Page 19 of The Chef and the Countess (The Duke’s Bastards #2)

Liam jumped to his feet and swiftly buttoned his wool coat. “Celia, fetch Tommy and Timmy. Have them go for the coppers. They know where the station is. Then I want you to go upstairs to your room and lock the door.”

Celia nodded. “I’ll gather weapons first in case you need them. Knives, rolling pins, and the like.” Lifting her skirt partway, she ran toward the kitchen before Liam could reply.

“How many men are involved?” Liam asked.

“At least four,” Fiona replied breathlessly. “They came in fifteen minutes ago. Even after Bruce warned them, they continued to cause a stir.”

Liam strode to the larder and grabbed two axe handles, which he kept hidden for just such an emergency. Fiona followed close behind. He swung open the door to find Bruce had one of the men in a headlock. Two other men stood nearby, and one of them brandished a knife, and so did the bald man that Bruce restrained. Without hesitation, Liam ran up to the ginger-haired man with the knife and bashed his knees with the axe handle. Ginger cried out and fell to the floor, dropping his knife, which Liam hurriedly snatched.

Wait. Fiona said four men. Where’s the other one?

Liam tossed an axe handle to Bruce, who caught it with his free hand. The second man, still standing, took reverse steps and fell into one of the tables. It upended, scattering playing cards, betting chips, and money across the floor. The customers shouted, trying to gather up the money. Liam held the handle aloft, ready to attack. The man toppled another table, and the pub erupted into complete chaos. The customers panicked, racing toward the front exit, and in doing so, caused other tables to tumble over. Food and drink littered the floor.

Then, a menacing voice cut through the pandemonium. “Here! Bossman!”

Liam whirled about as the pub fell silent. Everyone froze. The missing fourth man had his arm around Celia’s neck with his blade pointed against her throat.

Liam’s blood ran cold. The thought of Celia in harm’s way—he could not bear it. His insides tumbled with fear for her safety. “Let her go,” Liam said with soft menace. “Leave here now before the police come, and do not harm her.”

“Oh, aye? She means something to you, eh? Maybe we’ll take her along for a bit o’ fun.”

“I will break every bone in your body,” Liam growled through clenched teeth. “Harm her, and I will hunt you down—all of you—and pick you off one by one. And I will. Find. You.”

“Fair enough. We’ll get gone. Get your beast to release him,” the man holding Celia indicated with a nod toward Bruce.

Liam’s heart ached to see Celia so frightened. “Bruce, let him go.”

“Out the rear door, boyos,” the man holding Celia instructed.

Just as Bruce loosened his hold on his captive, distant shrill police whistles filled the air. In a few seconds, Bald Man snarled and gave a glancing slice across Bruce’s lower arm. Fiona cried out. Bald Man and the bloke who had knocked over the tables swiftly gathered up Ginger and ran toward the back exit. With the man restraining Celia sufficiently distracted, she picked that moment to sink her teeth into her captor’s arm. He yelled, loosening his grip, but not before he sliced downward on Celia’s side.

Liam saw nothing and no one else. He dropped the axe handle and rushed to Celia. The miserable bastard who’d cut her ran off after his companions. Liam didn’t care.

Celia looked dazed. She brushed her hand against her hip, and blood droplets gathered on her fingers. “It is all right,” she murmured, “Only a scratch.” Then her eyes rolled over, and Liam caught her before she hit the floor.

The police entered the pub area, and Bruce and Fiona ran toward them, shouting and pointing at the rear door. Two of the four police officers gave chase.

“Who’s the owner?” one of the coppers asked.

Liam lifted an unconscious Celia into his arms. Timmy and Tommy stood by the door, shocked at the chaotic scene. “Tommy, get money from my office drawer for a cab. Go for Doctor Drew. You know where he lives.”

Tommy nodded and disappeared, with Timmy hot on his heels.

The police sergeant halted Liam from leaving the room. “I said, are you the owner?”

“Aye. Liam Hallahan. Speak to my manager, Fiona. This woman is injured, as is my employee, Bruce. He and Fiona can give you the details.”

“No one is to leave until we get this sorted!” the copper shouted.

“My money is on the floor!” one customer cried.

“We’ll get it sorted, sir. Take a seat.” The policeman nodded toward Liam. “Where are you taking her?”

“Upstairs, the boys are fetching the doctor.” Liam glanced toward Fiona. She looked worried and wrapped a cloth around Bruce’s lower arm.

“Right. Go ahead. We will talk later,” the copper replied.

Liam raced outside and climbed the wrought iron stairs, holding Celia close as if she were precious cargo.

And she was most precious, indeed.

* * *

When the cold air hit Celia’s lungs, she jumped awake and exhaled sharply. “Holy crow. Did I faint?”

“Aye, love. You did.”

Snowflakes rested on her eyelashes as she tightened her grip around Liam’s neck. It took a moment for her to realize she was being carried. They entered the upstairs area, and Liam kicked the door shut with his boot.

“I like it when you call me that,” Celia sighed as Liam hurried past her room. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“To my rooms. You need looking after.”

“It’s only a scratch.”

“So you said. We’ll let Drew determine that. He’s on his way.”

Celia felt lightheaded, as if in a dream-like state. “It’s so far for him to come.”

Liam opened the door to his flat, which wasn’t easy since he still held her in his arms. “I could take you to a hospital but the only one in the vicinity is a workhouse infirmary, and I am not taking you there. Besides, I trust Drew far more to see to your care than some stranger.” He laid her gently on a bed. “Where are the buttons on your skirt?”

Celia closed her eyes. All she wanted to do was sleep.

“Celia! Stay awake!”

“I am awake,” she murmured. “How can I not be with your yelling? You must stop that, you know.” Her eyes flew open at the sound of fabric tearing. “What are you doing?”

“That miserable cur cut your skirt. I’m just removing it.”

How mortifying. Her undergarments and petticoats were not in the best condition. Liam pulled them below her waist.

“Jaysus,” Liam whistled.

“Is it bad?” she asked worriedly.

“It doesn’t look deep, but it’s a long gash.” Liam opened his dresser drawers as if frantically searching for something. “Your multiple layers protected you from a worse injury.” Then he grabbed a white shirt and bundled it up.

“Oh, don’t use one of your shirts!” Celia cried.

He placed it firmly against her wound, and she winced in pain. “I have dozens. Why didn’t you go to your room as I said? Do you know what it did to me to see you being held by that bloody barbarian?”

Celia touched his arm gently. “Do not be cross.”

“I’m not,” Liam replied in a calmer voice. “I’m frightened more than anything.”

“After gathering weapons, I was about to go to my room as you suggested, but—I could not leave you. You were in danger. I am sorry, and I know it was against your expressed wishes. I do have a mind of my own.”

“I know you do. And a fine mind it is.” Liam pulled back the shirt and looked at the wound, his thick brows furrowed with worry.

“Is it bad?”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“You have witnessed someone being injured by a knife?”

“Aye. Other lads. And myself.” Liam stood, removed his wool coat, and unbuttoned his shirt partway, pulling it aside to show a scar on his left shoulder.

“When you lived on the streets?” Celia asked softly.

Liam sat on the edge of the bed and continued with the compressions on her injured side. “Aye. It was horrible. A time in my life I would rather forget.”

“Walter Henning saved your life—as you did mine,” Celia whispered. She groaned as pain shot through her side.

“Celia!” Liam exclaimed.

“Just a slight jolt, nothing more. It’s true what I said, you saved me. I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to have someone look after you as you do now.”

“Always. I—” A sharp rap on the door interrupted his sentence.

“It’s Fiona. Sergeant Morrisey wants a quick word. I’ve seen his I.D. card.”

Jaysus. Couldn’t the world leave him and Celia alone for more than a few minutes? “Come in.”

A man in a long wool coat and a derby hat entered the room with Fiona directly behind him.

“Detective Sergeant Morrisey of H Division, 1 st District.” The older man removed his hat and patted it against his thigh to remove the snow. “Mr. Hallahan. I’m sorry to intrude, but the investigation will not wait. How are you, miss?”

“This is the Dowager Countess of Winterwood,” Liam introduced, his tone firm.

Fiona inhaled sharply, casting a glance at Celia. Well, her true identity was public knowledge now.

“My pardon, my lady,” Morrisey bowed slightly.

“I am awaiting the doctor’s arrival,” she replied.

“Then I will be swift in my inquiries, my lady.” The detective placed his hat on the bed, then pulled a notebook and pencil from his side coat pocket. “Where were you when the man took you as a hostage?”

Hostage? Holy crow. That shook her up a little. She’d had no time until this minute to realize just how much danger everyone had been in, herself included. “I was gathering weapons,” Celia said steadily despite her lingering fear.

The sergeant’s eyebrows shot skyward.

“I located items in the kitchen that could be used, such as rolling pins, cast iron frying pans, knives, and the like,” she continued. “I had them laid out on the counter, but alas, I could not grab one to use before that loathsome man grabbed me from behind.”

“Did he say anything, my lady?”

“It all happened so fast.” Celia concentrated and tried to recall the sequence of events. “He said, ‘Ain’t you a tasty dish. Just like he said.’” Celia frowned.

“He?” the Sergeant questioned. “Do you know who ‘he’ might be, my lady?”

“I have only recently arrived in London. The only men I know work here. Except—” No. Not her so-called uncle and cousin? What other ‘he’ could it be but one of them? She knew of no one else. And a tasty dish? Her cousin had called her that before in the past. It could be a coincidence... It was too terrible to contemplate. By the growing rage showing on Liam’s face, he must have reached the same conclusion. “I am recently widowed, impoverished, and came to stay with my aunt, my only remaining blood relative, only I discovered she is wintering in Italy. My uncle, The Earl of Darrington, and my cousin, Viscount Shinwell, were not very welcoming.” A decided understatement.

Liam snorted. “Shinwell dropped her here to work off his gaming debt. The countess had nowhere else to go, so I offered her a room until she could locate her aunt and friends.”

The detective wrote notes furiously. “An earl and a viscount,” he murmured.

“Is there a problem, Sergeant?” Liam asked. “Are toffs too high and mighty for police inquiries? That must be the case because they’re never brought to justice. Aristocrats get away with all sorts.”

“Steady on, Hallahan,” Morrisey replied gruffly. “I’ll not have that kind of talk. I follow an investigation wherever it leads. My duty is to uncover the truth, regardless of the social status of the individuals involved.”

Tommy burst into the room. “Here’s Doctor Hornsby!”

“I will be fine. Talk to Sergeant Morrisey outside. Tell him everything, including the shed fire, which I believe was not an accident.”

He kissed her hand before releasing it. “Fiona, come sit by Celia. And keep it to yourself about her being an earl’s widow. For now, at any rate.”

“Aye, Liam.”

Celia watched as Liam, Tommy, and the sergeant departed.

Drew placed his doctor’s case on the table by the bed. “Well, Celia. You have been through a lot.”

She nodded in response. Unshed tears shimmered in her eyes, for Celia wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Drew lifted the shirt away from her side. and examined her closely.

“Not deep at all. I wager that you will need a few stitches, but otherwise, all will be well, I promise. I would suggest you stay abed tomorrow and allow for healing. But you must be careful and not exert yourself or lift anything heavy for at least two weeks.”

“Oh, but I cannot stay in bed. The sandwiches—”

“Leave it with me, ducks,” Fiona soothed. “I’ll cover for you tomorrow.”

Celia gave Fiona a trembling smile. She was correct; these people were family. In every way that counted. If only the arrangement could be permanent.