Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(82)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

“Except stay with me?” He tried to step toward her, but the leg irons brought him up short.

She shook her head, a tear slipping past her lashes. All her arguments and fears meant nothing now. “That… that was different. If you had only—”

He laid a warm finger against her lips. “Never mind. I’m sorry I spoke o’ it. I didn’t mean to aggrieve ye.”

She looked at him, mutely, her eyes swimming with tears despite her best efforts.

“Come here,” he whispered and pulled her into his warm arms. He leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry, so sorry, I made a mess o’ things at Windward House. I should’ve known ye and the babe were all I need—all I’ll ever need. The money, the piratin’ they were jus’ shields I was holdin’ on to, fearful-like. ’Twasn’t me best decision, love.”

“Oh, Michael.” She closed her eyes, willing the tears back, for his honest admission made her love him even more. If only this wasn’t their last moment together. If only they had weeks and years to discover everything about each other…

“But I’ve somethin’ important to say to ye now,” Michael rumbled softly. “What I meant to say when ye came in was that the very great favor I’d like o’ ye is for ye to marry me.”

She pulled back and stared at him in shock. “Is that why you sent for the prison chaplain?”

“Aye.” He smiled, dimples slashing into his olive cheeks. “He’ll do most anythin’ if the money’s right. Not what I’d like for ye, love, but beggars can’t be choosers. Will ye marry me, Silence Hollingbrook?”

It was silly but her heart leaped at his words, even here. She didn’t even hesitate to think. “Yes, oh, yes, I’ll marry you, Michael.”

He grinned and kissed her fast and hard just as Bert came back with the guard. An elderly man with a shock of white hair and a bleary expression from having been woken up accompanied them.

The chaplain turned out to have a lovely, resonant voice. Silence stood in a dazed and delighted fog and in a few minutes found herself married to Michael.

“Here,” Michael said, taking his ruby and gold ring off his little finger and putting it on her thumb. “That’s to remember me by.”

She stared down at the worn gold and the rich beauty of the dark red ruby. It was his first ring, she remembered, touched by his gesture. The ring was a little big, so she wrapped a piece of thread about it to hold it on her thumb. She had to blink hard then because it all seemed like both a dream and a nightmare. They were married—and he’d be hung by the neck in only a few hours.

Michael beckoned George over and had a whispered consultation with him at the end of which he gave the rest of his rings to the soldier.

“Only for an hour, mind,” George said.

Michael held out his hand to Silence. “Spend a little time with me, Mrs. O’Connor.”

She went into his arms gladly, and the cell door was locked behind her.

She sighed, laying her head on his warm chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart. He stroked his hand through her hair, his touch gentle, but she felt the tremble in his fingers. Suddenly it was too much, the sentence, the marriage, all the years after tomorrow without him.

“Oh, Michael.” She closed her eyes, despair overwhelming her. “I… I don’t know if I can live if you—”

“Aye.” His voice was firm, commanding. He took her face between his big palms and looked into her eyes. His black eyes were fierce even in the dim light. “Aye, ye can live. For me, for Mary Darlin’, for yerself. Promise me that, love. Promise me, ye’ll live, and ye’ll thrive, no matter what comes tomorrow.”

She swallowed. She couldn’t be weak when he needed her strong. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

“That’s me girl.” He brushed his lips over her forehead, breathing the words. “That’s me love.”

The tears overflowed, coursing down her cheeks. “I love you, Michael.”

He laid his cheek against hers. “I’ve written out a will for Pepper, me man o’ business.”

She tried to protest, but he pulled back to look her in the eye. His face was grave. “Hush, now, love, ye must listen to me words. I’ve left instructions for Pepper to manage yer money for ye. I think it best ye and Mary go to live at Windward House. It’s quiet there and secret. Me servants and Harry and Bert can take care of ye. I’m hopin’ that the Vicar might see it in himself to be satisfied once I’ve gone, but we can’t take that chance. I’ve made arrangements for me men to guard ye until Charlie Grady is dead. And that, too, I’ve arranged for.”

Silence stared at him, stunned. He’d planned it all, made sure she and Mary Darling would be well taken care of after his death. He hadn’t said he loved her, but his actions spoke much louder than any words could.

“Silence?” he asked. “Do me plans meet with yer approval?”

“Yes,” she gulped. “Yes, of course.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “I want ye to be happy, me love. Ye and Mary Darlin’.”

She choked then, unable to speak. What words were beautiful enough, sublime enough to convey all her heart wanted to express in this moment? They simply didn’t exist.

His eyes were sad as he watched her as if he knew somehow what she was thinking. “Come lie with me, m’love.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close.

But when Michael began to tug her toward the back of the cell and a pallet, she clutched at his shirt. “What if they look? The soldiers?”

He shook his head. “I paid them well not to peek. Bert and Harry will make sure o’ it.”

Silence glanced over her shoulder and saw that all the men outside had moved away from the barred window in the door. The only light in the cell came from the little window, leaving the back wall—and a pallet against it—in near darkness.

She looked back at Michael, peering in the gloom.

His voice was deep as he squeezed her hand. “Come and be me wife.”

He was her husband now.

Despite the sorrow of this place, despite what would happen all too soon, that small fact lit a spark of joy within Silence. She was married to Michael O’Connor.

She was married to the man she loved.

And since time was short, she lifted up on tiptoes and drew his face down to kiss him.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips. “I love your voice and your Irish burr. I love the way you look at me just before you say something outrageous. I love the way you hold Mary Darling so tenderly. And I love that you wanted to make me your wife. I love you, Michael O’Connor, I love you.”