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“But we’re in England,” Flaherty continued, “so I won’t be able to avenge me wife the way she deserves. Instead, I’m asking ye a two-pronged question: why did ye do it, and was it worth it?”

By the time he was through gathering his answers, he felt sorry for one man, who had six children to feed and had just buried their mother a fortnight ago. The others were hardened criminals, in his opinion, and deserved whatever a judge sentenced them to.

He walked over to the other cell. “Monroe.”

The man met his glare with his own.

“Why did ye steal from the poor box?”

“What?” one of the other prisoners demanded.

“Is that where you got the coin, Monroe?” another asked.

“You could not have thought to pay us with the money the poor of the parish depend upon, could you?” the third man—the widower with the children—asked.

“Aye, I’m thinking the blackguard intended to. Why don’t ye tell yer henchmen, Monroe, then ye can tell me what in the bloody fecking hell ye were thinking to steal me wife!”

The farrier’s face paled in the face of Flaherty’s anger, but he did not answer.

Instead of asking him a second time, Flaherty decided to take the viscount up on his suggestion of three solid punches to the sorry excuse for a man.

“Constable, if ye wouldn’t mind opening the cell now, I’ll be needing a private word with Monroe. ”

The farrier glanced from the constable, who was fitting the key into the lock, to Flaherty, who stood with no expression on his face.

He hoped the man shited himself—then again, he wouldn’t want to have to deal with stepping around a mess like that.

He’d have to settle for the look of abject terror on the man’s face.

Flaherty’s reputation obviously preceded him.

The cell swung open and the farrier took a step back. No matter—Flaherty had a long reach and delivered a solid right cross before the man knew what hit him. He followed with a jab and an uppercut that lifted the man off his feet and onto the floor of the cell.

Flaherty walked over and placed his foot on the man’s chest. “Ye’re lucky I work for the duke, and he is against his men taking a life, otherwise ye’d already be dead.”

The man’s eyes glazed over a moment before they rolled up in his head.

With a grunt, Flaherty pushed off the man’s chest and stalked out of the cell. “If he has anything to add to his confession, I’d be obliged if ye send word to me at Chattsworth or Lippincott Manor.”

“It would be my pleasure, Flaherty.”

“Thank ye, constable.”

“I’ll let the vicar and the others know that they are about to regain the coin they thought they lost, plus a donation from their former farrier.”

“Ye’re a good man, constable. I’ll let the viscount and the earl know.”

Finished with his duty, not having overstepped—well, except for the pleasure of standing on the man’s chest—he untied his horse, vaulted into the saddle, and rode back to Chattsworth Manor.

All was quiet when he handed over the reins to the stable lad. “Anything happen while I was gone?”

“Not that I know of.”

Flaherty strode toward the rear entrance, picking up speed until he was flat-out running. He yanked open the door and plowed right into one of the footmen. “Where is she?”

The footman was shaking his head and appeared dazed, having knocked heads with Flaherty.

“Me wife. Where is she?”

“In the kitchen.”

“What is she doing on her feet?” Without waiting for an answer, he called, “Mary Kate!”

“Seamus?” She was flushed from being near the hot stove. Tendrils of her fiery hair framed her face.

“What are ye doing on yer feet?”

“Helping.”

“Ye’re to be resting.”

“I got bored.”

“I don’t give a fecking damn if ye were bored. When I give an order—”

Mary Kate placed a hand to the middle of his chest. “No man orders me around.”

“Except yer husband.”

“I take orders from no man.”

“Ah, lass, there’s where ye’d be wrong.” He scooped his wife into his arms, spun around, and stalked to the end of the hallway toward the servants’ staircase. He nodded to the footman he’d knocked into. The man opened the door and closed it behind them.

Flaherty didn’t say a word to the lass until they were standing outside the guest bedchamber that the viscount had permanently assigned to him when he married Mary Kate, knowing there would be times when he would need to stay overnight at Chattsworth Manor with her. “Open the door, lass.”

The delightful, feisty woman crossed her arms beneath her ample breasts, calling his attention to them.

He chuckled. “Please?”

“Humph.” But the lass opened the door.

He closed it with his foot. “Lock it, if ye would, lass.” When she did, he sighed.

“God, how I love ye, Mary Kate.” He placed her gently in the middle of the bed and started to undress her.

“I believe I made a promise to ye, lass, that I intend to be keeping. Best resign yerself to the fact that we’ll be making love until the break of dawn. ”

Her eyes positively glowed. “Nothing happened while you were gone. I’m fine.”

“I could not agree more. Ye have always looked more than fine to me.” When she was naked on the bed, he began to undress himself. “Now then, we’d best make sure ye’re ready to receive me, lass.”

He covered her body with his, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Plundering her mouth with urgent kisses, he discovered what he needed to know. “If ye were any more ready, ye’d kill me.”

“Make love to me, Seamus.”

“Me pleasure, wife.”