clean as me.”
Silence started to giggle before Lad shook again. The dog was grinning, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and trying to run around the kitchen—except he kept skidding on the puddles of water, his rear end sliding to the side.
“Oh, dear, the floor is rather a mess,” Silence murmured. She crouched, trying to wipe up the lake with some of the cloths.
“What,” came a deep male voice, “is this?”
Silence froze, her hand still outstretched, clutching a damp, dirty cloth.
Oh, dear Lord.
Slowly she raised her eyes and found herself face-to-thighs with Mickey O’Connor’s extremely tight breeches.
“Ah…,” she started, with absolutely no idea of what she was about to say.
At the same time, Harry cleared his throat. “See, I jus’ thought the dog—”
“Enough,” Mickey O’Connor interrupted Harry in that same much too calm voice. “Take the babe, Fionnula, and put her to bed. Everyone else, out o’ me kitchen.”
Silence started to stand.
“Ah, ah,” Mr. O’Connor said. “Not ye, Mrs. Hollingbrook.”
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.”
“Aye?” Mr. O’Connor glanced at the dog. Lad looked back, obliviously adoring, his tongue hanging from his mouth. “Poor, sad beast. He’s lost his bollocks and don’t even know it.”
Silence blinked. She’d braced herself for shouting and anger, but so far Mickey O’Connor hadn’t shown either.
She watched as he spooned tea leaves into the teapot and crossed to the fireplace to fill the pot with hot water.
“D’ye take sugar?”
“Yes, please,” she answered.
He nodded and placed the teapot and teacup on the table before fetching a little bowl of sugar.
Silence looked at the lone teacup. “Aren’t you having any?”
Mickey O’Connor snorted. “I’d be drummed from the pirate’s guild if’n I were seen takin’ tea.”
Her lips twitched at the thought. “Then why make it for me?”
He looked at her, his eyes black and a little tired. For the first time she wondered how his “business” had gone that night. “I thought ye’d like it, Mrs. Hollingbrook. After all, ye must be near starved after two days with only the food Fionnula and the others could smuggle ye.”
Silence bit her lip. “I asked her to stop today.”
He cocked his head curiously. “Did ye now?”
Silence sat and poured herself a cup, adding a spoonful of sugar. She
did
like tea. When she sipped, the tea was quite good. She glanced up to find him propped against the kitchen cabinets watching her with a brooding air.
“Thank you,” she said. “How did you learn to make a good cup of tea when you don’t drink it yourself?”
His mouth tightened and he looked down at his boots.For a moment she thought he wouldn’t reply. Then he sighed. “Me mam was fond o’ tea when we could get it. I’d make it for her.”
His words were terse, but the picture he drew was sentimental. What a lovely boy he must’ve been to be so thoughtful of his mother. Silence frowned. She didn’t like thinking of him like this—as a vulnerable child, a loving son. It was
Silence started to giggle before Lad shook again. The dog was grinning, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and trying to run around the kitchen—except he kept skidding on the puddles of water, his rear end sliding to the side.
“Oh, dear, the floor is rather a mess,” Silence murmured. She crouched, trying to wipe up the lake with some of the cloths.
“What,” came a deep male voice, “is this?”
Silence froze, her hand still outstretched, clutching a damp, dirty cloth.
Oh, dear Lord.
Slowly she raised her eyes and found herself face-to-thighs with Mickey O’Connor’s extremely tight breeches.
“Ah…,” she started, with absolutely no idea of what she was about to say.
At the same time, Harry cleared his throat. “See, I jus’ thought the dog—”
“Enough,” Mickey O’Connor interrupted Harry in that same much too calm voice. “Take the babe, Fionnula, and put her to bed. Everyone else, out o’ me kitchen.”
Silence started to stand.
“Ah, ah,” Mr. O’Connor said. “Not ye, Mrs. Hollingbrook.”
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.”
“Aye?” Mr. O’Connor glanced at the dog. Lad looked back, obliviously adoring, his tongue hanging from his mouth. “Poor, sad beast. He’s lost his bollocks and don’t even know it.”
Silence blinked. She’d braced herself for shouting and anger, but so far Mickey O’Connor hadn’t shown either.
She watched as he spooned tea leaves into the teapot and crossed to the fireplace to fill the pot with hot water.
“D’ye take sugar?”
“Yes, please,” she answered.
He nodded and placed the teapot and teacup on the table before fetching a little bowl of sugar.
Silence looked at the lone teacup. “Aren’t you having any?”
Mickey O’Connor snorted. “I’d be drummed from the pirate’s guild if’n I were seen takin’ tea.”
Her lips twitched at the thought. “Then why make it for me?”
He looked at her, his eyes black and a little tired. For the first time she wondered how his “business” had gone that night. “I thought ye’d like it, Mrs. Hollingbrook. After all, ye must be near starved after two days with only the food Fionnula and the others could smuggle ye.”
Silence bit her lip. “I asked her to stop today.”
He cocked his head curiously. “Did ye now?”
Silence sat and poured herself a cup, adding a spoonful of sugar. She
did
like tea. When she sipped, the tea was quite good. She glanced up to find him propped against the kitchen cabinets watching her with a brooding air.
“Thank you,” she said. “How did you learn to make a good cup of tea when you don’t drink it yourself?”
His mouth tightened and he looked down at his boots.For a moment she thought he wouldn’t reply. Then he sighed. “Me mam was fond o’ tea when we could get it. I’d make it for her.”
His words were terse, but the picture he drew was sentimental. What a lovely boy he must’ve been to be so thoughtful of his mother. Silence frowned. She didn’t like thinking of him like this—as a vulnerable child, a loving son. It was
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