Scandalous Desires (30 page)

Silence glanced at her helplessly. “What am I to do? I’m not even sure I’ll see him again.”

“You won’t want to hear this,” Temperance said gently.

Silence scrunched her nose and turned back to the gloomy view. Still, she couldn’t ignore Temperance’s words:

“But perhaps it’s for the best.”

Naturally, Lord Caire would have an overwhelmingly elegant country residence. Silence listlessly perused the great library in Lord Caire’s country manor, hoping for something—anything—to distract her from thoughts of Michael. The late afternoon sun shone in the glass doors, illuminating the great bookshelves that lined three walls of the room.

She’d heard no word from Michael in the week since she’d hastily left his palace.

She really ought to be more grateful. Huntington Manor was huge and rambling with lovely food and servants to take care of her every need. Actually she hadn’t
quite gotten used to the servants. The butler was a terribly daunting elderly man and Silence found herself flushing furiously every time she had to speak to him. Oddly, Temperance seemed right at home as the new Lady Caire. One would think she’d always been a baron’s wife from the ease with which she consulted with the cook about meals and the housekeeper about decorations and such.

Silence shook her head and trailed her fingers over the spines of the books lined up like soldiers. The library, like everything else in Caire’s country estate, was magnificently appointed. Histories, poetry, philosophy, and even a few works of fiction could be found here. She should be happy to have the chance to simply sit and read. She had no chores here, no tasks or worries.

“Gah!” Mary said, patting the glass on the French doors. They looked out over a terrace bordered by a mown lawn. Mary was carefully walking down the glass doors, admiring the view and the crows on the lawn.

Silence turned back to the bookshelf and pulled out a book at random. It was a treatise on Latin history—or so she thought. Her Latin was rather poor. She wrinkled her nose and replaced the book.

A week and no word from Michael. Well, it was silly to expect otherwise, wasn’t it? He’d sent her away with Caire and her brothers and even though he’d done so to protect her, perhaps he’d been secretly relieved to see her go. Without her around he could have tarts in his palace once again—two at a time in his bed, if he wished!—and go back to his wastrel pirate ways.

Silence kicked the lower shelf.

“Goggie!” Mary Darling said from behind her.

“No, sweetie,” Silence said, “those are crows.”

“Goggie!”

A thump came from the windows.

Silence turned, alarmed that Mary might’ve fallen, but the toddler was still standing against the windows. And on the other side was a very familiar dog wagging his tail like mad.

“Lad?” Silence whispered. She swiftly crossed to the glass doors and looked out. Dusk was gathering, but she thought she saw something flash in the trees beyond the lawn. “Oh, my goodness.”

There were guards, of course. The first thing Lord Caire had done on reaching his country residence was hire several strong men from the village to patrol the grounds. Silence craned her neck and saw two men just disappearing around the far corner of the house. She knew from watching them that they wouldn’t be back around to this side again for another ten minutes or more.

That is, if they didn’t reverse their course.

Hastily she found a pencil and flipped through the Latin book until she found a blank page. Silence wrote a short note to Temperance and left the book on a table, opened to the note. Then she scooped Mary up in her arms and went out the French doors. Lad immediately began jumping around them like a maddened hare, but fortunately he seemed to know enough not to bark.

“Where is he?” she hissed at the dog, feeling like a fool.

Lad pricked his ears forward and then turned to look at the trees.

Well, that was clear enough.

Silence darted across the lawn, arriving at the tree line breathless and with her heart beating in a staccato rhythm. She peered into the dark copse, but didn’t see
anyone. Disappointment seeped into her chest. Perhaps she’d been mistaken at the flash. Perhaps Lad had somehow followed them from London. Perhaps—

A hand clamped over her mouth.

“Hush,” Michael murmured.

She nodded.

He lifted his hand and then just watched her. He was different—his clothing dark and plainer than any she’d ever seen on him. His coat was brown, his hat a simple black tricorne. And he’d covered his extravagant hair with an anonymous white wig, making his face appear leaner, his cheekbones sharper. His black eyebrows winging up so starkly against the white of the wig made him look more Satanic, more stern than ever.

“Will ye come with me?” he whispered.

And she answered without hesitation. “Yes, please.”

W
INTER SIGHED SILENTLY
as he watched another elegantly dressed lady pick her way down the narrow alley leading to the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children. Lady Penelope wore an elaborately worked yellow silk gown with an embroidered jacket, and a velvet cloak thrown over her shoulders. The lady held her skirts high as she carefully stepped along, the jewels on her slippers winking in the sunlight. Behind her, Miss Greaves trailed, much less richly dressed and holding a silly little white dog in her arms. Winter eyed the winking jewels on the slippers sourly. The cost of those slippers could probably keep the home in coal and candles for an entire year.

At least he no longer had to worry about Silence, now that Caire and Temperance had her safely hidden at
Caire’s. Still that didn’t quite make another day wasted with silly society ladies bearable.

“Oh, they do look splendid, don’t they?” Nell Jones commented beside him.

Winter coughed. “Indeed.”

“The children are so looking forward to singing for the ladies,” Nell said. “And they’ve become quite good at singing the same words at almost the same time.”

Winter arched an eyebrow. The last time he’d passed the classroom while the children were practicing, the sound had not been exactly melodious.

“And Joseph Tinbox has memorized the psalm he is to recite,” Nell went on. “If only we have enough biscuits for all the ladies! That last batch didn’t turn out quite right.”

Winter, having spent years dining upon the products of inexperienced cooks—the girls of the home did most of the cooking—knew better than to ask what exactly had happened to the last batch of biscuits. “I’m sure the biscuits will do very well.”

Nell flashed him one of her quick smiles. “Well, I just hope so. I wouldn’t want to let you down, sir.”

“You won’t, Nell. That I’m quite certain of,” Winter said as he stepped forward to welcome Lady Penelope Chadwicke and her outrageously expensive slippers.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Makepeace!” Lady Penelope exclaimed. She wrinkled her nose as she let her skirts drop. “I do think you should do something to make the street cleaner. Perhaps you could see about having it repaved?”

“The home is only temporarily housed on this street, Penelope, dear,” Miss Greaves murmured. “Perhaps we should save large projects like repaving the street for the permanent residence.”

Winter shot Miss Greaves a grateful look. The lady smiled shyly back at him and he noticed that her eyes were a rather lovely dark gray.

“Oh, I suppose that’s the practical thing to do,” Lady Penelope said with a pout. “But I do think practical things are so boring, don’t you, Mr. Makepeace?”

Winter opened his mouth, a little bemused by this frivolity, but was saved from having to reply by the sound of hooves clattering on cobblestones.

A trio of mounted soldiers pulled their horses to a halt before the home. The lead soldier, riding a huge black horse nodded formally.

“Sir, ladies. Have I the honor of addressing Mr. Winter Makepeace?”

Winter felt everything within him still. He looked up into the man’s face. The officer wore the standard white wig like his men. Beneath, his pale blue eyes were sharp and intelligent. His face was long, with deep lines incised on either side of his mouth, giving the impression of a man who had been so hardened by life that he no longer made concessions for those less capable than himself.

“I am Winter Makepeace.”

The officer nodded. “Permit me then to introduce myself. I am Captain Jonathan Trevillion of the 4th Dragoons.”

“How do you do?” Winter said quietly. The ladies still stood by him, looking curiously up at the soldiers, but he made no move to introduce them to Captain Trevillion.

The other man noticed the omission with a tightening of his thin lips. “My men and I have orders to arrest any criminals we discover in St. Giles, with particular attention paid to the murderer called the Ghost of St. Giles.”

“Murderer?” Nell exclaimed. “But the Ghost has never been proved to murder anyone!”

Captain Trevillion turned his gimlet eyes on the maidservant. “He can defend himself in a court of law.”

Winter snorted under his breath. The Ghost might “defend” his innocence, but only if he could afford to pay the magistrate. The courts were notoriously corrupt in London.

“I expect your cooperation in this endeavor, Mr. Makepeace,” Captain Trevillion said coolly. “I shall be requesting the same from the other merchants and men of business in St. Giles, but as an educated man, I hope in particular to have your cooperation. Do I have it?”

“Naturally,” Winter said. He laid a restraining hand on Nell. The maidservant seemed about to make another protest. “We will do whatever we can to help the king’s men.”

“Good.” The captain nodded. “Whatever rumors you may hear will be of great help in hunting the Ghost of St. Giles and other miscreants. Indeed—”

“What a brave man,” came a husky feminine voice, “to declare he will hunt the Ghost of St. Giles.”

Winter stiffened even before he turned to see Lady Beckinhall. He’d been so intent on the confrontation with Captain Trevillion that he’d not been aware of her approach. The thought shocked him almost as much as the wash of quite inappropriate gladness that shot through him at the sight of her.

Lady Beckinhall wore a flaming red gown today, covered in silver embroidery. He felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. Her gown was at least as grand as Lady Penelope’s, perhaps more so, and it set off her rich mahogany hair exquisitely. Yet it wasn’t the expensiveness of her attire that perturbed him.

No. Disconcertingly, it was the woman herself.

Lady Beckinhall smiled quite blindingly and held out one slim hand to the man on the horse. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Captain.”

The soldier took her gloved hand and bowed over it. “Captain Trevillion at your service, ma’am.”

“Indeed?” Lady Beckinhall drawled. “How charming.”

A faint red stain tinged the captain’s craggy cheekbones, poor bastard. “If you say so, ma’am.”

“Oh, I do.” Lady Beckinhall glanced around at the people gathered before the home’s door. “To chase down a bloodthirsty murderer? Quite charming indeed.”

Lady Penelope gave a shriek at the word “bloodthirsty.” “Oh, my goodness! You told us the Ghost was harmless, Mr. Makepeace.”

Captain Trevillion’s stern eyes swung to Winter. “You have had some dealings with the Ghost of St. Giles, Mr. Makepeace?”

Winter shrugged. “Some. As I say, he never seemed particularly dangerous to me.”

“He has been accused of several bloody murders,” Captain Trevillion said.

Lady Penelope shrieked again.

Winter winced.

“But have no fear, darling,” Lady Beckinhall drawled, “Captain Trevillion is here to protect us, are you not, Captain?”