Scandalous Desires (24 page)

She stopped breathing. She simply inhaled and stopped, looking at him in wonder. His lips were quirked in a mocking smile, but his eyes—his fathomless black eyes—seemed to hold a great pain as if his strong chest really had been split open.

H
ER EYES STILL
swam with tears, blue-green and woebegone. Why the sight should pain him so Mick didn’t know. He’d seen men gutted and killed, watched starving women prostitute themselves, seen beggar children lay down in the gutter and die. He’d fought with tooth
and nail to reach the place where he was now—where he didn’t worry over food or a roof over his head. He’d killed men and never thought about their faces again.

Yet the sight of Silence in tears nearly unmanned him.

He glanced away from her face uneasily.
That way lies pain.
“Come. I’ve somethin’ to show ye.”

He took her hand and led her toward the kitchen door.

“But Mary—” she protested.

He tilted his chin to where the toddler giggled as she pulled at Lad’s ears. “She’ll be fine with Bert and Harry to watch over her. We’ll be only a moment.”

She trailed after him, casting worried looks at the baby until they were inside. “Where are we going?”

“To me throne room.” He led her through back passages and stairs until they reached the echoing hall that he received visitors in.

Bob, guarding the door, looked curious as Mick approached with Silence, but the guard merely nodded.

“See that we’re not disturbed.” Mick drew open the heavy wooden doors.

Inside he strode quickly to a chest he’d had set beside his throne. He threw open the lid and drew out a shimmering blue silk gown.

“What is it?” Silence asked as if she’d never seen such a dress.

He rolled his eyes. “It’s a dress. For ye.”

She backed a step, looking mulish. “I can’t wear that.”

Ah, now he had to be careful. He held up the dress, letting the light play on the gorgeous fabric. “Ye told me ye were bored. Wouldn’t ye like to get away from me palace?”

“Yes, but—”

“But,” he interrupted, “if ye wish to go out wi’ me, ye must wear this. The dress yer wearin’ now won’t do.”

She bit her lip, eyeing the iridescent blue silk.

“It was given to me,” he lied, “by a sea captain wantin’ me to do him a favor. I haven’t a use for it m’self.”

He held the dress against his chest, drawing a reluctant smile from her. In fact, like a besotted lover, he’d spent half a day searching for a ready-made gown especially for her. That information, however, was unlikely to make her want to take the gown. He knew instinctively that accepting such a costly gift—such an elegant gift—from him would outrage her puritanical morals.

“Or would ye rather be spendin’ another evenin’ by the fire in yer rooms?” he asked casually. His fingers trailed over the shining skirts.

Her eyes darted to his face. He could see she was wavering. “Where do you intend to take me?”

He shook his head. “It’s to be a surprise.”

Her brows knit and her lips parted as if to protest.

“But it’s respectable,” he hastily added. “I promise.”

He held his breath, waiting to hear her answer. Wanting her to accept.

“I haven’t anything else to wear with such a fine gown.” She blushed at even the oblique mention of underclothes.

He fought down a grin, trying to look innocent instead. “I’m thinkin’ ye’ll find the items ye need in the bottom o’ that there trunk.”

“But—”

He was already striding to the throne room doors. She’d decided when she asked about things to wear with the dress. If he hesitated, she’d have time to rethink her decision.

Mick pulled open the doors and spoke to Bob. “Send two lads here to take a chest to Mrs. Hollingbrook’s room.”

Bob nodded. “Right ye are.” He scurried off down the corridor.

Mick turned back to Silence. She was still standing by the chest, but she was looking about the room as well. “Why keep so many of your souvenirs in one room? Aren’t you afraid of thieves?”

Mick smiled. “Ye think I’d be robbed in me own home?”

Pink tinted her cheeks. “No, of course not. But your men might be tempted.”

“Pay them well, I do,” Mick said simply. “Better, mind, than they could get anywhere else in London. And if they’re still tempted, well… believe it or not, m’love, but I’ve somethin’ o’ a reputation amongst violent men.”

She shivered and turned away, peering at a marble cherub. “I know.”

He tilted his head, watching her. His violence upset her, he knew, but since he couldn’t change who he was, he dismissed it from his mind.

“As to why I pile me goods in this one room”—he shrugged—“ye yerself told me it makes a certain impression.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Is that the only reason for all your treasure? To impress others?”

He watched her for a moment, and then decided he could tell her. “Ye know o’ me life as a lad. About beggin’ for me supper.”

She nodded hesitantly.

He grimaced and looked around the room at his booty. “Well, when I made me first haul I swore then and there that I wouldn’t ever do that again.”

Her eyes widened. “But… that was long ago. You’ve become a powerful man since then—a rich man.”

“Can a man ever be rich enough?” he asked softly. “Powerful enough?”

“Oh, Michael.”

Her eyes had gone wide, her sweet lips parted, and her face was filled with compassion—for him.

That look went straight through him. He took a step nearer, his muscles tensing, his hand lifting, reaching for her.

Just then two of his men clattered into the throne room.

Mick bit back a curse and pointed to the trunk. “Bring it to her rooms.” He glanced back at Silence, still unmoving by the cherub. “Seven o’ the clock tonight, mind now. Be ready for me.”

And he turned and strode from the room, wondering if he was going to survive courting a chaste widow.

“Mr. Makepeace.”

Winter tamped down a surge of impatience and turned at the feminine tone of command. His morning had been busy enough before Lady Hero had decided to make an unscheduled appearance at the home—and bring Lady Beckinhall with her.

He’d thought the ladies well occupied with Nell, discussing the new venture of teaching the children how to spin, but apparently he was wrong. Lady Hero stood on
the upper landing just outside the meeting room of the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children. She smiled brightly and he immediately was suspicious. The lady was the least annoying of the aristocratic members of the Ladies’ Syndicate, but he was beginning to realize that underneath her always pleasantly elegant exterior, she was a bit Machiavellian.

He bowed shortly. “My lady?”

“I have a particular favor I wonder if I might ask of you,” she said.

He sighed, mentally girding his loins, for he had the feeling he wasn’t going to like this favor. “Of course, ma’am.”

She nodded, satisfied. “You’ve met Lady Beckinhall, the newest lady attending our meetings?”

“Indeed, ma’am.”

“Lady Beckinhall would be a wonderful addition to the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children,” Lady Hero said. “But I’m afraid she’s not quite certain if she would like to join us.”

Winter looked at her blankly. “Yes?”

Her smile became firmer. “Yes. And I thought, if you gave her a special tour of the home, she might realize what very good work you do here.”

“Ah…” For the life of Winter, his brain, usually quite a quick organ, was unable to come up with a suitable excuse which would get him out of wasting his time with a silly society matron for forty-five minutes or longer.

“Lovely!” Perhaps Lady Hero had gone deaf, for she beamed as if he’d acquiesced enthusiastically. “Lady Beckinhall is waiting in the meeting room for you.”

And in another minute Winter found himself bowing to Lady Beckinhall.

He straightened and thought he caught a gleam of amusement in her eyes.

“How kind of you to volunteer to show me the home,” Lady Beckinhall said. “I vow the prospect of inspecting children’s beds fills me with wonder.”

“Does it indeed, ma’am?” Winter replied woodenly. He turned on his heel and strode to the stairs, starting up them. His worry for Silence—both her person and the harm she might do the home—was ever constant and now he must pander to this woman.

There was a pattering and a breathless voice behind him. “My! Will this be the five-minute tour?”

Winter stopped and turned.

Lady Beckinhall stood, panting a bit, three stairs below him. From his higher vantage point he had an intimate view down her bodice. Her plump breasts were mounded softly, the cleft between them shadowy, mysterious, and far too alluring.

He looked away. “Pardon, my lady. I did not mean to make you run after me.”

“No, of course you didn’t,” she replied.

He glanced at her swiftly. The lady’s blue eyes were watching him mockingly.

Winter sighed silently and mounted the stairs at a slower pace. The next floor held a short, cramped hall with three doors. He opened the first and stood back to let Lady Beckinhall enter.

She swept in and glanced around. “What is this?”

“The children’s beds you were so eager to inspect,” he said without inflection. “This is the boys’ dormitory. As you can see it is in need of repairs.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder and then around the room. The ceiling was low, stains from previous leaks in the roof prominent. Two rows of narrow cots lined each wall. “But you’ll soon be moving into a new home, won’t you?”

He nodded. “That is our hope. I believe, however, that there is still a need for funds to pay for furnishings for the new building.”

“Hmm.” Her murmur was noncommittal.

They needed her money.
Winter inhaled. “Would you like to see the girls’ room?”

Lady Beckinhall raised elegant eyebrows mockingly. “Would I?”

Tamping down an urge to reply bluntly, he led her out of the room and into the next, which was nearly identical.

She paced to the far end of the room, peering at one of the cots lining the wall. “It’s very Spartan.”

“Yes.”

Lady Beckinhall delicately touched the threadbare blanket on one of the beds with her fingertips. “Well, the coverlets leave much to be desired, but at least the beds are roomy enough for the children here.”

Winter cleared his throat. “This dormitory houses some seventeen children. The children sleep two or three to a bed.”

She swiveled in an abrupt movement, her rich burgundy skirts sweeping the bare boards of the floor. “Why?”

He looked her in the eye, this aristocrat who’d never known want, and said gently, “Because it’s warmer at night.”

He could see the logical question form in her mind and then her swift glance at the tiny fireplace. The coal scuttle was nearly empty beside it.

She looked back at him, and to her credit, she didn’t try flippancy. “I see.”

“Do you, my lady?” Perhaps it was his impatience coming to a head. Perhaps it was his very real worry for Silence, but suddenly he was tired of sophisticated sparring. Of wasting his meager time on beautiful, frivolous women.