Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(93)

Silence wrinkled her nose in sympathy. Temperance could be rather bossy sometimes, although in this case Silence was in full agreement with her sister. Winter looked quite terrible. He’d taken off his nightshirt to get dressed, and she could count the ribs on his bare torso. He bent to retrieve his nightshirt from the floor, and she sucked in her breath.

He straightened hastily, but she’d already seen the long cut on his back. “Dear God! Where did you get that?”

He pulled his nightshirt on over his head. When he reappeared, he grimaced. “It’s nothing, really. Please don’t tell Temperance; she’ll only worry more.”

Silence frowned. “But where did you get it? It looks like a knife cut.”

“Nothing of the sort. I fell.” He looked sheepish. “In the street the other day. I’m afraid I came down on a wagon wheel and the iron cut right through my coat.”

“How strange. It looks exactly as if someone had cut you with a knife—or a sword, I suppose.” Silence tried to look over his shoulder, but he sat back against the pillow with a slight wince. “Have you cleaned it?”

“It’s fine. Truly.” He smiled, crooked and endearing. “I admit that I may’ve let the wound go when I first got it and that may have led to my fainting spell, but it’s healing properly now.”

“But—”

“Really, Silence,” he said. “Now. Tell me how things are with you.”

“Oh.” She carefully transferred the tray to his lap, making sure it was settled enough that it wouldn’t spill. “Well, William has sailed again.”

Winter glanced up from a spoonful of soup. “So soon?”

She looked away, busying herself with straightening the bed linens. “There was a ship whose captain fell suddenly ill. William assured me that he would be paid well for going back to sea early.”

“Ah,” Winter said noncommittally.

“And I went to Concord’s house for dinner the other night, and he was quite cold. Asa was supposed to be there as well, but he didn’t come. Didn’t even send his regrets.” Silence picked up a pillow to plump. “You won’t credit it, I’m sure, but Concord implied that I’d been seduced by Mr. O’Connor, even after I told him that that simply wasn’t the case. I don’t think he believes me, Winter. I don’t think Temperance believes me either.”

She must’ve hit the pillow overhard because a small cloud of feathers puffed from a corner.

“I see,” Winter said slowly, eyeing his damaged pillow.

“I’m sorry.” Silence placed the pillow back on the bed and gave it a gentle pat. “But you believe me, don’t you? You know that Mr. O’Connor never touched me, that he only asked me to spend the night. And I did. I did spend the night in his room, but nothing—nothing at all!—happened. Do you believe me, Winter?”

She stood, arms crossed protectively over her breasts, and stared at him anxiously.

“I believe,” Winter said slowly, “that you are my sister and that no matter what happened, I will continue to love you and stand by you.”

“Oh,” she whispered, and stupid tears started in her eyes. For it was the sweetest thing Winter could possibly say—and also the most horrible. He obviously didn’t believe her either.

“Silence…”

“Well, then,” she said without looking at him; she couldn’t or she just might either burst into tears or hit him, neither of which would be very good. “I’ll just go down and see if Temperance needs my help in the kitchen.”

“Silence,” he called as she made the door.

She didn’t turn, staring down at her hand on the knob as she said gruffly, “What?”

“Have you ever thought about helping us here on a more permanent basis?”

The question was so startling that Silence turned to look at Winter.

He was regarding her gravely. “We could use your help, you know.”

“Why?” she whispered.

He blinked and looked down at his plate of soup. “I think it might be of benefit both to you and to us.”

He thought she was ruined. The realization was sudden and so entirely unwelcome that Silence was struck dumb.

Winter raised his eyes to hers, and they were filled with regret and sorrow. “Please at least think about it.”

She nodded jerkily and left quickly without replying. She couldn’t.

No one believed she’d walked out of Mickey O’Connor’s bedroom untouched. Not her neighbors, who whispered as she walked by. Not the shopkeepers, who turned their backs and pretended to be busy when she came into their stores. Not William, who had been mute as she’d watched him pack and leave. Not Asa or Concord or Verity or even Temperance or Winter. Even her own family thought she lied to cover some horrible sin.

No one believed her in all the world.

Chapter Eighteen

King Lockedheart looked bemused. “But if I open the cage door, the bird shall fly.”

“If you want to learn what love is, you must open the door,” Meg said.

So the king opened the little blue bird’s cage door. Immediately the bird took flight and darted out an open window of the room.

The king looked at Meg with his eyebrow cocked. “I think that all I have learned is how to lose a bird.”