Scandalous Desires

Chapter Eighteen

Mick O’Connor lay on a bed of straw in Newgate Prison’s castle—the strongest cell in the prison—and contemplated his life.

The life that very well might end on the morn tomorrow.

After a month of prison he had an escape plan, of course, for he was a man who’d spent a lifetime planning. The castle was near break-proof, and a dozen of Captain Trevillion’s dragoons had been assigned to guard him. They were immune to bribes, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see visitors. Pepper had made several calls, helping Mick to set his affairs in order, and it’d been child’s play to smuggle out an escape plan to the rest of his men.

Mick had calculated that the best time to make an escape was just before the execution cart reached the gallows tomorrow morning. There would be crowds of people, families out for a holiday, hawkers selling meat pies and fruit, and of course scores of soldiers. But the soldiers would be hampered by the crowds. If his men made a commotion just as the cart neared Tyburn gallows, they would draw the attention of both the soldiers and the crowds. During the confusion a second group of his men might be able to rescue him.

It was a long shot escape plan, but it was his only chance. He’d gambled before on his life and won. Why not now, as well?

On the whole Mick had few, if any, regrets. He didn’t regret pirating, he didn’t regret the men he’d killed in his life, and he sure as bloody hell didn’t regret throwing vitriol into Charlie’s face and saving himself from a buggering at the age of thirteen.

There was one thing he did wish he could change, though. He regretted that he hadn’t found the proper words to make Silence stay with him. He should’ve lied, should’ve told her he’d give up the pirating, give up the palace, give up anything she damned well wanted if she’d only stay with him. Hell, maybe he should’ve really given up the pirating for her. He wanted only to sit at a table with her and feed her exotic foods that made her beautiful hazel eyes widen with wonder. And later he’d make her eyes widen in other ways. He’d caress her creamy skin and tell her—

Tell her what?

Jaysus. He’d tell her that he loved her. That she was the only woman save his poor mam that he’d truly loved.

Mick squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the laughter, the moaning, and the cries that were Newgate Prison. If he had it to do over again he would’ve chained her to his bed and made sweet love to Silence until she admitted that she couldn’t live without him.

Because God knew that he couldn’t live without her.

He’d stay with her always, perhaps even marry her, if she insisted. He chuckled to himself to think of Charming Mickey O’Connor domesticated. And if they someday had a babe—

His eyes suddenly snapped open on that thought.

He’d never considered—because he’d always thought she’d stay, damn it—that she might be with his child.

Jaysus! Mick jumped to his feet, pacing the length of his leg irons, barely six feet. If Silence were with child, she’d be frantic. He didn’t give a damn or not if his child were born a bastard, but she would be deeply ashamed. She’d be an outcast. Her family loved her, but they were very strict. Would they toss her into the street? Where would she find the funds to care for both Mary Darling and a new babe? Dear God.

“Thinkin’ on that noose?” the gaoler, a dirty little man who was puffed with pride that he was guarding the notorious Mickey O’Connor asked. Of course the real guarding was done by the dragoons, but that didn’t bother the gaoler. His ugly face appeared at the barred window on the cell door, fingering his own neck. “The last one we ’ung ’ad ’is neck stretched near a foot.”

Mick ignored the man, going to sit on the clean straw pallet he’d purchased at an exorbitant sum, his head in his hands. After a bit he no longer heard the gaoler’s voice, so the man must’ve grown weary of taunting a prisoner who wouldn’t respond.

But that didn’t matter to Mick. All that mattered was Silence and what he might’ve done to her.

Mick closed his eyes again and did something he hadn’t done since he was thirteen.

He prayed.

THE STREETS WERE still dark, the dawn only an hour away when Silence made her way to Newgate prison.

“This’s barmy,” Bert growled. “Sneakin’ about the streets in the dark. ’Imself will ’ave our ’eads.”

“Don’t think even ’Imself can ’ave us punished, where ’e’s now,” Harry said soberly.

“I need to see him, Bert,” Silence said. “Don’t you understand? I love him. I can’t just let him go to his—”

She cut herself off with a choked sob. No, not now. There would be time afterward to weep and wail. Now she had to be strong for Michael. She hadn’t seen him in over month. Winter and Temperance hadn’t wanted her to visit him in Newgate Prison during the trial. Only with his death sentence had they relented, admitting that it might be best for her to see him one last time.

Harry patted her shoulder awkwardly. “We do understand, ma’am. Like a fairy story it is, yer love for ’Imself. And we’ll make sure ye see ’im afore…”

Harry broke off and gulped.

The two guards might be stoic about it, but Silence had seen their faces on the day the news of Michael’s sentence had been announced. Harry’s big ugly face had sagged into permanent lines of sorrow, while Bert had surreptitiously swiped at his eyes when he thought no one was looking.

The men kept close to her as they neared the prison. Silence held the lantern so they might have their hands free should anything untoward happen.

Silence shivered and pulled her cloak more firmly about herself as Newgate Prison loomed suddenly in the dark, hulking and ominous. The ancient gate spanned the road, but next to it was the slightly newer prison. A guard with a light was dozing by the big double doors. He woke and glared at them as they approached.

“We’re ’ere to see Mickey O’Connor,” Harry said pleasantly.

“No one’s to see the pirate,” the guard snapped.

Harry tossed a coin at the man, which the guard caught easily.

The guard looked at the coin and sneered. “A shillin’?”

Bert bristled. “A shillin’s quite fair!”

The guard started to say something more, but Harry sighed and gave him another coin.

This time the guard smiled. “Ye’ll be gettin’ closer.”

“ ’Ighway robbery is what this is!” Bert exploded, advancing on the guard.

“All right! All right!” the guard said, backing a step. “I’ll let ye see ’im, but I’m makin’ a special deal jus’ for ye.”

Bert muttered something rather offensive about “deals” and the guard’s parentage, but fortunately the guard didn’t seem to hear. He opened the big door, leading them inside a gloomy corridor. It was still dark and so the inmates of this place were mostly asleep. But here and there could be heard the sounds of humanity: sighs, mumbles, snores, and coughs.

The guard led them through a courtyard with sleeping forms and up a series of steps. On the upper level were barred cells to one side of the corridor and a locked door at the end. The guard opened it to reveal a small anteroom and a dozen or more armed soldiers, standing or dozing in chairs.

The guard went to the cell door at the back of the room and scraped his huge key ring across the window bars, making them clang. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, peering, and shouted, “Oi! O’Connor! Ye got—”

An arm shot out from the dark cell and caught the guard by the throat. Michael stepped forward, still holding the guard, and looked at Silence.

His inky hair was down about his shoulders. He was in his shirtsleeves, despite the chill of the prison, the fine lace at neck and sleeves incongruent with the surroundings. Thick chains rattled when he moved for he had leg irons on both feet. But his cell was surprisingly clean and furnished with not only a pallet, but a chair and table with quills, ink, and papers on it as well. A small brazier glowed near the pallet. Michael looked, on the whole, as arrogant and strong as the first time she’d seen him sitting on his throne. Not even prison, it seemed, could daunt Michael O’Connor.

Something inside Silence rejoiced at his brutal power.

His black eyes glittered in the lantern light. “Bert, take this vermin and fetch the prison chaplain.”

He let go of the guard who fell back several steps, gasping. The soldiers had risen at the interruption and one approached. “What’s this then, Mickey?”

Michael shook his head. “Nothin’ that need bother ye, George. Seems I’ve visitors.”

George the soldier frowned heavily. “The captain won’t like that.”

“He’s not here to care, is he?” Michael asked him, but his eyes were on Silence. Absently he twisted off the moonstone ring from his finger and tossed it to the guard.

He was looking at her as if trying to memorize her every feature.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from sobbing at the thought. She must be strong.

“I prayed ye’d come,” Michael said low to her.

The soldier, apparently satisfied that Michael wasn’t trying to escape, pocketed the ring, and stepped back along with Harry.

Silence came closer. “Is there any way to get you out of here?” she whispered. “I could have Harry and Bert bring the rest of your men.”

He shook his head a faint smile on his lips. “No one escapes from this part o’ Newgate Prison, darlin’. Besides, they fear me so much that they’ve brought in dragoons to guard me. A rescue try would only lead to me men dyin’ without me gettin’ free.”

“Dear Lord.” Silence stared at him, not knowing what to say.

“I’ve had a bit o’ time to think in here, love, and I wonder if ye might do me a very great favor,” Michael said softly.

“You know I will.” Silence searched his dear face.

His wide mouth quirked. “There ye go, agreein’ to things without knowin’ what they might be.”

She sighed and touched his shoulder with a trembling hand. “I’d do anything for you, Michael, you know that.”

“Except stay with me?” He tried to step toward her, but the leg irons brought him up short.

She shook her head, a tear slipping past her lashes. All her arguments and fears meant nothing now. “That… that was different. If you had only—”

He laid a warm finger against her lips. “Never mind. I’m sorry I spoke o’ it. I didn’t mean to aggrieve ye.”

She looked at him, mutely, her eyes swimming with tears despite her best efforts.

“Come here,” he whispered and pulled her into his warm arms. He leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry, so sorry, I made a mess o’ things at Windward House. I should’ve known ye and the babe were all I need—all I’ll ever need. The money, the piratin’ they were jus’ shields I was holdin’ on to, fearful-like. ’Twasn’t me best decision, love.”

“Oh, Michael.” She closed her eyes, willing the tears back, for his honest admission made her love him even more. If only this wasn’t their last moment together. If only they had weeks and years to discover everything about each other…

“But I’ve somethin’ important to say to ye now,” Michael rumbled softly. “What I meant to say when ye came in was that the very great favor I’d like o’ ye is for ye to marry me.”

She pulled back and stared at him in shock. “Is that why you sent for the prison chaplain?”

“Aye.” He smiled, dimples slashing into his olive cheeks. “He’ll do most anythin’ if the money’s right. Not what I’d like for ye, love, but beggars can’t be choosers. Will ye marry me, Silence Hollingbrook?”

It was silly but her heart leaped at his words, even here. She didn’t even hesitate to think. “Yes, oh, yes, I’ll marry you, Michael.”

He grinned and kissed her fast and hard just as Bert came back with the guard. An elderly man with a shock of white hair and a bleary expression from having been woken up accompanied them.

The chaplain turned out to have a lovely, resonant voice. Silence stood in a dazed and delighted fog and in a few minutes found herself married to Michael.

“Here,” Michael said, taking his ruby and gold ring off his little finger and putting it on her thumb. “That’s to remember me by.”

She stared down at the worn gold and the rich beauty of the dark red ruby. It was his first ring, she remembered, touched by his gesture. The ring was a little big, so she wrapped a piece of thread about it to hold it on her thumb. She had to blink hard then because it all seemed like both a dream and a nightmare. They were married—and he’d be hung by the neck in only a few hours.

Michael beckoned George over and had a whispered consultation with him at the end of which he gave the rest of his rings to the soldier.

“Only for an hour, mind,” George said.

Michael held out his hand to Silence. “Spend a little time with me, Mrs. O’Connor.”

She went into his arms gladly, and the cell door was locked behind her.

She sighed, laying her head on his warm chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart. He stroked his hand through her hair, his touch gentle, but she felt the tremble in his fingers. Suddenly it was too much, the sentence, the marriage, all the years after tomorrow without him.

“Oh, Michael.” She closed her eyes, despair overwhelming her. “I… I don’t know if I can live if you—”

“Aye.” His voice was firm, commanding. He took her face between his big palms and looked into her eyes. His black eyes were fierce even in the dim light. “Aye, ye can live. For me, for Mary Darlin’, for yerself. Promise me that, love. Promise me, ye’ll live, and ye’ll thrive, no matter what comes tomorrow.”

She swallowed. She couldn’t be weak when he needed her strong. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

“That’s me girl.” He brushed his lips over her forehead, breathing the words. “That’s me love.”

The tears overflowed, coursing down her cheeks. “I love you, Michael.”

He laid his cheek against hers. “I’ve written out a will for Pepper, me man o’ business.”

She tried to protest, but he pulled back to look her in the eye. His face was grave. “Hush, now, love, ye must listen to me words. I’ve left instructions for Pepper to manage yer money for ye. I think it best ye and Mary go to live at Windward House. It’s quiet there and secret. Me servants and Harry and Bert can take care of ye. I’m hopin’ that the Vicar might see it in himself to be satisfied once I’ve gone, but we can’t take that chance. I’ve made arrangements for me men to guard ye until Charlie Grady is dead. And that, too, I’ve arranged for.”

Silence stared at him, stunned. He’d planned it all, made sure she and Mary Darling would be well taken care of after his death. He hadn’t said he loved her, but his actions spoke much louder than any words could.

“Silence?” he asked. “Do me plans meet with yer approval?”

“Yes,” she gulped. “Yes, of course.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “I want ye to be happy, me love. Ye and Mary Darlin’.”

She choked then, unable to speak. What words were beautiful enough, sublime enough to convey all her heart wanted to express in this moment? They simply didn’t exist.

His eyes were sad as he watched her as if he knew somehow what she was thinking. “Come lie with me, m’love.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close.

But when Michael began to tug her toward the back of the cell and a pallet, she clutched at his shirt. “What if they look? The soldiers?”

He shook his head. “I paid them well not to peek. Bert and Harry will make sure o’ it.”

Silence glanced over her shoulder and saw that all the men outside had moved away from the barred window in the door. The only light in the cell came from the little window, leaving the back wall—and a pallet against it—in near darkness.

She looked back at Michael, peering in the gloom.

His voice was deep as he squeezed her hand. “Come and be me wife.”

He was her husband now.

Despite the sorrow of this place, despite what would happen all too soon, that small fact lit a spark of joy within Silence. She was married to Michael O’Connor.

She was married to the man she loved.

And since time was short, she lifted up on tiptoes and drew his face down to kiss him.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips. “I love your voice and your Irish burr. I love the way you look at me just before you say something outrageous. I love the way you hold Mary Darling so tenderly. And I love that you wanted to make me your wife. I love you, Michael O’Connor, I love you.”

The words made him tighten his hands on her waist and pull her closer. “Silence, me love. When I knew ye’d left me it felt as if a chunk o’ me heart had been torn from me body. Only yer presence here can stop the bleedin’.”

His mouth opened over hers and he took control of the kiss, biting at her lips, impatient and savage. She was aware that a dozen men stood only yards away, but she shoved the thought from her mind. She wouldn’t let modesty keep her from showing her husband how much she loved him.

How much she would always love him.

So she took her mouth from his and skimmed it over his strong neck, tasting the salt of his skin. His hands rose to her shoulders, but he made no move to stop her. She tongued the V of his chest, revealed by his shirt, and as she did so she slid her hands to the front of his breeches where his erection was trapped. Feeling, learning in the dark she began unbuttoning his fall.

“Silence?” he whispered.

“Shh,” she admonished as he had once done to her. “You mustn’t say a thing.”

And then she dropped to her knees.

She heard the harsh intake of his breath. He stood very still as she finished unbuttoning him and pulled his breeches and smallclothes open. She leaned forward, blind in the darkness, but she could scent his male musk. Her hands found his cock, stiff and ready, and so beautiful that she wished she could see it. She didn’t have time for modesty or shyness. For slow learning. This would be the last time—

But no, she would not think about that. Instead, she explored the man before her. She slid the fingers of her left hand down his shaft, memorizing each veined ridge until she reached the spot where his penis met his body. His sack was drawn up tight under his cock and she fondled it gently, feeling the stones within.

He made a muffled sound above her and she thought that perhaps he liked to be touched there. Or perhaps it was what she did with her right hand. She was squeezing gently on his thick shaft. In any case, she certainly wasn’t done. If this were to be their—

No, don’t think about it.

She swayed forward and licked the head of his cock.

Michael went absolutely still.

His hands dropped to her hair and for a moment rested there as if stunned. Then she opened her mouth and took him inside. When she began sucking gently, his hands clenched. He tugged her hair as if to pull her away from himself. But since he was only tugging carefully, she stayed just where she was. She drew back and licked around the head of his cock. Without sight her other senses were heightened. She could taste him—man and musk—and beneath her tongue his skin felt warm and soft and pliable.

She kissed him and then thought to scrape her teeth gently over the tip of his penis. It jumped and he hissed softly. She smiled and took him into her mouth again. There was something terribly enticing about having such a strong man at her mercy. She was in a position of servitude, but she didn’t feel servile. She felt very feminine, very sensuous as she stroked around the flange of his cock with her tongue. His hands had stopped pulling on her hair. Instead he gripped her as if unsure whether to push her away—or pull her closer.

She let go of his cock head to lick leisurely along the underside of his shaft and something seemed to snap in him. He bent and picked her up by the waist. He pivoted, his chains scraping and clinking, and placed her flat on the pallet, following her down to lie on top of her. She gasped and then felt cool air on her thighs. His hands were under her skirts, caressing her thighs, trailing up until he touched her wet center. He stroked her there once and then his hand was replaced with his cock.

Someone coughed and she was suddenly aware that only a door separated them from a roomful of soldiers. He swirled the head of his cock in her moisture even as she had the thought.

She bit her lip and he began to push his way into her. It had only been a matter of a month, but she seemed to have forgotten how large he was. She held her breath as he shoved again. The sensation was so lovely, so perfect, that she was afraid she’d make some betraying sound.

He paused, half in her, and adjusted her position, burrowing his arms under her legs, prying them wider.

He withdrew a tiny bit and then very deliberately pushed again with constant, relentless pressure. He breached the muscles at the entrance to her sheath and, suddenly, he was all the way inside. She felt his breath against her cheek. Felt as his chest expanded as he inhaled. She wanted this moment to stop so she could live it forever. Here, now, there was only the two of them, occupying a wonderful island apart from the rest of the world.

Then he was withdrawing, slowly, steadily. Without a sound.

She gripped his shoulders and his mouth came down on hers. His tongue swept in and he kissed her so gently she wanted to cry. How would she live without him? Without ever again feeling this intense closeness to another human being?

She’d found paradise only to lose it.

Well, then she’d enjoy it while she could. She wrapped her arms around him, wishing they could both be nude, but glad of what contact they had. She tasted salt tears, seeping into both their mouths, and wondered if they were hers or his. Had she brought the great Michael O’Connor to tears? She bit down gently on his tongue, suckling it, holding it within herself. Perhaps if she held him hard enough he would stay with her forever.

Perhaps with this act they created eternity.

She could feel his shoulders bunch as he controlled himself, each thrust exquisitely slow and even. It was as if she’d been primed just for him. Only for him. Each inch of his hard flesh burrowing into hers, each drag against her folds as he withdrew oh, so slowly, built a fire within her, burning, burning, ever hotter.

But more, he was forging a bond between them, an unbreakable iron chain that would link them together forever. This was their true marriage ceremony, more solemn, more holy than the words said over them by an old man.

She held him and breathed with him and waited for the flames to climb higher, to burn white hot. And when he reached between them and thumbed her little nub they did. They flared together. She arched into him as her core melted. The flames seemed to sear her with ecstasy, bonding them together as if they were fired within a crucible. He thrust hard, burying himself and at the same time he covered her mouth and inhaled her moan and his own.

And as her crisis took her, she saw a rainbow form from the ashes of their combined heat. A rainbow so fragile, so fine that she thought it must be real. That their lovemaking had shattered the prisons of mortal men and that they were free.

Together and free.

But all things must end eventually and so, too, did the rainbow. Silence opened her eyes, her husband still atop her, his beloved weight heavy and comforting in the dim cell.

The dawn was coming soon.