Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(46)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

St. John stared at his hands, clenched on his desk. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I think I’ve acted out of jealousy.” St. John closed his eyes. “You have a healthy, strong lady.”

“No, it is I who should apologize. Your burden is heavy.”

St. John bent his head, unable to speak.

“You know I would give my own life if I could take away her disease,” Caire whispered.

Caire’s steps moved away and St. John heard the door close gently.

St. John inhaled, opening his eyes. They were wet and he blotted them irritably upon his sleeve. Then he rose and crossed to the flowers Caire had brought. There were at least two dozen, bright white and gold daisies.

He picked them up and carried them out of his study.

Daisies were Clara’s favorite flower.

IT WAS LATE that afternoon when Silence set out. If this Charming Mickey person was a thief who worked at night, it stood to reason that he’d not be in the best of moods in the morning.

And she wanted to see him when he was in a good mood.

She walked quickly along the narrow street, taking care not to meet the eyes of any of the other people who roamed this area of London. Most were street hawkers, returning home after a long day calling their wares in more prosperous parts. They pushed wheelbarrows with wilting vegetables or carried trays empty now of pies and fruit. These people she did not fear. But there were others she did—short men with shifting, mean eyes. Women in gaudy dresses, standing in doorways and at the entrance of alleys, lifting one side of their skirts as the men passed by to advertise their profession. These last two groups Silence hurried away from.

She was aware that her plain woolen skirt and simple lace cap were of far better quality than that worn by the other people around her. She’d dressed neatly for this interview, wanting to impress without standing out, but even her second-best skirt drew looks from the whores on the corners. She pulled her cloak more firmly about her and ducked her head, walking quickly.

She was beginning to wonder if keeping this mission from her husband had been the best idea. But what other choice had she had? She couldn’t sit by and watch William be condemned to prison. This was the only possible action, and since he would no doubt disapprove of it, she’d seen no point in telling him in advance.

Silence drew a breath as she rounded the last corner. The building she’d been directed to was an old structure, tall and narrow, the brick face crumbling. It stood between a cobbler’s shop and a tenant house, looking no more distinctive than its neighbors. Except that two burly, big men loitered in the doorway outside while a third paced the street across from the building. Silence marched up to the door, her shoulders back, her chin lifted.

She kept William’s dear face firmly in her thoughts as she looked at the guards. “I’m here to see Mr. O’Connor.”

One of the men completely ignored her, acting as if he’d not heard or seen her standing right in front of his nose. But the second man, who sported a huge mashed-in broken nose and a too-tight bottle-green coat, seemed amused by her request.

He looked her up and down in a too-familiar but not unkind manner. “Yer not really ’is type, luv.”

“No doubt.” Silence willed herself not to show embarrassment at the man’s blunt assessment. “But I need to talk to him anyway.”

“But, see, that’s not likely, is it?” Broken Nose replied.

His companion spoke for the first time, revealing a row of missing teeth in his upper jaw. “What ’ave you got?”

Silence blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Broken Nose tilted his head at the other man. “’E wants to know ’ow much you can pay us, luv.”

“Oh!” Silence pulled the tiny purse hanging at her waist through a slit in her skirts. She opened it and looked back up at the two men. “Tuppence apiece?”

Toothless snorted. “Not less than a ’alf crown each.”

Silence drew in her breath, but before she could protest, Broken Nose had turned on his companion.

“’Alf a crown? ’Ave you gone mad, Bert?”

“No, I ’ave not, ’Arry,” Bert replied. “In my opinion, ’alf a crown is quite fair.”

“If’n she’s the Countess of Suffolk herself, it is,” Harry exploded. “Does she look to you like the Countess of Suffolk?”

“Now, jus’ a mo’,” Bert began heatedly.

“Excuse me!” Silence said, rather loudly, for she was afraid the two men were about to come to fisticuffs.

Both Harry and Bert swung their faces toward her, but it was Harry who said, “Aye?”

“Would a shilling each do?”

Bert snorted again, loudly and with obvious contempt for the offering, but Harry was more generous. “A shillin’ each is quite fair.”

Bert muttered under his breath something about soft hearts and soft heads, but he stuck out his hand readily enough when Silence opened her purse.

“She’s your pet,” he said to Harry. “Better take ’er to ’imself.”

Harry nodded agreeably to Bert. “I ’spect that’s best. This way, miss.” He held the door open for her.

Silence stepped inside the house and almost immediately stopped, gaping despite herself.

Behind her, Harry chuckled. “Bit unexpected, innit?”

And she could only nod numbly. The walls were lined with gold.

The hall wasn’t wide, but it arched high overhead and the gold rose from the floor to gild the ceiling as well. Beneath her feet was a mosaic of marble tiles in a rainbow of colors, laid randomly. Above, crystal chandeliers hung from the gold ceiling, and the lights were reflected in the glorious yellow metal over and over again until the whole was a dazzling display of wonder and wealth.

“Doesn’t he fear thieves?” she blurted without thinking.

Good Lord, she’d never heard of anything as extravagant as this hallway. Even the king himself surely didn’t have golden walls!

But Harry laughed. “It’d be a right fool who’d try and steal from Charming Mickey, miss. One who didn’t mind meeting ’is maker on the morrow.”

Silence gulped. “Oh.”

Harry sobered. “You sure you want to see Charming Mickey, miss? I can let you back out that door, no ’arm done.”

“No.” Silence squared her shoulders. “I’m not leaving until I see him.”

Harry shrugged his big shoulders as if to say he washed his hands of the matter. He turned without further ado and led her through the fabulous hall. There was a curving staircase at the back, carved from the same multicolored marble as the floors, like something from an emperor’s dream. Harry mounted the staircase ahead of her—there wasn’t really room for two abreast—and led her to the upper hall. Here, two great double doors stood directly opposite the head of the stairs.