“You look cheerful this afternoon, sister.” Winter came in the kitchen and set down his bundle of books.
“Do I?” Silence was aware that Winter had been keeping a close eye on her since William’s death.
“Yes.” Winter made a sudden horrible face at Mary, which sent the baby into gales of laughter. “I think that cap becomes you.”
Silence smiled a little sadly. It wasn’t the cap, she knew. It was little Mary Darling. One couldn’t let oneself wallow in grief with an active baby to care for. And perhaps that was for the best. She stroked a finger over Mary’s downy cheek. Life had to go on, after all.
“Is it stew again?” Winter peered into the pot on the hearth.
“Beef and cabbage,” Silence replied.
“Good.” Winter never seemed to notice what was set before him, but like all men, he had a deep appreciation for tasty food. “I’ll just go and wash before luncheon.”
“Hurry,” she called after his retreating back. “I’ve still got to put Mary down for a nap.”
He waved over his shoulder to indicate he’d heard her.
“Let’s just hope Uncle Winter doesn’t start reading a book up there,” she confided to Mary.
The baby chortled and knocked over a tin cup.
“Mrs. Hollingbrook!” Joseph Tinbox, one of the home’s older boys, ran into the kitchen. “Look what I’ve found on the step.”
He held out a small wooden box.
Silence stared at the offering like it was an adder. Their step had been mercifully free from any gifts since the morning of the riots, and she’d been hoping that perhaps the giver had forgotten them.
“Shall I open it?” Joseph asked eagerly.
“No,” Silence said a little too sharply. She inhaled. “Shouldn’t you be at your afternoon lessons?”
“Aw!”
She lifted a brow. “Now, Joseph.”
Joseph wrinkled his nose but slumped off obediently to his lessons.
Silence picked up the box with trembling fingers. She prized open the lid and stared inside. A lock of hair lay there, tied with a scarlet ribbon. She picked it up between thumb and forefinger, but no note was hidden underneath.
“Whose do you suppose it is?” she whispered to the baby.
It was a black lock, the hair so dark it shone blue-black. In fact, it was very like Mary Darling’s own hair. Now that her curls had grown in thickly, they’d revealed themselves as inky black. Silence held the lock to the baby’s head experimentally as Mary bent over her tin cups.
The hair was a perfect match.
But the lock didn’t come from Mary Darling’s head. Silence would know if someone had cut it, and besides, Mary’s hair was still too short. No, the lock of hair was long and curling, and really rather beautiful. A woman with hair like this—
Silence suddenly dropped the lock in shock.
Or a man. She knew of one man who had long, curling, inky-black hair. She gazed in horror at the baby playing before her. The baby she’d nursed and played with and sung to like she was her very own for the last seven months. The baby she’d given her heart to.
Mary’s hair matched Charming Mickey’s hair exactly.
Impoverished, lovely, and kind, Silence
Hollingbrook once desperately needed help… and trusted the wrong man.
The notorious pirate Mickey
O’Connor sees people as mere pawns to be manipulated, until a secret from his past drives him toward Silence—
the woman he betrayed.
Please turn this page
for a preview of
Scandalous Desires
AVAILABLE IN MASS MARKET IN
NOVEMBER 2011.
Chapter One
LONDON, ENGLAND
JANUARY, 1738
Wolves, as Silence Hollingbrook well knew, are savage beasts, little given to pity or honor. If one must face a wolf cleverly disguised in human form, it did no good to show fear. Rather, one must throw one’s shoulders back, lift one’s chin, and stare the damned beast down.
That was what Silence told herself in any case as she eyed Mickey O’Connor, the most notorious river pirate in London. As she watched Mr. O’Connor, he did something far more alarming than any real wolf.
He smiled at her.
Silence swallowed.
Mickey O’Connor lounged like the pirate king he was on a throne of gold and red velvet at one end of a lavishly corrupt room. The walls were lined with sheets of gold, the floor was a fabulous mosaic of different-colored marble, and around her, piled high, were the spoils of thieving: trunks overflowing with furs and silks, crates of tea and spices, and treasures from every corner of the globe, all of it stolen from the ships that came into London’s docks.
And Silence stood before him like a petitioner. Once again.