Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(56)

She was beginning to wonder if keeping this mission from her husband had been the best idea. But what other choice had she had? She couldn’t sit by and watch William be condemned to prison. This was the only possible action, and since he would no doubt disapprove of it, she’d seen no point in telling him in advance.

Silence drew a breath as she rounded the last corner. The building she’d been directed to was an old structure, tall and narrow, the brick face crumbling. It stood between a cobbler’s shop and a tenant house, looking no more distinctive than its neighbors. Except that two burly, big men loitered in the doorway outside while a third paced the street across from the building. Silence marched up to the door, her shoulders back, her chin lifted.

She kept William’s dear face firmly in her thoughts as she looked at the guards. “I’m here to see Mr. O’Connor.”

One of the men completely ignored her, acting as if he’d not heard or seen her standing right in front of his nose. But the second man, who sported a huge mashed-in broken nose and a too-tight bottle-green coat, seemed amused by her request.

He looked her up and down in a too-familiar but not unkind manner. “Yer not really ’is type, luv.”

“No doubt.” Silence willed herself not to show embarrassment at the man’s blunt assessment. “But I need to talk to him anyway.”

“But, see, that’s not likely, is it?” Broken Nose replied.

His companion spoke for the first time, revealing a row of missing teeth in his upper jaw. “What ’ave you got?”

Silence blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Broken Nose tilted his head at the other man. “’E wants to know ’ow much you can pay us, luv.”

“Oh!” Silence pulled the tiny purse hanging at her waist through a slit in her skirts. She opened it and looked back up at the two men. “Tuppence apiece?”

Toothless snorted. “Not less than a ’alf crown each.”

Silence drew in her breath, but before she could protest, Broken Nose had turned on his companion.

“’Alf a crown? ’Ave you gone mad, Bert?”

“No, I ’ave not, ’Arry,” Bert replied. “In my opinion, ’alf a crown is quite fair.”

“If’n she’s the Countess of Suffolk herself, it is,” Harry exploded. “Does she look to you like the Countess of Suffolk?”

“Now, jus’ a mo’,” Bert began heatedly.

“Excuse me!” Silence said, rather loudly, for she was afraid the two men were about to come to fisticuffs.

Both Harry and Bert swung their faces toward her, but it was Harry who said, “Aye?”

“Would a shilling each do?”

Bert snorted again, loudly and with obvious contempt for the offering, but Harry was more generous. “A shillin’ each is quite fair.”

Bert muttered under his breath something about soft hearts and soft heads, but he stuck out his hand readily enough when Silence opened her purse.

“She’s your pet,” he said to Harry. “Better take ’er to ’imself.”

Harry nodded agreeably to Bert. “I ’spect that’s best. This way, miss.” He held the door open for her.

Silence stepped inside the house and almost immediately stopped, gaping despite herself.

Behind her, Harry chuckled. “Bit unexpected, innit?”

And she could only nod numbly. The walls were lined with gold.

The hall wasn’t wide, but it arched high overhead and the gold rose from the floor to gild the ceiling as well. Beneath her feet was a mosaic of marble tiles in a rainbow of colors, laid randomly. Above, crystal chandeliers hung from the gold ceiling, and the lights were reflected in the glorious yellow metal over and over again until the whole was a dazzling display of wonder and wealth.

“Doesn’t he fear thieves?” she blurted without thinking.

Good Lord, she’d never heard of anything as extravagant as this hallway. Even the king himself surely didn’t have golden walls!

But Harry laughed. “It’d be a right fool who’d try and steal from Charming Mickey, miss. One who didn’t mind meeting ’is maker on the morrow.”

Silence gulped. “Oh.”

Harry sobered. “You sure you want to see Charming Mickey, miss? I can let you back out that door, no ’arm done.”

“No.” Silence squared her shoulders. “I’m not leaving until I see him.”

Harry shrugged his big shoulders as if to say he washed his hands of the matter. He turned without further ado and led her through the fabulous hall. There was a curving staircase at the back, carved from the same multicolored marble as the floors, like something from an emperor’s dream. Harry mounted the staircase ahead of her—there wasn’t really room for two abreast—and led her to the upper hall. Here, two great double doors stood directly opposite the head of the stairs.

Harry knocked on one.

A tiny square window opened in one of the panels of the doors and an eye blinked out at them. “Aye?”

“Lady to see ’imself,” Harry said.

The eye swiveled to stare at Silence. “’Ave you searched the wench?”

Harry sighed. “Does she look like an assassin to you, Bob?”

Bob blinked. “Might. Best kind o’ assassin would be the kind you didn’t think were one, if you get my meaning.”