Scandalous Desires

by Elizabeth Hoyt

  He looked back at Mrs. Hollingbrook. “When I say the danger’s past, when I say ye can go, then aye, ye may take the babe with ye.”

  She sighed a bit. He had the feeling she didn’t like it, not at all—he’d not put a date on the day she could go—but she’d already made the bargain, hadn’t she?

  “Very well. I shall have to return to the home to retrieve my things and Mary’s. We’ll come back here as soon as—”

  “Ah, ah.” He shook his head with amusement. Did she think he’d toddled into St. Giles yesterday? “The lass stays here with me. Ye can take two o’ me men with ye to bring back whatever ye’d like.”

  She must’ve known she was pushing the matter. She merely pursed her pretty lips, nodded, and bent to kiss the oblivious baby on the top of the head. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart.”

  Then she turned to stalk to the door.

  Mick admired the outraged sway of her hips for a second before jerking his head at Harry to follow the little widow. Harry touched his forehead and hurried after her. He’d get his cohort, Bert, and between the two of them guard Mrs. Hollingbrook to and from the home.

  There was a squeak somewhere around the level of his knees. Mick glanced down and saw the babe’s face turn a bright shade of beet red as she watched Mrs. Hollingbrook leave the throne room. It was his only warning.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  “YOU DON’T HAVE to escort me all the way back to the home,” Silence muttered irritably some moments later.

  “ ’Imself says we do, and so we do,” Harry said somewhat obscurely.

  He took one step for every two of hers and might’ve been out for a late afternoon stroll. The buttons of his frayed brown coat strained over his barrel chest and he wore a bright red scarf wound around his neck, the ends flung debonairly over his shoulders. The scarf was at odds with his battered face and massive broken nose—Harry looked like a pugilist who had lost one too many rounds. The early spring wind was chill with a nasty edge of damp, but Harry didn’t seem to notice as he stumped along, his old cocked hat at a jaunty angle.

  The same couldn’t be said for his companion.

  “And ’oos mindin’ the palace, is what I’d like to know,” grumped Bert. He was half a head shorter than Harry and was hunched inside the collar of his bottle-green coat like a turtle. A huge gray scarf wrapped around and over both his face and the seedy wig he wore, making his head look disproportionately swollen. “Sendin’ us off in the middle o’ the day with a wench!”

  “There’s a dozen o’ the crew at the palace,” Harry pointed out. “And Bob.”

  “Bob! Jaysus, Bob,” Bert said in disgust. “Couldn’t guard a kitten, could Bob.”

  “When ’e’s not three sheets to the wind ’e can,” Harry said judiciously.

  “ ’E’s always fuckin’ drunk!”

  “Watch yer tongue,” Harry said, and then as an aside to Silence, “ ’E’s missin’ ’is afternoon tea is Bert, and it makes ’im tetchy like. Normally the most placid o’ men is our Bert.”

  Silence, watched as “our Bert” spat through his missing two front teeth, almost hitting a passing mongrel. She was rather doubtful that the man was ever in a good mood, tea or no tea, but she wisely decided not to share this thought. For whatever reason Harry seemed to have taken a liking to her, and she was loath to spoil their accord.

  If she was to live with Charming Mickey O’Connor she would need a friendly face.

  Dear God. Only now as she walked the grimy streets of St. Giles, did the full impact of her decision hit her. She’d pledged to live in the same house as the most notorious man in St. Giles—a man she’d spent over a year hating and fearing. Whatever shreds of respectability she’d been able to pull together over her battered reputation in the last year would be truly torn asunder now. But what choice did she have? One look at Mary Darling’s face and she would’ve walked through fire.

  Silence shivered and pulled her cloak more firmly about her person. Mickey O’Connor had never actually hurt her—not physically anyway—and she had Harry as an ally. She would draw on her own strength, keep to herself, and avoid the company of Charming Mickey and his men as much as possible until his enemies were defeated and she could go home.

  Pray that was soon.

  She turned into a small lane and the modest door to the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children came into sight. It was the temporary Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children, sadly, ever since a fire had burned down the original home a year ago. A new building was being built for the home, but a series of setbacks had delayed their move to the new place.

  The door was flung open before Silence could touch it.

  “Have you found her?” Nell Jones, the home’s trusted maidservant, looked eager, but her bright blue eyes dimmed when she saw Silence’s empty arms. Nell’s pretty face was flushed, one blond lock fluttering around her ear—her disorder a measure of how worried she was about Mary Darling.

  “I did find Mary Darling,” Silence said hastily. “But… well, it’s a long story.”

  “And who are these two?” Nell asked suspiciously, eyeing Harry and Bert.

  “Gentlemen what ’as seen yer mistress safely ’ome,” Harry said. He removed the battered tricorne from his head, revealing a thinning patch of straggly brown hair, and bowed rather elegantly, considering his size.

  “Huh,” Nell sniffed, though her tone was less strident. “Best come inside, then.”

  The entryway to the home was narrow and cramped and the two men seemed to take up not only what little room there was, but the air as well.

  Nell stared at them disapprovingly for a moment and then turned to a small boy loitering curiously behind her. “Joseph Tinbox, take these, er, gentlemen back to the kitchen and ask Mary Whitsun to make them a pot of tea.”

  “Why, that’s quite kind o’ ye, ma’am.” Harry beamed.

  Silence was surprised to see Nell fight to keep her face stern.

  “Mind nothing goes missing in there,” the maid said gruffly. “I know everything in that kitchen down to the vinegar shakers.”

  Harry placed his hand over his heart. “I’ll keep me eye on Bert, ’ere. See that ’e don’t pocket a spoon or nothin’.”

  With an indignant snort from Bert, Joseph Tinbox led them off.

  “Hurry,” Silence said as she made for the stairs. “I had to leave Mary Darling behind and I want to get back quickly.”

  “Back where?” Nell cried as she followed Silence up the stairs, panting.

  “To Mickey O’Connor’s house.”

  “Dear Lord in Heaven,” Nell muttered. “Is that where you rushed off to after reading the note? To see that devil?”

  Silence had returned from the shopping that morning to find that Mary had somehow disappeared from the home. Everyone in the house—all eight and twenty children, three maids, and the lone manservant—had immediately begun searching for her. But it wasn’t until a mysterious note had been delivered hours later that Silence had even thought of Mickey O’Connor.

  “The note was from Mr. O’Connor saying he might have something I’d want,” Silence said breathlessly as they made the top floor of the house. The room she shared with Mary Darling was up here under the eaves. “He’s Mary’s father.”

  “What?” Nell had finally caught up with her and she laid a hand on Silence’s arm. “How long have you known this?”

  Silence bit her lip. “I’ve suspected it for some time. You remember Mary’s mysterious admirer? The one who used to leave presents for her on the step?”

  “Yes.” Nell sank onto the narrow bed in Silence’s room, her pretty face creased with worry.

  “A couple of months ago, just before Christmas, he left me a lock of black hair.” Silence pulled a small trunk from under the bed. She straightened and looked at Nell. “The lock matched Mary Darling’s hair.”

  “And you think Mickey O’Connor left it for you?”

  “I don’t know.” S
ilence shrugged. “But I think it must’ve been him. I thought I saw him watching me and Mary Darling once or twice last fall.”

  “If he’s her father, why did Mickey O’Connor leave her with you?”

  “He says he was trying to protect her from his enemies.” Silence began to throw clothes into the chest. “Perhaps he thought her safely hidden with me. Perhaps he was merely playing a game to amuse himself.”

  Nell shook her head as if dazed. “But what of the baby’s mother? Surely she had some say in the matter?”

  Silence froze, her hand outstretched for one of Mary’s frocks hanging on a hook. She turned her head and stared at Nell. “Her mother—my goodness, he never even mentioned the woman.”

  “Perhaps she’s dead.” Nell frowned. “Do you think Mickey O’Connor was married? I never heard of such, but he’s a secretive scoundrel.”

  “I don’t know.” Silence took the frock with shaking fingers and placed it carefully in the trunk before closing the lid. “I only know that I must go live with him now.”

  “What?” Nell jumped to her feet in alarm.

  Silence locked the trunk. “He says that Mary is in danger from his enemies and he won’t let her leave his house. If I’m to be with her, I must live with him.”

  Nell lifted one end of the trunk even as she moaned. “But after what he did to you—”

  “I haven’t any choice, don’t you see?” Silence walked to the door, the heavy little trunk between them.

  “But the home—”

  “Oh, goodness!” Silence stopped and stared at Nell.

  She’d been so busy worrying over Mary Darling, she’d not thought of what her actions would do to the home. In the last year the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children had gained the patronage of several aristocratic ladies—ladies who cared terribly about appearances and reputations. The home depended on their donations. If they found out that Silence was staying with a man—a pirate—without benefit of marriage…

  Silence’s eyes widened. “You mustn’t let anyone know where I am. We can say that I’ve gone to attend an ill aunt in the country.”

  “And Mr. Makepeace?” Nell muttered as they began to descend the staircase. “What shall I say to him?”

  Silence stumbled, nearly dropping her end of the trunk. She’d forgotten she’d have to deal with Winter’s disapproval as well. Her brother had made a journey to Oxford on business and thus had been away from the home when Mary Darling’s absence had been discovered. This morning Silence had wished desperately for her brother’s support in searching for the little girl. Now she was thankful he was away. Winter was a mild man, a schoolmaster by trade, as well as manager of the home, but she had no doubt at all that he would’ve locked her in her room before letting her go to Mickey O’Connor.

  Just the thought made her hurry her step. “I’m truly sorry, Nell, to leave you with the chore of telling Winter but I can’t stay. I need to go to Mary Darling.”

  “Of course you do,” Nell said stoutly.

  Silence shot her a quick smile. “None of this is your fault and Mr. Makepeace will understand that.”

  “I surely hope so, ma’am.”

  By the time they’d descended the rest of the stairs Silence was perspiring from exertion and anxiety. Winter wasn’t expected back for days, yet she couldn’t help jumping when the door to the kitchen opened.

  “Take that, shall I?” Harry asked as he strolled out, a bun in one hand. He grasped one of the trunk’s handles and easily swung it to his broad back.

  Nell straightened, hands on hips and glared. “Watch you don’t drop the mistress’s things.”

  “O’ course not,” Harry said easily, earning himself a disgusted grunt from Bert.

  Nell looked at Silence and her face seemed to crumple. “Oh, ma’am!” She threw her apron over her face and let out a loud, hiccupping sob.

  “It’s all right, Nell, really ’tis,” Silence said helplessly.

  She didn’t know whether or not she believed the words herself, but what else was she to say? Tears were pricking her eyes now as well. She’d lived at the home for just over a year, learned of her husband William’s death last fall here, discovered she was more than a wife here—that she could stand on her own two feet and be of use to others. Now she was leaving suddenly and without warning. She felt as if the very ground beneath her feet was unstable. She had no home now—hadn’t since William’s death, really—all she had was Mary Darling.

  “I’ll be back,” she whispered, not even sure she spoke the truth.

  Nell pulled down her apron, her face reddened and damp, her blond hair trailing from its pins. She marched up to Harry and stuck a finger in his chest. “Just you watch out for her, you hear me, you great lout? A hair on her head gets harmed and it’s you I’ll be coming after.”

  The threat was ludicrous, Harry towered over Nell. Silence blinked, Bert scowled, but Harry himself was quite solemn. He took Nell’s hand gently in his big paw and spread her fingers until he could rest them on his great chest, just over where his heart might be.

  “Never you fear, ma’am,” was all he said. “Never you fear.”

  And then Silence was out the door, the wind whipping her skirts flat against her legs as she headed into a new life.

  CHARLIE GRADY, BETTER known as the Vicar of Whitechapel, poured himself a tankard of beer. Some might find it strange—his taste for beer—seeing as how he controlled the distilling of damn near every drop of gin in Whitechapel and indeed the whole East End of London, but there it was. Charlie liked beer, so beer he drank.

  And if anyone did find his taste in drink strange, well… no one was foolish enough to tell him so to his face.

  “What have you found?” he asked, watching as the foam in the pewter tankard slowly subsided. He didn’t need to look up to know that Freddy, standing before Charlie’s table, was studying his own big feet.

  “ ’E moved the babe into ’is palace today.” Freddy was a big bruiser, smarter than he looked, but not much for expansive talk.

  Charlie grinned, only half of his face moving. “Always a smart one was Charming Mickey. He must have a real fear for what I’d do to the babe to take her out of his hiding place and move her to the palace.”

  Freddy shuffled uneasily. “There’s more.”

  “Aye?”

  “A wench came to see ’im.”

  Charlie laughed, the sound a strange sputter. “That there isn’t news.”

  His gaze flicked up in time to see Freddy look hastily away.

  Freddy flushed, the red mottling his pitted face. “This one is different.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “She’s the one ’oo lived in the orphan’s ’ome—the respectable one. The one takin’ care o’ the babe.”

  Charlie cocked his head, feeling the pull of old scars on the left side of his face and neck. “Ah, but that is news. Charming Mickey don’t like the respectable ones much, now does he?”

  Freddy knew better than to answer, so Charlie took a sip of his beer, the tart taste of hops washing down his throat.

  He set his tankard back on the table and picked up the dice with his left hand—the one with the thumb and forefinger turned to claws. He’d had the dice for long years now and they were worn smooth, the paint gone from the carved pips, the edges rounded. They were old friends in his palm and when he threw them gently, they rolled with barely a sound on the bare plank table.

  Deuce and trey. A five. Ah, now, five could be good or very good, depending. Depending.

  Last fall he’d had plans to move into St. Giles. Take over the gin distilling there and become king of gin in all of London. Those plans had stumbled because of an aristocrat not afraid of blowing up his own still—and taking half of Charlie’s men with it. But Charlie’d had time to regroup since then.

  And besides, he had another focus now.

  “My Gracie’s dead and buried. What she wanted, what she kept me from doin’… now that’s dead, as w
ell.” Charlie stared with fascination at the greasy bits of bone. They seemed to wink up at him slyly. “All bets are off and Charming Mickey O’Connor would do well to look after his females.”

  He looked up in time to catch Freddy’s horrified gaze directly.

  “Best have our spy find out how much the lady means to Mickey, hadn’t ye?”

  Chapter Two

  The king had a palace, naturally, and beside the palace was a large and lovely garden. Every morning it was the king’s habit to stroll about his garden and inspect the fruit trees, which were his pride and joy. Imagine then, the king’s shock when one morning he came upon his favorite cherry tree and found the ground underneath littered with cherry pits….

  —from Clever John

  It was dusk by the time Silence, Harry, and Bert made it back to Mickey O’Connor’s gaudily opulent “palace.” The moment they stepped inside Silence heard the screams.

  She knew that angry shriek.

  Silence took the stairs two at a time, not even slowing at Harry’s worried, “Oi!” from behind her. The screams were growing louder the nearer she got to Mr. O’Connor’s throne room. She pushed open the great double doors and swept right past Bob, the skinny guard, and marched to where Mickey O’Connor stood in the middle of the room with a bawling Mary Darling in his hands.

  No wonder the little girl was crying! The pirate held his screaming daughter out at arm’s length as if she were a stinking chamber pot.

  “What have you done?” Silence demanded and snatched the baby from his hands.

  Mary Darling had stopped shrieking at the sight of Silence, but she still cried, her little face red and swollen, her shoulders shuddering with uncontrollable sobs. Silence recognized this state of affairs: Mary had been wailing for quite some time.

  She kissed the baby’s damp cheek, murmuring soothing nonsense and then turned an accusing eye on Mickey O’Connor.