Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(30)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

Silence’s stomach growled and she flushed.

The corner of his mouth curved with roguish charm. “Tisn’t a sin to enjoy good food.”

“A special treat once in a while is one thing,” she said severely, “but you spend your life in constant excess. Does it not become boring after a bit?”

He smiled wolfishly. “Never.”

She reached for the oyster he still held, but he moved his hand back out of her way.

She looked at him coolly. “I’ll not eat out of your hand.”

His bold mouth compressed—he didn’t like her refusal, but all he said was, “As ye wish, me darlin’.”

He placed the oyster on her plate.

She bit into the savory oyster and contemplated telling him that she wasn’t his darling, but it seemed a waste of breath. Besides, the oyster really was terribly delicious. She licked her lips and glanced up. Mickey O’Connor was watching her, his black eyes narrowed, a corner of his mouth faintly curled. For a moment she felt caught in his gaze, her heart beating faster.

Then Tess bustled over with a tray of tiny tarts.

More dishes were set in front of Mickey O’Connor and without asking he served her something from each and filled her glass full of what proved to be sweet red wine. Silence ate and for several minutes she was quiet, her entire being concentrating on the food and filling her empty stomach, for although she’d had a lovely breakfast it hadn’t quite sated her after more than a day without food.

When she looked up again, she met Mr. O’Connor’s gaze. He was leaning back in his chair, his own food untouched, apparently content just to watch her eat.

She swallowed. “It’s all quite good and I enjoyed it very much, but…”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Your food seems very rich.” The pirates were still busily shoveling in their meal. Harry had got up and left the room, and now he was replaced with Bert. “It can’t be good for your constitution to eat such rich foods regularly. Aren’t you afraid of gout?”

Mickey O’Connor grinned and ran his hand down his flat stomach, his rings flashing on every finger. “Never occurred to me, to tell the truth.”

She shook her head. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t. You do like to revel in excess, don’t you?”

He raised a mocking eyebrow.

She tilted her chin toward his hands. “Those rings, for instance. They’re so gaudy and they must be worth a fortune.”

He spread his hands before him, fingers wide. “Oh, two fortunes at the very least, but I only started wi’ one ring.”

She peered at them curiously. His extravagant, jeweled rings seemed such a part of Mickey O’Connor that she couldn’t imagine him without them. “Which one?”

“This.” He held up his right index finger. A round ruby so dark it was nearly black sat in a worn gold ring. “Got it on a raid with me first crew. In point o’ fact it were me only part of the raid, it were worth so much. I forfeited me portion o’ the gold for this here ring.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Why didn’t you take the money instead?”

He sat back and eyed her and she realized suddenly that his playfulness had vanished. He was quite serious now. “Because a poor man don’t wear a ring like this. Everyone who saw me wear this could tell: Charmin’ Mickey’s come into his own.”

Silence stared down at a lone pear remaining on her plate, thinking about his words. How odd. She’d never been rich—certainly not as rich as Mickey O’Connor was now—but she’d never really desired great wealth. Certainly there had been times when she’d looked longingly at a fan or heeled slippers in a shop window, but those were mostly fancies. Her everyday needs had always been quite satisfied. In contrast, Mr. O’Connor, by his own admission, had spent his childhood in poverty. Perhaps that then was his basic reason for flaunting the wealth he had. Once one had longed for something—hungered after it day and night—would that well of want ever truly be filled?

She shivered at the thought and looked up. “And the rest of your rings?”

“Oh, picked up here and there. This one”—he waggled his left pinky where a great black baroque pearl sat—“I found in the chest o’ a ship’s captain. He had a bit o’ a reputation, that one. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’d got it piratin’ from the Frenchies.”

Mickey O’Connor grinned and popped a hothouse grape into his mouth.

She looked hastily away from the sight of him lounging like a sultan, and saw Fionnula sitting a little way down the table with Bran beside her.

“She worships Bran does our Fionnula,” Mickey O’Connor said quietly, following her gaze.

“Does he worship her, as well?” she asked, sharper than she meant.

Mickey O’Connor cocked his head, considering the matter. Then he shook it once. “I very much doubt it. Bran worships power and money and little else.”

“Not so very different than you, I suppose.” She wasn’t sure why the information that Fionnula’s sweetheart didn’t love the girl as much as Fionnula did him troubled her, but it did.

“Did ye look upon yer William like she does Bran?” he asked so quietly she nearly didn’t hear him.

Silence drew in her breath. He hadn’t the right to speak William’s name—he should know that. But she lifted her chin and met Mickey O’Connor’s black eyes. “I suppose I did.”

She’d thought to provoke him, but he merely leaned his head on his hand, studying her. “How did ye meet him, this paragon o’ a husband?”

She smiled at the memory. “He saved my shoes.”

“How?”

“I was out shopping with Temperance, my sister, and I’m afraid I got caught behind—I was staring in a shopwindow.”

His lips twitched. “At gloves and lace?”

“At a cream cake, if you must know,” she said with dignity.

He breathed a chuckle and she felt a flush start on her neck. “Father didn’t approve of sweets so we only had them on special occasions—Christmas and the like.” He was still smiling so she hurried on. “Anyway, I was rushing to catch up with my sister. I mustn’t have been watching because all at once there was a great miller’s cart right in front of my nose. If William hadn’t grabbed me about the waist and pulled me back, my shoes would’ve been quite ruined.” Silence sliced off a bite of the pear. “There was a puddle, you see.”