“What,” Mick said softly, “is Lad doin’ in me bed?”Hearing his name, Lad opened small, piggish, upside-down eyes, gazing with idiotic adoration as his whip-thin tail thumped the covers.“Ah.” Harry scratched behind one ear. “Well, see, ’e was lookin’ so forlorn, like, out in the courtyard by ’imself. Seemed an awful shame to leave ’im there all alone.”“Off!” Mick roared at the dog.Lad’s transformation was instantaneous. His tiny triangle ears folded back, his eyes narrowed worriedly, and he rolled so that he could crawl toward the edge of the bed on his belly.“Is that mud on his paws?” Mick asked in outrage.Harry glanced at the dog. “I do believe it is,” he said as if making a discovery.“Christ!” Mick watched disgustedly as Lad made the edge of the bed and slithered off, thumping to the floor. The dog seemed to think that his apology was done—or perhaps he’d already forgotten that Mick was mad at him—for he gamboled over as frisky as a lamb.“He’s not even me dog,” Mick muttered.Lad sat, one back leg sprawled out to the side, tongue hanging from his mouth, and grinned up at him. He completely ignored Harry, his supposed master.“The dog ’as a wonderful affection for ye,” Harry said brightly.”

“Women were something best bought, he’d found. Pay them, f*ck them, and send them away in the morning. That way avoided tears, recriminations, and feminine disappointment. Oh, and small things like being slapped across the face. Mick rubbed his jaw. But Silence wasn’t one of his whores, as Harry had pointed out. Mick couldn’t send her away. And he couldn’t let her starve herself—he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her, including herself.”

“She swallowed, watching as the servants and Harry and Bert trooped out of the room. Lad, apparently not the brightest dog in the world, sat down next to Mickey O’Connor and leaned against his leg.Mr. O’Connor looked at the dog, looked at the damp spot growing on his breeches where the dog was leaning, and sighed. “I find me life is not as quiet as it used to be afore ye came to me palace, Mrs. Hollingbrook.”Silence lifted her chin. “You’re a pirate, Mr. O’Connor. I cannot believe your life was ever very quiet.”He gave her an ironic look. “Aye, amazin’, isn’t it? Yet since yer arrival me servants no longer obey me and I return home to find me kitchen flooded.” He crossed to a cupboard and took down a china teapot, a tin of tea, and a teacup. “And me dog smells like a whorehouse.”Silence glanced guiltily at Lad. “The only soap we could find was rose scented.”

“She smiled as she poured tea into his cup. “I hope you find your rooms comfortable?”“Quite.” He took a too-hasty sip of tea and scalded his tongue.“The view is to your liking?”He had a view of a brick wall. “Indeed.”She fluttered her eyelashes at him over the rim of her teacup. “And the bed. Is it soft and… yielding?”He nearly choked on the bite of cake he’d just taken.“Or do you prefer a firmer bed?” she asked sweetly. “One that refuses to yield too soon?”“I think”—he narrowed his eyes at her—“whatever mattress I have on the bed you gave me is perfect. But tell me, my lady, what sort of mattress do you prefer? All soft goose down or one that’s a bit… harder?”It was very fast, but he saw it: Her gaze flashed down to the juncture of his thighs and then up again. If there hadn’t been anything to see there before, there certainly was now.“Oh, I like a nice stiff mattress,” she purred. “Well warmed and ready for a long ride.”

“I must be getting back to my rooms,” Silence said and stood.Mick frowned with displeasure. “Why?”“Because of Mary Darling.”He shrugged. “One o’ the maids is watchin’ her.”“But if Mary wakes she’ll want me.”“Why?” he asked again, biting into a sweetmeat. This discussion wasn’t to his fancy, but sparring with her was.“Because,” she said slowly, looking at him as if he were lack-witted, “she’s only a baby and she loves me.”“Babies,” Mick pronounced, “are a great trouble.”She shook her head, not bothering to reply this time, and started marching to the door.”

“As I said, I don’t expect you to understand—”“And I don’t,” he cut in. “Ye ask how I can live a life that I know will end with the hangman’s noose. Well, at least I am alive. Ye might as well have climbed inside yer husband’s coffin and let yerself be buried with his corpse.”Her hand flashed out before she’d thought about it, the smack against his cheek loud in the little courtyard.Silence had her eyes locked with Michael’s, her chest rising and falling swiftly, but she was aware that Bert and Harry had looked up. Even Mary and Lad had paused in their play.Without taking his gaze from hers, Michael reached out and grasped her hand. He raised her hand to his lips and softly kissed the center of her palm.He looked at her, her hand still at his lips. “Don’t take to yer grave afore yer time, Silence, m’love.”

“He watched her retreat, his eyes lazy, and his body unmoving. A trickle of blood seeped slowly from the corner of his mouth. He let her get nearly out of the room before he spoke, “I may not have the right, Silence, me love,” he drawled so soft she nearly didn’t catch the words. “But I would’ve listened to ye. I would’ve believed ye.”