Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(95)

Mick laid his head in his hand. “What the f*ck do they have to be worried about?”

Pepper cleared his throat again. “They wish to know when you’ll go raiding again and if you’ll be returning to the dining room for supper in the near future.”

Mick felt a headache start in his right temple, dull and throbbing. “Tell them it’s none o’ their damned business when I want to raid and where I take me supper.”

“Ah,” Pepper said. He sounded nervous. Mick couldn’t remember Pepper ever sounding nervous. “Then might we discuss your various investments? The price of gold has tripled in the last five months. I thought if we were to sell some of your gold and reinvest the money in, say, jewels or silver plate, we would see a tidy profit, perhaps of—”

“Damn the money,” Mick muttered.

Pepper paused, cocking his head inquisitively. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said damn the money!” Mick roared, rising from his throne. “Fuck the gold! Bugger the silver plate, damn the jewels, the furs and silks, the china, the books, the spices and tea, and the furniture!”

“But… but…,” Pepper stuttered.

“Fuck all me money!” Mick bellowed. “It don’t bloody matter anymore!”

He kicked a barrel, tipping it over and sending cloves spilling across the floor. Lad whimpered from behind the Roman matron.

“Sir,” Pepper began.

The door to the throne room opened and Bob thrust his head around it, looking wary. “Letter.”

He ducked back, holding the paper out from behind the door.

Pepper hurried over and took it, breaking the seal. Something fluttered to the floor.

Mick casually knocked over a China vase, watching with bitter satisfaction as it shattered to pieces in the cloves.

“Sir, you need to look at this.” Pepper was suddenly by his side, trembling, but proffering the missive bravely.

Mick took it and glanced down.

I have them. Meet me where your mother lies.

He was still staring down when Pepper shoved something into his hand. Mick looked at it and froze. It was a tiny lock of hair, as inky black as his own.

The guards he’d sent, Harry and Bert, all of them, they’d all failed.

“Saddle a horse for me,” Mick whispered. His chest had constricted with dread.

Pepper ran from the room.

Mick strode to his bedroom, splashed water on his face and neck and made sure he carried his knives on him. He took up a pistol, loaded it, and wrapped a wide belt about his waist to stick it in. Then he ran down the stairs. He couldn’t let fear rule him. They were alive and well.

And if they weren’t, he’d rain bloody retribution down on the Vicar.

The horse was out front and he took the reins without word to the boy waiting there.

Pepper stood anxiously by. “Won’t you take some of the men with you, sir?”

“No,” Mick said and wheeled the horse around. “This’s between me and the f*ckin’ Vicar.”

He urged the horse into a canter, weaving in and out of the late afternoon bustle. He made it to St. Giles-in-the-Fields church in under five minutes, dismounted, and tied the nag to the fence.

Inside, the churchyard was quiet. He turned a corner of the graveyard path and saw the Vicar standing by Mam’s grave. No one else was in sight. Which didn’t mean his usual guards weren’t about.

Mick was on him in another two strides. He grabbed the older man’s neck cloth. “Where are they?”

The Vicar stared up at him with his ruined face and laughed. “Oh, Mickey boy, how should I know?”

Mick took the lock of hair from his pocket and thrust it into the Vicar’s face. “Whose is this then?”

“Your mother’s,” Charlie Grady said softly. “She gave me a lock of her hair when we were courting and naturally I kept it all these years. Your mother had that same black curly hair as you and the little lassie.” He winked. “You ought to’ve introduced me to my granddaughter, Mickey. Now I’m afraid I’ll have to be doing it myself.”

“I’ll see ye in hell first,” Mick breathed, shoving the other man away.

Gravel crunched beneath a booted foot behind him.

Mickey whirled, but the Vicar had succeeded in distracting him just long enough. He was a fraction too slow. A split second too late. The knife was knocked from his hand and his arms were seized. Suddenly there were soldiers everywhere in the graveyard.

Charlie tutted. “Oh, I have no doubt we’re both destined for hell, son, but I fancy you’ll see it afore me.”

“Fuck ye,” Mick spat.

An officer in a white wig limped up to Mick. “Mickey O’Connor I arrest you on the charge of piracy.”

“ARRESTED!” SILENCE LAID down the knife she’d been using to butter a piece of bread for Mary Darling’s tea. They were in the lesser sitting room of Caire’s town house, the sun shining brightly on the silver tea set in front of Silence. She stared dazedly at Bert and Harry, both men solemn and standing shoulder-to-shoulder in solidarity as they brought her the horrible news. “But how? Michael’s been an outlaw for most of his life. How was he captured?”

Harry looked uneasily at Bert and then squared his shoulders. “ ’Twere a trap, ma’am, laid by the Vicar ’imself. Word is, the Vicar said ’e ’ad ye and the babe.”