Scandalous Desires (15 page)

“Oh, Lady Hero, I’m not at all certain it is wise for the Ladies’ Syndicate to meet in this part of London,” Lady Penelope said, after the introductions were made. She gingerly lowered herself into one of the rickety chairs. “Is it quite safe?”

“I believe as long as we meet in daylight and bring along footmen as guards, we shall be perfectly safe,” Lady Hero said. “It wouldn’t do to visit St. Giles after dark, of course.”

Lady Penelope shivered dramatically. “I hear that there is a masked man dressed as a harlequin who roams these parts, stealing pretty women away to his lair where he ravishes them.”

“The Ghost of St. Giles is mostly a myth,” came a deep, male voice from the doorway.

Lady Penelope gave a little shriek and Isabel turned to see a tall young man standing just inside the room. He was entirely in black, save for his white shirt, with no ornamentation of any kind on his clothes. He held a round-brimmed hat in his hand and his unpowdered brown hair was clubbed back very simply. He’d frowned a bit at Lady Penelope’s shriek and the expression made him seem rather dour. As he glanced about the room, Isabel had the distinct impression that this man didn’t approve of any of the ladies.

Isabel smiled widely—with just a hint of wicked flirtation. “Mostly?”

He glanced at her, his eyes flicking over her form so swiftly that for a moment she thought she’d imagined the look. She was suddenly conscious of the low, rounded neckline of her dark emerald gown. Then he met her eyes, his face perfectly expressionless. “A man dressed as a theatrical harlequin does roam the streets hereabouts, ma’am, but he is harmless.”

The information didn’t reassure Lady Penelope. She shrieked again and made to slump in her chair as if in a faint, but then seemed to remember the fragility of the chair and thought better of the idea.

“Let me introduce you all to Mr. Winter Makepeace, the manager of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children,” Lady Hero said hastily. She introduced the ladies in turn and Mr. Makepeace bowed shortly to each. When he came to Isabel, she rather thought his bow was more a nod of the head.

“Mr. Makepeace,” she drawled. Priggish gentlemen always managed to get her back up—and they were so very easy to tease! “How…
interesting
to meet you. I vow you look rather young for such great responsibility.” Despite his grave air he couldn’t yet be thirty. Certainly he was younger than she.

“I’ve managed the home since my father’s death two years ago,” he replied calmly. “And before that I was my father’s right-hand man for many years. I do assure you my years are quite sufficient to run this home.”

“Indeed?” She bit her lip to keep from smiling. He was so woefully serious! The man had probably never laughed in his life.

Lady Penelope’s little companion returned at that moment with several girls bearing trays of tea. She was a bit out of breath, for she was carrying a tray of dainty cakes herself, and seemed almost startled as Lady Hero took the time to introduce her to everyone present as Miss Artemis Greaves.

Mr. Makepeace’s expression softened—although he still didn’t smile—as he was introduced to Miss Greaves. “May I take that?”

Without waiting for her assent he took the tray of cakes and placed it on the sole table in the room.

Miss Greaves smiled rather shyly. “Thank you, Mr. Makepeace.”

“My pleasure, Miss Greaves,” he replied, his voice a pleasing rumble.

So he did know how to comport himself in the presence of a lady—when he chose.

“Will you give us a report on the home, Mr. Makepeace?” Amelia asked as she poured the tea.

He nodded and proceeded to give a very dry account of the expenses of the home and how the children were situated. By the end of his little speech even Lady Hero was nodding.

“Er, thank you, Mr. Makepeace,” she said when there was a little silence indicating he was finished. “Have you any suggestions as to how the Ladies’ Syndicate may benefit the home at the present?”

“We need money, ma’am,” he said without a hint of humor. “Everything else is extraneous.”

“Oh, but couldn’t we have little jackets made for the children? At least the boys?” Lady Penelope cried.

Mr. Makepeace looked at her. “Jackets, ma’am?”

Lady Penelope waved a vague hand. “Oh, yes! Scarlet ones—they’d look like little soldiers. Or perhaps lemon? Lemon is such an elegant color, I find.”

She smiled brilliantly at the home’s manager.

Mr. Makepeace cleared his throat. “Yellow also becomes dirty very easily. In my experience, children, especially boys, tend to run about and make a mess of themselves.”

“Oh, pooh!” Lady Penelope pouted. “Can’t you just keep them inside?”

Everyone looked at Lady Penelope. It was hard to credit, but she seemed quite serious.

Isabel felt a grin tug at her lips. She widened her eyes at the manager. “Yes, Mr. Makepeace, tell us why you can’t simply lock the little dears in their rooms?”

He shot her a quick, dark look that made her catch her breath.

“I’m sure Lady Penelope understands the impossibility of keeping small boys immobile and clean at all times,” Amelia murmured. “If that is all, Mr. Makepeace, we will not keep you further from your duties.”

“Ma’am. Ladies.” He bowed.

He was almost at the door when Lady Hero suddenly seemed to remember something. “But where is Mrs. Hollingbrook? I thought to see her today.”

Mr. Makepeace didn’t change expression, his body didn’t jerk or stiffen, but somehow Isabel understood that the comment had given him pause.

He glanced over his shoulder. “My sister is no longer residing at the home,” he said coolly and left the room before Lady Hero could make further comment.

Lady Penelope’s high, silly voice broke the silence.
“Goodness! Surely he isn’t thinking of running the home all by himself? A woman’s touch is so important with children, I think, especially since Mr. Makepeace is a
bachelor
gentleman.”

Several other ladies offered their opinions, but Isabel let the conversation flow about her as she bent her head in thought. Mr. Makepeace’s gaze had met Isabel’s in the second before he turned away, and she’d realized something in that instant: Mr. Makepeace might not show it, but there were strong emotions churning under that cold exterior.

His eyes had been black with anger.

S
ILENCE SQUARED HER
shoulders that night outside the dining room door. She’d left Mary Darling happily playing with Moll, the maid from the kitchen, with Bert as guard, and now she was about to join Mickey O’Connor for dinner. After all, he’d
asked
this time instead of ordered. There was still that small part of her that was convinced she was making a mistake. But then she reminded herself that it had been he who had made the first move, had held out the hand of peace.

Surely that counted for something?

She pushed open the door before she wasted another five minutes pacing and dithering. The room within was long and, not surprisingly, gaudily decorated. Watered silks lined the walls in purple, deep blue, and green. Silence snorted under her breath. How appropriate: Charming Mickey had covered the walls of his dining room with the colors of a peacock.

Down the middle of the room several long tables had been set end-to-end, almost like what she supposed a
medieval dining hall might have looked like. Mickey O’Connor himself lounged at the far end of the table in a crimson velvet chair. He hadn’t looked up at her entrance, but she didn’t make the mistake of thinking he hadn’t noticed her.

Silence began making her way down the line of tables. This end of the room seemed to be comprised of Mickey’s crew, quite a rough-looking lot. She’d gingerly passed the first couple of seated men when some type of signal was given. Suddenly all the pirates rose rather alarmingly, some so hastily their chairs crashed to the floor.

Silence blinked. “Ah… good evening.”

“Good evenin’, ma’am,” the closest man said gruffly. Belatedly, he snatched the greasy tricorne from his head.

Each man greeted her in turn as she walked past them, and even though they were all rather murderous looking, Silence smiled shyly at them. She found a seat just past the pirates. It was across from Harry and next to a little man with spectacles who she’d seen before in Mr. O’Connor’s throne room.

As she drew out the chair, the little man stood. “Not here, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry?” she asked, confused.

“He’ll want you with him,” the little man said nervously.

“That’s yer place,” Harry said and nodded his chin toward the head of the table.

Silence looked at the head of the table and of course Mickey O’Connor was watching her. They were
all
watching her.

Silence lifted her chin and made her way up the table, conscious that all eyes were upon her, until she stood beside the empty place at the right hand side of Mickey
O’Connor. For an awful moment she thought he would ignore her, but then he uncoiled his long limbs and stood, pulling out her chair for her.

“Mrs. Hollingbrook,” he murmured. “I’m that pleased ye’ve come down.”

She nodded nervously and accepted the chair. She could feel his heat behind her as his hands took the sides of the chair and moved it forward to properly seat her. The scent of frankincense and lemons floated in the air, sensuous and somehow alarming. She thought she felt the brush of his fingers on her shoulder, but when she looked around he was already back in his seat.

He made a gesture and Tess and two other maidservants came in laden with trays of food. Incredibly—
decadently—
rich food. There were platters of thinly sliced pheasant, roasted rabbits, fish in wine, pigeon pie, fresh hothouse fruit, and enormous serving dishes heaped with oysters.

Mickey O’Connor seemed to sense her faint disapproval as one of the serving maids placed a bowl of oysters before them. He cocked a black eyebrow at her. “I’m proud of me table, Mrs. Hollingbrook. I like good food and me men work better for it.”

She pursed her lips. “The price of those oysters could feed a St. Giles family for weeks, maybe months.”

He smiled lazily. “Would ye rather I dined upon bread and water?”

“No, but—”

“Come,” he said in his deep, black velvet voice, “the oysters are already cooked and they don’t keep at all well. ’Twould be a pity to let them go to waste.” He picked up a shell and pulled the pearly, succulent flesh free with his fingers, holding it out temptingly.

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.”