“The library, then. That’s below us.” Silence looked worriedly at Fionnula. “But I don’t want to get you into trouble. Perhaps I ought to tie you up? We can say I’ve overpowered you.”

Fionnula rolled her eyes. “As if anyone would believe that.”

Behind them came a noise like an enraged bull. “Oi!” Bert had discovered her absence.

Silence couldn’t restrain a start, but at least she didn’t break stride.

Mary bounced in her arms, looking over Silence’s shoulder. “ ’Ert!”

They reached the stairwell just as Bert caught up with them.

“Now see ’ere,” the guard panted. “Where d’ye think yer goin’?”

“To the library,” Silence said airily as she started down the stairs.

Bert scoffed. “Right next to ’Imself’s plannin’ room, that is. Ye’ll not get two steps past the stairwell.”

The news made Silence’s pulse race. She was already at the landing, but she didn’t stop, sailing through the doorway and into the lower corridor. Charming Mickey O’Connor might discover her disobedience—she was counting on it, in fact—but that wouldn’t detain her. It was important that she assert her rights, her will to not be treated like some pawn at the beck and call to Mickey O’Connor’s whims. In fact—

Hard hands caught her waist and Silence couldn’t help a squeak of surprise and alarm. She was lifted quite off her feet with Mary Darling still clutched to her breast.

“What is Mrs. Hollingbrook doin’ out o’ her rooms?” Mickey O’Connor’s voice rumbled behind her, far too calmly.

Silence craned her neck and saw that the pirate held her at arm’s length, his face quite expressionless. She gulped and faced forward again, only to see Fionnula frozen while Bert opened and closed his mouth like a landed fish.

“Don’t blame Bert or Fionnula,” Silence blurted out. “This is my fault—”

“I never thought otherwise,” Mr. O’Connor snapped. “Take the babe.”

Fionnula darted forward, eyes wide and before Silence could protest Mary was in the maidservant’s arms.

Silence frowned. “Now see here—”

“Not a word,” the pirate whispered, and somehow his lowered voice was even more frightening than a shout.

He swung her and suddenly Silence found herself on her stomach over Mickey O’Connor’s shoulder—a most ignominious position—one broad hand clamped firmly over her bottom to hold her in place.

“Put me down,” she said with as much dignity as possible, considering that all the blood was rushing to her head.

He didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he simply turned and strode down the hall.

“Mr. O’Connor!” Silence found she had no choice but to brace her hands on his hips if she didn’t want her nose to bounce off his extremely firm rear end.

He didn’t reply as he mounted the stairs—seemingly without effort despite steadying her weight with only one arm—but Silence thought she might have heard him muttering to himself under his breath.

Or possibly cursing.

She gulped. She’d defied him outright this time—and humiliated him in front of his man and Fionnula to boot. There was a very real possibility that his ire might take a physical form. But she’d made up her mind not to bend to his will and she’d stick to her guns—no matter the cost.

So it was with a feeling of both defiance and trepidation that Silence found herself tossed on the bed minutes later. She bounced on the soft mattress, struggling to push her hair out of her hot face. She must present a firm but calm countenance to the pirate.

Still she couldn’t help gulping when at last she looked up.

Mickey O’Connor loomed over her, arms crossed, feet braced wide apart. “What in the name o’ all that’s holy did ye think ye were doin’?”

She tilted her chin. “Going for a walk.”

He bent, thrusting his handsome face into hers. “When I gave ye orders to stay in yer rooms?”

“Yes.” She licked her bottom lip.

For a moment his gaze dropped to her mouth before snapping back up to meet her eyes. “No one disobeys me in me own home!”

For a moment she wasn’t sure she could speak. He was crowded into her, his very breath hot upon her cheek. He was so much bigger than she. So much more physically powerful.

But she had determination. “Evidently someone does now.”

His nostrils flared and for a moment all she could do was hold her breath.

Then he abruptly straightened and stomped to her door. He wrenched it open and glared at her. “Stay in this fuckin’ room or I swear ye’ll be regrettin’ it.”

The walls shook as he slammed the door.

Silence exhaled and flopped back on the bed. She felt as if she’d weathered a thunderstorm, but one thought rang gleefully in her mind:

She, Silence Hollingbrook, meek widow of no particular means, had just faced down Charming Mickey O’Connor, the most feared pirate in London.

SUCH A STUBBORN little thing she was! Mick stalked along the corridor to the stairs. When he came to a rag and bucket, carelessly left by a maid, he kicked it over. The clatter of the falling bucket was gratifying, but didn’t tame his foul mood. Why wouldn’t she sit meekly in her rooms? Why wouldn’t she fucking obey him? He hadn’t a bloody clue what he would do if she defied him again. The thought of giving her any sort of pain was simply out of the question and if he couldn’t physically punish her…

Mick stopped at the bottom of the stairs and glared sightlessly at a tiny picture on the wall. It was an ancient Madonna and child, their halos layered in gold, Mary’s face was pinched and disapproving and an odd shade of green. The widow had been in his home a mere two days and already she was overthrowing his orderly life.

There was the sound of a throat clearing behind him.

“What the bloody hell is it, Harry?” Mick growled without turning.

“Ah, beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but Bert is upset that Mrs. ’Ollingbrook got past ’im and I was thinkin’—“

Mick shook his head once. “I’m not discussin’ her right now.”

“Ah…”

“Is there anythin’ else?”

“Bran was wantin’ to know when ye’ll be talkin’ to the owner of the Alexander.”

Mick turned at that. “After me supper, but afore midnight. Let the man get sleepy in his great house a-thinkin’ Mick O’Connor has forgotten that he didn’t pay tithe on his last bloody ship.”

Harry pursed his lips. “Sleepy or not, ’e’d be a great fool not to be well guarded in ’is own ’ome.”

“No doubt.” Mick started down the corridor. “Which is why I’ll be bringin’ Pat and Sean as well as Bran.”

“Think that’ll be enough?” Harry hurried to keep up with him.

“Aye. We’ll be a-waitin’ in his room for him when he goes to bed.” Mick reached his rooms and flung open the door. “The shock of seein’ four armed men in his bedroom will, I think, be enough to soften him up right finely.”

Mick stopped dead in the middle of his bedroom. His bed was a huge piece of furniture with posts as big around as a man’s thighs. He’d slept comfortably there with two other bedmates—and had he wished, could’ve fit another three. The bed was so massive it usually dwarfed whoever occupied it. But not the big dog draped over both his pillows. The animal lay with its pale belly exposed, forepaws up in the air, its great head turned to the side, jaws agape and tongue lolling.

“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.

“Well, I haven’t for him,” Mick said. “Take the beast out to the courtyard and get the maids to clean me bed.”

“O’ course, o’ course,” Harry said, not moving. He cleared his throat delicately. “And Mrs. ’Ollingbrook?”

Mick swung on him. “What about her?”

Harry blinked. “Ah… I thought a nice walk about the place wi’ the babe might make ’er feel less cooped up.”

Mick snorted so loudly Lad cocked his head. “That woman isn’t goin’ anywhere until she bends to me will.”

“Then she won’t be joinin’ us for supper this evenin’?” Harry asked, hope dying hard in his hangdog eyes.

“Not unless she has a sudden change o’ heart,” Mick said sourly. “In fact both she and that hellion babe will be stayin’ in her rooms with only food for the babe until she makes up her stubborn mind to come sup at me table.”

Harry tilted his head back to study the ceiling.

“What?” Mick demanded.

“Well, it’s jus’ that I’ve noticed in dealin’ wi’ the fair sex that it sometimes does a man well to show a little kindness.”

“Have I not given her a bed and a room fit for a queen?” Mick asked softly, dangerously.

“Ye-es—”

“And have I not been most accomodatin’ o’ her?”

“Well—” Harry looked doubtful.

Mick sliced his hand through the air. “All I ask is that she sup wi’ me. No other wench has disobeyed me thus to me own face.”

“Aye, but most wenches ye be dealin’ wi’ are doxies or servant girls,” Harry pointed out in a reasonable tone. He took a step backward nonetheless. “Mrs. ’Ollingbrook is neither.”

For a moment Mick merely stared at his henchman. Jaysus, when had his life become so complicated that he took to pleading his case with Harry? He had Silence in his house. He had her where he wanted her. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to turn his life upside down.

“Why can’t she live in me palace and be happy?” Mick muttered.

Harry shrugged massive shoulders. “Mayhap because she’s a woman. They do ’ave minds o’ their own, I find.”

“Me orders stand,” Mick declared. “She may not be a whore or a servant, but she’ll bloody well learn to obey me.”

Harry and Lad stared at him with strangely similar bloodshot brown eyes, sad reproach in both their gazes.

Mick flung out a hand irritably. “Get on with ye!”

Dog and man turned toward the bedroom door.

“And keep that dog out o’ me house!” Mick roared after them.

BY THAT NIGHT Silence was going quietly mad in her bedroom.