Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(18)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

Mick stopped at the bottom of the stairs and glared sightlessly at a tiny picture on the wall. It was an ancient Madonna and child, their halos layered in gold, Mary’s face was pinched and disapproving and an odd shade of green. The widow had been in his home a mere two days and already she was overthrowing his orderly life.

There was the sound of a throat clearing behind him.

“What the bloody hell is it, Harry?” Mick growled without turning.

“Ah, beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but Bert is upset that Mrs. ’Ollingbrook got past ’im and I was thinkin’—“

Mick shook his head once. “I’m not discussin’ her right now.”

“Ah…”

“Is there anythin’ else?”

“Bran was wantin’ to know when ye’ll be talkin’ to the owner of the Alexander.”

Mick turned at that. “After me supper, but afore midnight. Let the man get sleepy in his great house a-thinkin’ Mick O’Connor has forgotten that he didn’t pay tithe on his last bloody ship.”

Harry pursed his lips. “Sleepy or not, ’e’d be a great fool not to be well guarded in ’is own ’ome.”

“No doubt.” Mick started down the corridor. “Which is why I’ll be bringin’ Pat and Sean as well as Bran.”

“Think that’ll be enough?” Harry hurried to keep up with him.

“Aye. We’ll be a-waitin’ in his room for him when he goes to bed.” Mick reached his rooms and flung open the door. “The shock of seein’ four armed men in his bedroom will, I think, be enough to soften him up right finely.”

Mick stopped dead in the middle of his bedroom. His bed was a huge piece of furniture with posts as big around as a man’s thighs. He’d slept comfortably there with two other bedmates—and had he wished, could’ve fit another three. The bed was so massive it usually dwarfed whoever occupied it. But not the big dog draped over both his pillows. The animal lay with its pale belly exposed, forepaws up in the air, its great head turned to the side, jaws agape and tongue lolling.

“What,” Mick said softly, “is Lad doin’ in me bed?”

Hearing his name, Lad opened small, piggish, upside-down eyes, gazing with idiotic adoration as his whip-thin tail thumped the covers.

“Ah.” Harry scratched behind one ear. “Well, see, ’e was lookin’ so forlorn, like, out in the courtyard by ’imself. Seemed an awful shame to leave ’im there all alone.”

“Off!” Mick roared at the dog.

Lad’s transformation was instantaneous. His tiny triangle ears folded back, his eyes narrowed worriedly, and he rolled so that he could crawl toward the edge of the bed on his belly.

“Is that mud on his paws?” Mick asked in outrage.

Harry glanced at the dog. “I do believe it is,” he said as if making a discovery.

“Christ!” Mick watched disgustedly as Lad made the edge of the bed and slithered off, thumping to the floor. The dog seemed to think that his apology was done—or perhaps he’d already forgotten that Mick was mad at him—for he gamboled over as frisky as a lamb.

“He’s not even me dog,” Mick muttered.

Lad sat, one back leg sprawled out to the side, tongue hanging from his mouth, and grinned up at him. He completely ignored Harry, his supposed master.

“The dog ’as a wonderful affection for ye,” Harry said brightly.

“Well, I haven’t for him,” Mick said. “Take the beast out to the courtyard and get the maids to clean me bed.”

“O’ course, o’ course,” Harry said, not moving. He cleared his throat delicately. “And Mrs. ’Ollingbrook?”

Mick swung on him. “What about her?”

Harry blinked. “Ah… I thought a nice walk about the place wi’ the babe might make ’er feel less cooped up.”

Mick snorted so loudly Lad cocked his head. “That woman isn’t goin’ anywhere until she bends to me will.”

“Then she won’t be joinin’ us for supper this evenin’?” Harry asked, hope dying hard in his hangdog eyes.

“Not unless she has a sudden change o’ heart,” Mick said sourly. “In fact both she and that hellion babe will be stayin’ in her rooms with only food for the babe until she makes up her stubborn mind to come sup at me table.”

Harry tilted his head back to study the ceiling.

“What?” Mick demanded.

“Well, it’s jus’ that I’ve noticed in dealin’ wi’ the fair sex that it sometimes does a man well to show a little kindness.”

“Have I not given her a bed and a room fit for a queen?” Mick asked softly, dangerously.

“Ye-es—”

“And have I not been most accomodatin’ o’ her?”

“Well—” Harry looked doubtful.

Mick sliced his hand through the air. “All I ask is that she sup wi’ me. No other wench has disobeyed me thus to me own face.”

“Aye, but most wenches ye be dealin’ wi’ are doxies or servant girls,” Harry pointed out in a reasonable tone. He took a step backward nonetheless. “Mrs. ’Ollingbrook is neither.”

For a moment Mick merely stared at his henchman. Jaysus, when had his life become so complicated that he took to pleading his case with Harry? He had Silence in his house. He had her where he wanted her. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to turn his life upside down.

“Why can’t she live in me palace and be happy?” Mick muttered.

Harry shrugged massive shoulders. “Mayhap because she’s a woman. They do ’ave minds o’ their own, I find.”

“Me orders stand,” Mick declared. “She may not be a whore or a servant, but she’ll bloody well learn to obey me.”

Harry and Lad stared at him with strangely similar bloodshot brown eyes, sad reproach in both their gazes.

Mick flung out a hand irritably. “Get on with ye!”

Dog and man turned toward the bedroom door.

“And keep that dog out o’ me house!” Mick roared after them.

BY THAT NIGHT Silence was going quietly mad in her bedroom.

“He can’t keep me locked up here like some prisoner!” she muttered to Fionnula.

“Yes, ma’am,” the girl said with admirable equanimity considering she’d been listening to Silence complain for most of the day.