t move closer to her rooms and Mary. A wild-eyed giant ran at the coachman, a cutlass raised over his head. The coachman somehow deflected the larger man’s attack. But the coachman stumbled back onto Silence. For a moment she couldn’t breathe beneath the man’s weight.

Suddenly Bert appeared, his face ghastly white beneath a wash of scarlet blood. With a foul curse he bashed the giant over the head and pulled the gasping coachman off Silence.

“Are ye all right, ma’am?” Bert asked and for a moment Silence was simply stunned by the honest worry in the guard’s ugly face.

Then there was a shout from behind Bert and Michael reappeared. His fine velvet coat was ripped at both shoulder seams and a line of blood trailed from the inky black of his hairline.

“We make for the babe’s room!” he roared and seized Silence’s hand, plunging into the mass of twisting bodies.

She gasped and fought to keep by his back as he hacked and kicked his way bodily through. For the first time she realized what sort of man it took to become a successful pirate. He was ruthless as he fought, a wolf made entirely of sinew and ferocity. He never hesitated, never seemed to rethink a thrust or hit, he simply fought with single-minded savagery. It was rather awe-inspiring, his primitive violence, like a lightning storm. And like a natural force, he was graceful, too, his body moving with sure and simple brutality.

Within a minute they were in sight of her room. The door burst open and a huge man ran out.

Michael bellowed.

The man took one frightened look at them and turned and ran.

Michael started after him, but Silence dug in her heels, halting him.

He turned on her, his face savage.

“Mary!” she said.

He blinked as if coming out of a dream state and nodded.

The other intruders, though greater in number, had fallen away from Michael’s attack. Now they were retreating with Bert and the coachman in pursuit.

Michael ignored the stragglers. He turned and tried the door to her rooms and when it didn’t open, backed a step and kicked it in.

The room was lit only by one candle. In the middle, Harry crouched over a body. Silence could hear Mary Darling crying, though, and she pushed past Michael.

“Silence!” he called behind her, but she was intent on the baby. She couldn’t see her. Where was Mary? A low whimper came from somewhere near her feet. Silence looked down and saw nothing.

Almost instinctively, she dropped to her knees and peered under the bed. Two pairs of eyes stared back at her. Lad gave a low growl, but Mary held out her arms. Sobbing.

“Oh, baby!” Silence cried.

Lad stopped growling as he recognized her voice. Silence reached under the bed and caught Mary Darling by the shoulders as the dog crawled out.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Silence murmured once she had the baby in her arms. Mary was sweaty and grimy from the dust under the bed, but she was entirely whole, entirely alive. Silence felt tears of relief flood her eyes as she buried her face in the baby’s curls.

“What a good dog you are, Lad,” she murmured wetly to the mongrel as he wagged his tail. “What a good guard dog.”

She rose and turned, smiling, only to freeze in confusion.

Michael still stood by the door, staring down at Harry and the figure on the floor. Now she saw that it was a woman—and her heart began to beat faster. “Who—?”

She stepped closer and then gasped and turned Mary’s face away. The body on the floor had no face. Or rather what had been a face was now a mass of blood and melted tissue. Silence squeezed her eyes shut. She knew who it was even before she felt Michael’s arms close around her and Mary.

“It’s Fionnula, I’m afraid,” he said into her hair. “I’m sorry, love. She’s dead.”

MICK FELT THE tremor that went through Silence’s body. He closed his eyes a moment and simply held her. The baby was bawling in his ear and he didn’t give a damn. She was alive. They both were alive and unhurt. They weren’t lying on the floor like Fionnula, her face a horrific mess. He grit his teeth at the thought and knew suddenly: this was fear. This terrible, cold hand clenching at his inner organs. This wild urge to scream at the awful thoughts running through his head.

What if—?

What if he’d delayed ten minutes longer at the opera? What if they’d thought to post an ambush by the front door? What if he’d been cut down as he’d entered? What if, at this very moment, Silence was in his hands?

Mick wanted to laugh. Doubts, worries, and fear of his mortality—those were all problems that other men had to deal with. He’d never bothered with them himself. Why should he? If he died, well, then he died. He’d led a good life—a fighting life. He’d leave no regrets behind.

But that was before. Now he had Silence to protect and worry over—and Jaysus a baby, as well. If he fell who would take his place to guard them? Who was as ruthless as he?

He looked up and his eyes met Harry’s.

Harry nodded soberly at Bert, standing in the doorway panting. “Bert says the Vicar’s men ’ave been run out o’ the ’ouse.”

“Good,” Mick said.

“What did that man d-do to her?” Silence asked, her face was still turned into his chest.