Winter a hard man? What a very strange notion. Silence shook her head. Men could be very odd at times. She watched as Mr. O’Connor brushed his fingers idly over a huge volume of colored maps, his many rings flashing.
“I never would’ve guessed you had a room such as this,” she said.
His black eyebrows winged up his forehead in cynical amusement. “Yer sayin’ these things are too refined for a crude pirate?”
“No,” she exclaimed, although of course that had been what she meant. “I… I just thought…”
Her voice faded as she watched him trail a long finger over the tip of Diana’s nude breast.
He turned and caught her staring. “Aye, Mrs. Hollingbrook?”
Her face was aflame, but she met his gaze. Winter hadn’t backed down from this man and neither would she. “There’s no need for a room such as this.”
“No need?”
She struggled to put her thoughts into words. “Your throne room is outrageously ostentatious, but you let others see it. It’s almost a public place because you receive visitors there. The ostentation has a purpose. You intimidate with it. But this library…”
“Aye?”
“There’s no need for it because you don’t use it to impress others.”
His head was cocked as he stared at her curiously. “What a very interestin’ women ye are, Mrs. Hollingbrook. If I don’t use me library to impress, then what do I use it for, if ye don’t mind me askin’?”
“That’s just what I wondered,” she said. “Why have this library?”
The stark question seemed to catch him by surprise. He watched her a moment, hesitating, then seemed to come to a decision. He crossed to where another big book lay. Silence followed curiously, looking over his elbow as he opened the book.
An emerald beetle was revealed, perched on the stem of some exotic plant. The color was so startling, so vivid, the insect looked ready to crawl off the page.
Mickey O’Connor traced the edges of the page lightly. “One night maybe eight years or so ago, I found a book like this one in a chest taken off a ship comin’ from the West Indies.”
“You mean you stole it,” Silence said severely.
Mickey grinned at her, flashing strong white teeth. “Belonged to one o’ them plantation owners over there, I hear. Man who owned hundreds o’ slaves laborin’ to grow his sugar and make him his fortune. Aye, I stole from one such as he, and not a night’s sleep have I ever lost over it.”
Silence looked back down at the illustrated book. She certainly didn’t approve of thieving, but then again she didn’t approve of the trade of human beings, either. “You said you, uh, found a book like this one eight years ago.”
“Aye,” he said, returning his own gaze to the emerald beetle. “Found it, and opened it, and was amazed. I’d never seen such, ye understand. It was filled with pictures o’ butterflies. Butterflies aren’t exactly plentiful in the parts o’ London I grew up in, and butterflies such as these”—his elegant fingers caressed the page as if remembering—“well, it almost makes a man believe in God, it does.”
Silence swallowed. She’d been raised in London as well, but there had been trips to parks and outings to Greenwich and other towns. She’d seen butterflies and more—tame deer, wild birds, lovely gardens, and flowers. What kind of boyhood had he had never to have seen a butterfly?
“Where were you raised in London?” she asked softly.
“St. Giles,” he said, still tracing the gilt pages. “Not more’n a stone’s throw from here.”
She tried to picture him as a boy. He’d have been beautiful, of course, lean and graceful. The thought made her uneasy. Beautiful youths didn’t last long in St. Giles. “You lived with your family?”
“Me mam… and him.”
She frowned at the emphasis on the last word. Was he talking about his father—or another man? She glanced at him, but ended up asking the easier question. “Do your parents still live in St. Giles?”
He gave her an ironic look and closed the big picture book. Obviously he had no intention of answering her.
Irritating man. She looked around the little library. “Which book is it?”
“What?”
She gestured to the overflowing bookshelves. “Where is your butterfly book?”
He shook his head. “I don’t keep it here.”
“But then—”
“What a curious thing ye are.” He turned to place the book on a shelf.
She inhaled, feeling frustrated. “What is it you want from me?”
When he turned, his face had gone blank. “What makes ye think I want anythin’ from ye, me darlin’?”
But she wasn’t going to let him slide away from this question. She took a step closer and he made a movement almost as if he would retreat from her. “You didn’t have to give Mary Darling to me. Didn’t have to involve me in your life at all. What is it you’re doing?”
He glanced away from her, a muscle clenching in his jaw. “I’m protectin’ ye and the babe, nothin’ more. All ye have to do is stay in yer rooms and be content.”
Stay in her rooms? Be content? Silence’s eyes widened incredulously. “Do I look like a doll to you?”
His eyelids lowered, his beautiful black lashes sweeping his cheeks before he glanced back up at her again. “Nay, yer a lovely woman, ye are. I’d not be mistakin’ ye for any playthin’.”
Her lips parted at his intimate tone.
His sensuous mouth curved at her confusion. “Supper’s early tonight—seven o’ the clock, mind. I trust we’ll be graced with yer lovely presence.”
Silence stiffened. He wouldn’t catch her off guard so easily. “On the contrary, I have no intention of dining with you, Mr. O’Connor.”
The smile was abruptly gone from his face, leaving it rather frighteningly grim. “Then ye’ll fast in yer rooms, me darlin’, until ye can see fit to change yer mind.”
And with that he pivoted and strode from the room.
Chapter Four
But a very strange thing happened. As dusk fell in the king’s garden, all three of the nephews began to nod and soon they all slept. In the morning they woke and none of the three could remember a thing. The nephews had to confess rather sheepishly to the king that they had not caught the thief. But when Clever John ran his hand through his hair, a bright green feather fell to the ground….