Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(66)

—from King Lockedheart

Temperance held Silence close and gently laced her bodice as the rented carriage rattled back to Wapping. Silence was limp, but her breath was rough and Temperance could feel her tears dropping to her fingers as she worked at the gown.

“Do you need a doctor?” Temperance finally asked.

“No. No, I’m fine,” Silence whispered.

That was so obviously not the case that Temperance felt fresh tears start again. She swiped at them fiercely with her wrist. Now was not the time to succumb to her own horror and regret. She had to be strong for Silence.

“What”—she had to stop and inhale—“what did he do to you, dearest?”

“Nothing at all,” Silence said tonelessly. “He never even touched me.”

Temperance started to protest but then reined herself in. Quite obviously Charming Mickey had done something to Silence, and just as obviously she couldn’t talk about it right now. For the next several minutes, Temperance concentrated on finger-combing her sister’s long russet hair. She parted and braided it and, using a few of her own hairpins, wrapped it in a crown about her head.

Silence lay against Temperance’s breast while Temperance stroked her forehead as if she were a little child.

She broke the quiet after a bit. “Dearest, whyever did you go to that man?”

Silence sighed, the sound lost and lonely. “I had to save William.”

“But why didn’t you come to me first? We could have discussed it, perhaps found another way to help William.” Temperance tried to keep her voice even, but she knew some of her despair leaked through.

“You were so busy,” Silence said quietly. “With the home, with the children, with Lord Caire and your hunt for a new patron.”

Her words were like a knife to Temperance’s breast. How could she have become so involved with other things that her own sister had not thought to come to her for help?

“It wouldn’t have mattered anyway,” Silence whispered, closing her eyes. “I had to go to Charming Mickey alone. I had to make the bargain I did with him alone. And it worked, you know.”

“What worked, dearest?” Temperance murmured.

“My going to Charming Mickey. My bargain with him. He says he’ll return the Finch’s stolen cargo.”

Temperance closed her eyes as well. She hoped that the pirate king would keep his word, but even if a miracle happened and he did, that would not change things for Silence.

Her baby sister was ruined—now and forever.

LAZARUS HAD RISEN only moments before when the argument started outside his bedroom door that afternoon. He looked up from his desk, where he’d been sitting in his banyan and breeches, and watched his bedroom door burst open.

Temperance marched in the room. Behind her hovered Small.

Lazarus took one look at the evidence of tears on Temperance’s face and snapped to his valet. “Leave us.”

Small bowed and drew the bedroom doors shut.

Lazarus stood slowly. “What has happened?”

She looked at him, tragedy in her gold-flecked eyes. “Silence… Oh, God, Lazarus, Silence.”

He noted absently that she’d never addressed him by his given name before. “Tell me.”

She closed her eyes, as if to steady herself for the recitation. “She decided to try and get back William, her husband’s, cargo herself. She went to the dockyard gang lord, a man named Mickey O’Connor….”

He’d heard vague rumors of a flamboyant dockyard thief in his wanderings in St. Giles. The man was dangerous. Caire frowned. “And?”

A silver tear slipped from beneath her eyelid and dropped, sparkling, in the afternoon light, to the floor. “He agreed to return the ship’s cargo… but at a price.”

A lifetime of cynicism made him know what the price was, but he asked anyway. “What was it?”

She opened her eyes, shining gilded brown. “He made her spend the night with him.”

Lazarus exhaled at the confirmation. He’d never met this Silence, knew nothing of her, and even if he had, he would probably care not a whit for her. Except that she was Temperance’s sister.

And that made all the difference in the world.

It was a strange thing, this feeling of empathy. He’d never experienced it before. He realized that what hurt this woman hurt him as well, that what made her bleed caused a hemorrhage of pain within his soul.

He held out his arms to her. “Come here.”

She dived for his arms and he caught her against his chest, shards of exquisite pain prickling his bare skin where the banyan parted and exposed him. She smelled so sweet, of dawn and woman.

“I’m sorry,” he crooned, the words foreign on his tongue. “I’m so sorry.”

She sobbed once. “When I came home this morning, William said Silence had never returned the night before. He suspected she’d gone to O’Connor, but it was too dangerous to venture into the gang lord’s territory at night.”

Lazarus thought silently that if it had been Temperance, if he’d had knowledge that she were in a den of thieves, her person and soul imperiled, he would’ve retrieved her no matter what the cost.

“We waited until light and then rented a hack,” she whispered into his shoulder. Her breath sent shivers of unease across his skin. “We’d just come within sight of O’Connor’s house when Silence emerged from it.”