Wicked Intentions
“Then you had best go.”
“I fear so.” Lady Hero inclined her head. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Dews.”
“Mrs.” Temperance said quickly. “I’m widowed.”
“Mrs. Dews, then.” Lady Hero rose. “I do hope we meet again.”
Temperance watched her make her way to “Cousin Bathilda.”
When she turned back, Caire was standing in front of her, a glass of punch in his hand. “You’ve been in rarefied company in my absence.”
Temperance smiled at him. “You wouldn’t credit how nice she is.”
He glanced in Lady Hero’s direction, then back at her, his expression indulgent. “Is she? Come, drink up your punch and then I shall feed you some scandalously decadent dinner before I take you home. Your brother is bound to be pacing by the door as it is.”
Indeed, it was nearly an hour before they finally made their way to Caire’s carriage. Temperance was yawning widely after the rich food and richer wine. Caire settled her on a seat, knocked on the carriage roof, and then sat beside her, drawing her into his arms. He threw a fur across them both, and she drifted in and out of sleep as his carriage rumbled across London.
It was like a dream world. She felt so safe and warm in his arms, and she could hear the strong beat of his heart under her ear. He was different from her, an aristocrat from a marvelous spun-sugar world, but his heart beat just like any other man.
The thought comforted her.
When next she was aware, the carriage had drawn to a halt and he was gently shaking her shoulder. “Up, my sleeping beauty.”
She opened her eyes and yawned. “Is it dawn?”
He glanced to the window. “It soon will be. I have a feeling your brother will take a strip from my hide if I don’t have you home before the first light.”
That woke her up a bit more. She scrambled upright and felt to make sure her hair was still in place. “Oh, I’ve lost a slipper.”
She bent to look on the floor, but he’d already knelt and felt along the base of the seat. “Here ’tis.”
He took her stockinged foot and gently slid the slipper back on. She stared, dazed, down at his silver head.
He must’ve felt her look for he glanced up, his eyes darkening. But he merely said, “Ready?”
She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
He helped her from the carriage and walked her to the door of the foundling home. The light had turned gray as they’d approached, but no one yet stirred on the street. She turned as they reached the door, placing a hand on his chest.
“Caire…” She wasn’t sure what she was about to say, but it didn’t matter anyway.
He bent his head and brushed her lips with his, murmuring, “Good night, Mrs. Dews.”
He turned away.
She watched his broad back blend into the gray mist; then she opened the door to the foundling home with her key. She yawned as she barred the door behind her, then hopped on first one foot and then the other as she removed her heeled slippers. Afterward, she wandered into the kitchen.
Her gaze flew to Winter. “Silence.”
Winter looked drawn and years older than his true age. “Silence has been missing since yesterday afternoon.”
HE’D TOLD HER to unlace her bodice and to take down her hair, so she had.
Silence walked from Charming Mickey O’Connor’s bedroom with her hair trailing down her back. His bedroom was on the floor above the throne room, and in the hall outside, she came upon a maid—the first female servant she’d seen here. The woman stared at her and then looked quickly away again, back to her work of polishing the multicolored marble floor. For a moment, Silence wondered if the maid had any help in her chore, or if perhaps that was all she did? Polish yard after yard of amazing marble floor? If so, it was a task she did not envy the woman.
“This way, miss,” a male voice called.
She looked up and saw that Harry waited for her. His eyes were filled with pity.
Silence straightened her shoulders. “Thank you.”
The guard hesitated. “Would you like to put yourself to rights?”
He kept his gaze firmly away from the tops of her breasts, revealed by her open bodice.
“No,” Silence whispered. “No, thank you.”
Charming Mickey had made it plain that straightening herself was not allowed.
Harry looked at her helplessly for a moment and then nodded. He turned and led the way down the curving marble stairs. Other people were up by now, for it was well past dawn, and the expressions as they saw her varied. Some were pitying like Harry. Some—mostly women—looked envious. But the majority were merely contemptuous; one bold fellow even dared to wink at her before Harry shoved him hard into the wall. After that, most turned their faces away as she passed.
They came to the front door, and Harry held it open for her.
“If’n you need anything, miss, just ask,” he muttered as she passed.
“Thank you,” she replied politely, “but I have everything I came for.”
And she walked into the bright, merciless sunshine.
Charming Mickey had been quite explicit in his instructions, so she placed one foot in front of the other and walked up the middle of the dingy St. Giles street, her long hair blowing in the wind. She didn’t look left or right but kept her eyes focused straight ahead, even when the whores returning home called crude things to her.
She closed her ears and heart and heard nothing, saw nothing, until directly in front of her she saw Temperance’s face, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Then Silence gasped once and felt the sting of tears at her own eyes.
But by then she’d made it to the end of the street, so it was quite all right. She’d followed his instructions, done everything he’d said, and he’d honor his part of the bargain as well.
Except her life would never be the same again.
Meg sighed. “This is not love, Your Majesty.”
“Fear,” Meg said simply. “Your courtiers fear you, Your Majesty.”
The king grunted and seemed pensive.
“Take her back to the dungeons,” he ordered the guards. “And, Meg?”
“Your Majesty?”
“Take care you comb your hair when next I see you.”
“But I need a comb and pins to dress my hair,” Meg said softly.
The king only nodded impatiently and once again Meg was led away….
—from King Lockedheart
Temperance held Silence close and gently laced her bodice as the rented carriage rattled back to Wapping. Silence was limp, but her breath was rough and Temperance could feel her tears dropping to her fingers as she worked at the gown.
“Do you need a doctor?” Temperance finally asked.
“No. No, I’m fine,” Silence whispered.
That was so obviously not the case that Temperance felt fresh tears start again. She swiped at them fiercely with her wrist. Now was not the time to succumb to her own horror and regret. She had to be strong for Silence.
“What”—she had to stop and inhale—“what did he do to you, dearest?”
“Nothing at all,” Silence said tonelessly. “He never even touched me.”
Temperance started to protest but then reined herself in. Quite obviously Charming Mickey had done something to Silence, and just as obviously she couldn’t talk about it right now. For the next several minutes, Temperance concentrated on finger-combing her sister’s long russet hair. She parted and braided it and, using a few of her own hairpins, wrapped it in a crown about her head.
Silence lay against Temperance’s breast while Temperance stroked her forehead as if she were a little child.
She broke the quiet after a bit. “Dearest, whyever did you go to that man?”
Silence sighed, the sound lost and lonely. “I had to save William.”
“But why didn’t you come to me first? We could have discussed it, perhaps found another way to help William.” Temperance tried to keep her voice even, but she knew some of her despair leaked through.
“You were so busy,” Silence said quietly. “With the home, with the children, with Lord Caire and your hunt for a new patron.”
Her words were like a knife to Temperance’s breast. How could she have become so involved with other things that her own sister had not thought to come to her for help?
“It wouldn’t have mattered anyway,” Silence whispered, closing her eyes. “I had to go to Charming Mickey alone. I had to make the bargain I did with him alone. And it worked, you know.”
“What worked, dearest?” Temperance murmured.
Temperance closed her eyes as well. She hoped that the pirate king would keep his word, but even if a miracle happened and he did, that would not change things for Silence.
Her baby sister was ruined—now and forever.
LAZARUS HAD RISEN only moments before when the argument started outside his bedroom door that afternoon. He looked up from his desk, where he’d been sitting in his banyan and breeches, and watched his bedroom door burst open.
Temperance marched in the room. Behind her hovered Small.
Lazarus took one look at the evidence of tears on Temperance’s face and snapped to his valet. “Leave us.”
Small bowed and drew the bedroom doors shut.
Lazarus stood slowly. “What has happened?”
She looked at him, tragedy in her gold-flecked eyes. “Silence… Oh, God, Lazarus, Silence.”
He noted absently that she’d never addressed him by his given name before. “Tell me.”
She closed her eyes, as if to steady herself for the recitation. “She decided to try and get back William, her husband’s, cargo herself. She went to the dockyard gang lord, a man named Mickey O’Connor….”
He’d heard vague rumors of a flamboyant dockyard thief in his wanderings in St. Giles. The man was dangerous. Caire frowned. “And?”
A silver tear slipped from beneath her eyelid and dropped, sparkling, in the afternoon light, to the floor. “He agreed to return the ship’s cargo… but at a price.”
A lifetime of cynicism made him know what the price was, but he asked anyway. “What was it?”
She opened her eyes, shining gilded brown. “He made her spend the night with him.”
Lazarus exhaled at the confirmation. He’d never met this Silence, knew nothing of her, and even if he had, he would probably care not a whit for her. Except that she was Temperance’s sister.
And that made all the difference in the world.
It was a strange thing, this feeling of empathy. He’d never experienced it before. He realized that what hurt this woman hurt him as well, that what made her bleed caused a hemorrhage of pain within his soul.
He held out his arms to her. “Come here.”
She dived for his arms and he caught her against his chest, shards of exquisite pain prickling his bare skin where the banyan parted and exposed him. She smelled so sweet, of dawn and woman.
“I’m sorry,” he crooned, the words foreign on his tongue. “I’m so sorry.”
She sobbed once. “When I came home this morning, William said Silence had never returned the night before. He suspected she’d gone to O’Connor, but it was too dangerous to venture into the gang lord’s territory at night.”
Lazarus thought silently that if it had been Temperance, if he’d had knowledge that she were in a den of thieves, her person and soul imperiled, he would’ve retrieved her no matter what the cost.