Wicked Intentions 1 by Elizabeth Hoyt Page A

of the work. But because Meg was so very insignificant, the other inhabitants of the castle never noticed her at her work. Thus she’d overheard more than a few conversations.
So when the king from his balcony above proclaimed how beloved he was, Meg couldn’t help but giggle. She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, but by then it was far too late….
—from King Lockedheart
    Silence opened her eyes two mornings later and was greeted by the most wonderful sight in the world: the dear face of her husband, William. He was asleep, his full lips slightly parted, his brilliant green eyes closed. Fine whitelines radiated from the corners of his eyes, in contrast to the sunburned skin of his face. His nightcap sat slightly ajar over his freshly shaven head. A light dusting of reddish stubble on his jaw glinted in the morning sunlight. Red curls shot with gray peeked at the top of his white nightshirt in delicious contrast to the strong column of his throat. She clenched internally at the sight. She wished she could push aside the nightshirt collar, kiss the base of his neck, and perhaps trail her tongue over his lovely, clean skin.
    She blushed at the wanton thought. William preferred their bedsport at night after the candles had been put out, and he was quite right. Only a lustful creature would want to make love in the light of day on the morning after she’d been so thoroughly satisfied by her husband’s enthusiastic efforts the night before.
    So she rose, careful to not wake William. She refreshed herself with the pitcher of water on a chest of drawers and dressed quickly before quietly moving into the next room.
    The rooms that William had found for them were not very big, but they were quite nicely appointed. Besides the tiny bedroom, they had a sitting room with a hearth on which Silence could cook. In the two years that she and William had been married, she’d made their rooms cozy with small touches: a china shepherdess holding a pink lamb on the mantel, a lidded jar in the shape of an artichoke beside it—Silence liked to hide pennies in there—and curtains on the one window, scrimped and saved for and sewn herself. True, the curtains were a bit lopsided and didn’t altogether close in the middle, but they were a lovely shade of peachy orange that always made her feel like sitting down to tea.
    It was a nice home and she was proud of it.
    Humming to herself, Silence built the fire up again andset a kettle of water on to make tea. By the time William emerged, yawning, from the bedroom, she had their little table laid out with hot tea and warmed buns and butter.
    “Good morning,” William said, sitting at the table.
    “Good morning to you, my husband.” Silence placed a kiss on one bristly cheek before pouring him a cup of tea. “Did you sleep well?”
    “Indeed I did,” he replied as he broke apart one of the buns. They were only a little burned, and she had scraped off the worst bits. “Amazing how much more pleasant it is to sleep on a bed that isn’t rocking.”
    His grin was quick and flashed white teeth, and he looked so handsome it made her breath catch.
    Silence looked down at her own bun, realizing she was squashing it between her fingers. She hastily set it on her plate. “What will you do today?”
    “I have to oversee the unloading of the Finch. We’ll lose half our cargo to mudlarks if I don’t.”
    “Oh. Oh, of course.” Silence took a sip of her tea, trying to hide her disappointment. She’d hoped that he could spend the day with her after so many months at sea, but that was a silly wish. William was the captain of a merchant ship, an important man. Naturally his responsibilities to his ship should come first.
    Still, she couldn’t completely tamp down a twinge of disappointment.
    He must’ve seen it. William caught her hand in a rare show of open tenderness. “I should have started unloading last night. Had I not such a beautiful young wife, I would have too.”
    She could