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S eamus Flaherty fought to keep a neutral expression on his face.

His cousin, Dermott O’Malley, spun around and stalked off to man his post. Flaherty should tell his cousin that he hadn’t asked the man’s wife to spend time with him…

time she should have been spending with her husband.

But bloody hell, he’d been clenching his jaw at the time to keep from groaning in pain in front of witnesses.

“Bugger it! ’Twasn’t me who wandered off without waiting for an escort—or telling me that she planned to.”

“That’s the tale ye told the lot of us, Flaherty.” His cousin Sean O’Malley wasn’t smiling as he approached. “Georgiana said to tell ye she’s bringing a fresh batch of scones.”

Speaking of Dermott’s wife, Flaherty groaned. “She didn’t bake them herself—did she?”

In was obvious Sean, head of the duke’s guard at Lippincott Manor, was irritated on his sister-in-law’s behalf.

“’Twould be more than ye deserve, having to eat Georgiana’s inedible scones.

Ye let the lass fawn over ye, while ’tis plain to the rest of us, who’ve been shot before and more than familiar with the extracting of lead balls and healing involved, that ye were well on the road to recovery. ”

Flaherty shrugged and winced at the pull of the healing flesh and muscles beneath it.

“I tried to tell his lordship I’m ready to resume me duties—not spending me time teaching the latest group of footmen how to fight.

” Frustration boiled inside of him, and his neutral expression slipped.

When he felt his brow furrowing, he inhaled and schooled his features.

He was impatient and bloody well through waiting.

“I understand the earl is keen on hiring more footmen to add to our numbers, but for the love of God, every last one of them thinks he has to fight fair! Who in God’s name fights fair? ”

Sean’s lips twitched. “Every Englishman thinking he’d get the best of an Irishman.”

Flaherty was relieved that his cousin’s irritation faded. “Ye’d think they’d have heard our tales of glory.”

“Aye, as the Irishmen who have been guarding the sixth Duke of Wyndmere and his family since he accepted the mantle of duke!”

Flaherty grunted. “How is it that there are still those who haven’t heard of our exploits, and the number of times we’ve been shot, stabbed, or clubbed over the head while continuing to do our job?”

“Did ye forget we aren’t in Ireland anymore, Flaherty? We’re outnumbered here. Though in our favor, we have more bare-knuckle champions between the sixteen of us than in the whole of England!”

Flaherty grinned. “It does give us a bit of an edge. Those who think we’d be easy to defeat in their quest to harm the duke or his family find out who they are up against.”

Sean scrubbed a hand over his face. “Ye need to put Dermott out of his misery, Seamus. He feels responsible for ye getting shot in the back.”

“Twice,” Flaherty added helpfully.

Sean blew out a breath and stared at Flaherty before agreeing. “Aye, Seamus—twice. Ye lost so much blood that we feared…feared the worst.”

When his cousin’s voice broke, Flaherty knew it was beyond time to stop taking advantage of Dermott or his contrite wife.

’Twas selfish of him to boot. “’Tisn’t that I’m after trying to make either of them feel guilty.

However, if she’d waited, as she promised, for me to escort her—” At Sean’s direct look, Flaherty sighed.

“Ye’re right, Sean. If ye’ll have a word with his lordship about me resuming me duties, then I’ll be asking Dermott to please tell his wife that I’m nearly recovered. ”

“Is that all ye plan to tell our cousin?” Sean demanded.

“Nay. I’ll be telling Georgiana that I’ve appreciated her care and concern, but ’tis time for her to pay attention to Dermott. Then I’ll plant the bug in her ear that I’ve heard Dermott’s worried her affections have shifted to me.”

Sean jabbed his elbow at Flaherty’s gut, but Flaherty feinted to the side, avoiding the blow.

With a grunt, Sean said, “Meet me in a quarter of an hour behind the bachelor’s quarters.

That’ll be the true test. If ye don’t keel over after trading a few punches, I’ll speak to his lordship. He’ll be more apt to listen to me.”

Flaherty ignored the dig about the quarters, which used to serve the men in the guard.

Until, one by one, his O’Malley and Garahan cousins married.

’Twas irritating as a thorn in the arse that he could not quite reach to pull out.

The reminder that the O’Malleys were the men the duke chose as heads of his various estates never sat well with Flaherty, but to give the devil his due, Patrick O’Malley had worked for the previous duke and never complained all those times he’d had to haul the profligate fifth duke over his shoulder to cart his drunken arse up the stairs to his bedchamber six nights out of seven.

Thankfully, the sixth duke—the man they now served—was nothing like his elder brother.

In fact, His Grace had repaired the damage to the title and family name.

Flaherty, his brothers, and their O’Malley and Garahan cousins had been instrumental in that regard.

“Well now, as yer arse on the line as the man in charge of us, Sean, I’ll have to agree with ye.” Flaherty shook his head. “I haven’t been meself for the last few weeks. I’m not used to being idle. I hate being left out. I need to be in the thick of things.”

Sean clapped a hand to Flaherty’s shoulder. “Out of all of us who’ve been injured, ye think I don’t understand? I nearly lost me arm to infection, after having it flayed open to the bone.”

“But ye didn’t, thanks to yer lovely wife, and our cousin Emmett the healer.”

“Aye, and Lieutenant Sampson and Dr. McIntyre.” Sean gave a brief nod, then left.

Flaherty watched him leave, and guilt assailed him.

He should admit to taking advantage of Georgiana’s attention.

Being shot in the back, while protecting her, shouldn’t be held over her head.

If he hadn’t lost so much time recovering from wound fever, he might have confessed his small-mindedness sooner.

His thoughts drifted to a fiery-haired lass and he wondered why Mary Kate had not come to see him after he’d been shot.

He’d been courting the woman, and by all counts she was besotted with him.

Flaherty closed his eyes and swore the lass had a perverse way of showing it.

“I need to get back to work.” He needed to forget the faithless lass with the bewitching eyes.

Concentrate on his duties. “’Tis what I signed on for.

” He thought of his cousins’ wives and marveled that every one of them had been unafraid to go toe to toe with the men they married whenever they thought they were right. What a sight that had been!

The lot of them are beautiful and stubborn to the bone.

His thoughts immediately went to the woman he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of while recovering.

The fever had held him in its grip longer than he anticipated.

Bloody hell! He’d even dreamed that Mary Kate had been beside him, but it must have been the fever overheating his brainbox.

Flaherty had been weak as a babe those first few days after his fever broke.

Well, he was hale and hearty now, and had made up his mind to confront her.

He decided it was past time to ask Sean for the time away from his duties to pay her a visit.

She’d taunted him in his delirium—and in his sleep.

It gutted him that the woman always claimed James Garahan was the man who’d saved her life.

When would Mary Kate remember the far more dramatic rescue the day Flaherty had pulled her and Lady Calliope, Viscountess Chattsworth, from the duke’s carriage?

It had slid on ice and tipped over onto its side, just a half a mile from Chattsworth Manor.

Mary Kate was a winsome lass, with blue-violet eyes, a sunshine smile, and lips as red as a rose. Soft and supple, just ripe for kissing. But women were fickle creatures at best. Why had she deserted him in his time of need if she loved him?

A devastating thought occurred… The lass was still in love with Garahan! Did she ever love me?

The last time Mary Kate showed up at Lippincott Manor, he’d just had two lead balls dug out of his hide.

Thank the Lord, it had been his upper back and not lower, where it could have lodged in something important, like his heart or a lung.

Or lower still…in a kidney! Otherwise, he might not be standing here contemplating what he wanted to say to the beautiful lass.

He could not decide if Mary Kate was a temptress, wrapped up in curves that had his hands clenching and his fingers itching to get a hold of her again, or an angel.

The last time he’d kissed the lass was at Grosvenor Square.

His gut clenched as he remembered the feel and taste of her mouth.

It had been a sumptuous feast fit for a starving man.

’Twas shortly after that James Garahan had rescued the lovely Melinda Waring—whom he married.

Flaherty had been jealous of Garahan at the time, wondering if Mary Kate still carried feelings for his cousin.

He’d wanted her to remember that she’d been casting her lures Flaherty’s way before they traveled to the duke’s London town house.

When he’d finally caught her alone in the hallway by the kitchen, Flaherty demanded her attention with a kiss that had her melting against him.

Her response ignited his passion. God help him, when she kissed him back, his eyes had crossed!

Even now, he broke out into a sweat recalling the heat of the fire that burned within him.