Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(25)

Temperance reached for her own glass and tasted, the sweet, acidic liquid warming her belly. The wine might be cheap, but she didn’t care. She’d always thought it a funny quirk that Winter, the most ascetic of men usually, should be picky about wine.

“Will you tell me where you met the infamous Lord Caire?” Winter asked quietly, his eyes still closed.

She sighed. “He came to visit me two nights ago.”

His eyes opened then. “Here?”

“Yes.” She wrinkled her nose, setting her wineglass carefully on the kitchen table.

“Why didn’t I know about this visit?”

She shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “You were asleep when he called.” She held her breath, wondering if she’d have to explain how Lord Caire had called.

But Winter had other concerns. “Why didn’t you wake me, Temperance?”

“I knew that you’d disapprove.” She sighed and sat in the chair that Lord Caire had vacated. The seat was already cold. She’d known that she would have to have this conversation with Winter eventually, but she’d been cravenly putting it off. “I don’t know why exactly he’s notorious, as you say, but I knew you wouldn’t like me associating with him.”

“So you lied to me.”

“Yes.” She tilted her chin up, ignoring her twinge of guilt. “I made a deal with him. He’ll help me find a patron for the home, and in return I’ll help him find the murderer of his mistress.”

“Indeed?”

She took a deep breath. “I’ve already paid the rent with the money he provided.”

There was a shocked silence. Temperance swallowed and looked down, avoiding the awful expression of hurt on Winter’s face. She was doing this for him, she reminded herself. For Winter and the home.

After a moment, her brother sighed heavily. “I’m afraid you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself involved in.”

“Don’t patronize me.” She glanced up sharply. “I know that the home will close even if you work yourself to death. I know I can’t sit back and let that happen. I know I can help. I know—”

“Lord Caire is notorious for his sexual perversions,” Winter said, the flat, precise words interrupting her heated speech.

Temperance stared, closing her mouth. If she was a good woman, a chaste and pious woman, the words would repel her. Instead she felt a thrill, low and deep and forbidden. Dear God.

He continued. “Be careful, sister. I cannot stop you, so I will not try. But if I ever think you are in danger, I will bring this matter to Concord.”

She drew in her breath but said nothing.

Winter’s brown eyes, usually so calm and caring, had become hard and determined. “And mark you this: Concord will stop you.”

Chapter Five

Now, below King Lockedheart’s balcony was a stone terrace with a door that led into the castle. In the room inside, there was a very small and very insignificant maid kneeling at the hearth. Her name was Meg, and it was her duty to clean the castle grates. It was a dirty job, but Meg did it cheerfully, for she was glad of the work. But because Meg was so very insignificant, the other inhabitants of the castle never noticed her at her work. Thus she’d overheard more than a few conversations.

So when the king from his balcony above proclaimed how beloved he was, Meg couldn’t help but giggle. She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, but by then it was far too late….

—from King Lockedheart

Silence opened her eyes two mornings later and was greeted by the most wonderful sight in the world: the dear face of her husband, William. He was asleep, his full lips slightly parted, his brilliant green eyes closed. Fine white lines radiated from the corners of his eyes, in contrast to the sunburned skin of his face. His nightcap sat slightly ajar over his freshly shaven head. A light dusting of reddish stubble on his jaw glinted in the morning sunlight. Red curls shot with gray peeked at the top of his white nightshirt in delicious contrast to the strong column of his throat. She clenched internally at the sight. She wished she could push aside the nightshirt collar, kiss the base of his neck, and perhaps trail her tongue over his lovely, clean skin.

She blushed at the wanton thought. William preferred their bedsport at night after the candles had been put out, and he was quite right. Only a lustful creature would want to make love in the light of day on the morning after she’d been so thoroughly satisfied by her husband’s enthusiastic efforts the night before.

So she rose, careful to not wake William. She refreshed herself with the pitcher of water on a chest of drawers and dressed quickly before quietly moving into the next room.

The rooms that William had found for them were not very big, but they were quite nicely appointed. Besides the tiny bedroom, they had a sitting room with a hearth on which Silence could cook. In the two years that she and William had been married, she’d made their rooms cozy with small touches: a china shepherdess holding a pink lamb on the mantel, a lidded jar in the shape of an artichoke beside it—Silence liked to hide pennies in there—and curtains on the one window, scrimped and saved for and sewn herself. True, the curtains were a bit lopsided and didn’t altogether close in the middle, but they were a lovely shade of peachy orange that always made her feel like sitting down to tea.

It was a nice home and she was proud of it.