She’d said the words so many times, the syllables were worn into her soul. She didn’t even have to think what they meant anymore. But were they still true? She shook her head in confusion. She didn’t want to be having this conversation with anyone, let alone Michael.
But his deep voice was relentless. “And without this true love ye’ll let yerself wither away, is that it, darlin’?”
“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.”
Her heart was beating so fast that she was breathless. She could feel each exhale he made on her palm.
“He has no grave,” she whispered inanely. “He died at sea and his body lies there beneath the waves.”
“I know, love,” he said tenderly. “I know.”
Then the tears overflowed her eyes, there in the sunlight in the little courtyard. Silence squeaked, embarrassed and helpless, and felt him pull her against his chest.
“There, there, sweetin’,” he murmured into her hair.
“He loved me, he truly did,” she gasped.
“I know he did,” Michael said.
“And I loved him.”
“Mm-hmm.”
She raised her head, glaring angrily. “You don’t even believe in love. Why are you agreeing with me?”
He laughed.
“Because”—he leaned down and licked at the tears on her cheeks, his lips brushing softly against her sensitive skin as he spoke, “ye’ve bewitched and bespelled me, my sweet Silence, didn’t ye know? I’ll agree that the sky is pink, that the moon is made o’ marzipan and sugared raisins, and that mermaids swim the muddy waters o’ the Thames, if ye’ll only stop weepin’. Me chest breaks apart and gapes wide open when I see tears in yer pretty eyes. Me lungs, me liver, and me heart cannot stand to be thus exposed.”
She stopped breathing. She simply inhaled and stopped, looking at him in wonder. His lips were quirked in a mocking smile, but his eyes—his fathomless black eyes—seemed to hold a great pain as if his strong chest really had been split open.
HER EYES STILL swam with tears, blue-green and woebegone. Why the sight should pain him so Mick didn’t know. He’d seen men gutted and killed, watched starving women prostitute themselves, seen beggar children lay down in the gutter and die. He’d fought with tooth and nail to reach the place where he was now—where he didn’t worry over food or a roof over his head. He’d killed men and never thought about their faces again.
Yet the sight of Silence in tears nearly unmanned him.
He glanced away from her face uneasily. That way lies pain. “Come. I’ve somethin’ to show ye.”
He took her hand and led her toward the kitchen door.
“But Mary—” she protested.
He tilted his chin to where the toddler giggled as she pulled at Lad’s ears. “She’ll be fine with Bert and Harry to watch over her. We’ll be only a moment.”
She trailed after him, casting worried looks at the baby until they were inside. “Where are we going?”
“To me throne room.” He led her through back passages and stairs until they reached the echoing hall that he received visitors in.
Bob, guarding the door, looked curious as Mick approached with Silence, but the guard merely nodded.
“See that we’re not disturbed.” Mick drew open the heavy wooden doors.
Inside he strode quickly to a chest he’d had set beside his throne. He threw open the lid and drew out a shimmering blue silk gown.
“What is it?” Silence asked as if she’d never seen such a dress.
He rolled his eyes. “It’s a dress. For ye.”
She backed a step, looking mulish. “I can’t wear that.”
Ah, now he had to be careful. He held up the dress, letting the light play on the gorgeous fabric. “Ye told me ye were bored. Wouldn’t ye like to get away from me palace?”
“Yes, but—”
“But,” he interrupted, “if ye wish to go out wi’ me, ye must wear this. The dress yer wearin’ now won’t do.”
She bit her lip, eyeing the iridescent blue silk.
“It was given to me,” he lied, “by a sea captain wantin’ me to do him a favor. I haven’t a use for it m’self.”
He held the dress against his chest, drawing a reluctant smile from her. In fact, like a besotted lover, he’d spent half a day searching for a ready-made gown especially for her. That information, however, was unlikely to make her want to take the gown. He knew instinctively that accepting such a costly gift—such an elegant gift—from him would outrage her puritanical morals.
“Or would ye rather be spendin’ another evenin’ by the fire in yer rooms?” he asked casually. His fingers trailed over the shining skirts.
Her eyes darted to his face. He could see she was wavering. “Where do you intend to take me?”
He shook his head. “It’s to be a surprise.”
Her brows knit and her lips parted as if to protest.
“But it’s respectable,” he hastily added. “I promise.”