Page 6 of The Duke’s Lance (The Duke’s Guard #12)

“E amon.” The duke nodded as O’Malley stood in the doorway. “Where are the others?”

“On their way, Yer Grace.”

“Excellent. Before they arrive, I must ask, did your meeting with the constable and Burrows in any way involve Her Grace?”

O’Malley curled his hands into tight fists until they ached, thinking of the duchess, Garahan’s wife, and Helen, all of whom could be affected by what he’d learned. He slowly relaxed his hands at his sides. “Indirectly.”

“I see. Is this tied to the sharpshooter’s connection to the O’Malleys?”

“Aye, ’tis possible, but then again, it could be a carefully orchestrated rumor as a distraction.”

“Distraction?”

“Aye, to keep Bow Street from discovering the whereabouts of the man who pushed Lord Montrose.”

The duke’s expression turned grim. “Then my wife is in as much danger as Emily and Helen.”

“Aye.”

The duke walked over to his desk, picked up one of the ledgers from a stack, leafed through it, then set it back down precisely where it had been. The movement struck O’Malley, because the duke was not normally restive. He was cautious and controlled. Obviously something worried him.

O’Malley was about to speak when the duke asked, “How did you find my wife when you spoke with her earlier today?”

“Her Grace’s spirits are up, though she seems exhausted.” O’Malley relaxed at the change in topic, studying the duke, noting his hand shook when he picked up the same ledger a second time. The duke was worried about his wife. O’Malley needed to assure the duke, “It is normal in the first few months of pregnancy to feel drained. I know the physician and midwife have been to speak with Her Grace. Have they hinted that anything is amiss?”

“Nay, quite the opposite. I trust them implicitly, but I trust and weigh your observations more, as you see my wife on a daily basis.”

“Other than what I’ve already told you, I have not noticed anything. In case you are wondering, I have delivered a foal—and a few calves—in my time, Yer Grace. Never a babe. So don’t be doing yerself and Her Grace a serious injustice by not putting yer faith in the doctor and the midwife.” O’Malley paused for a beat. “I have wondered, is there a chance that she may be carrying a worry or two?”

The duke’s shoulders slumped for a moment, allowing O’Malley to see the full weight of the responsibility the man carried: the tenant farmers, villagers, the staff at his London town house and estates, the wives and children of the married men of his guard, Her Grace and their twins, and his family. “Persephone was despondent after what happened a few months ago.”

It was no secret among the men in the duke’s guard. They had been informed that the duchess had lost the babe she carried early in her pregnancy. The men needed to know, as did certain members of the staff, so no one mentioned the babe, causing the duchess further distress. “I’ve known a family or two who have dealt with the emotional and physical pain caused by a miscarriage, Yer Grace. Me own ma for one. Encourage Her Grace to share her grief with ye—it may be that she hides it from ye because she feels she is somehow responsible.”

“I’ve told her many times it was not her fault.” The duke appeared lost in thought. “We grieved together.”

O’Malley knew from personal experience that grief could seem to fade, but then weeks or months could go by, and it would sneak back and tear your heart out all over again. “For how long, if ye don’t mind me asking?”

The duke stared at him, then raked both hands through his hair. “A fortnight. I wondered why it had not been longer, but after two weeks, she no longer spoke of what happened. I thought it rather a short time, but did not want to ask her and run the risk it would have her hiding in our bedchamber with the drapes closed again.”

“She could be hiding her grief from ye, Yer Grace.”

“Why in the bloody hell would she do that?”

O’Malley’s heart went out to the man. The duke always strove to have a handle on any and all situations that could crop up on any given day. He needed to learn to trust his estate managers with more of the running of his estates, so that he could spend more time with his growing family. Especially now.

O’Malley answered truthfully, “Because she loves ye, Yer Grace, and wouldn’t want ye worrying.”

“I cannot believe she’d keep something like this from me. I thought we had come to an understanding after I returned from London—and that fiasco caused by not confiding in one another—a few months ago, before we realized she was expecting.”

“’Tis plain to every one of us in yer guard that Her Grace loves ye and would do anything for ye…including protect ye.”

The duke narrowed his eyes. “She promised she would not hold back her worries from me.”

An ebony-haired lass filled O’Malley’s mind and his heart. What was Helen holding back from him? Garahan had told of her strength, and her conviction, trying to protect Emily when the women had been attacked.

O’Malley realized what the duke needed to hear. The truth. “Her Grace would do anything to protect yerself and yer babes.”

Blue fire flashed in the duke’s eyes. “That is my job, not hers.”

Further discussion on the topic ended when the rest of his men filed in behind the head of the guard, Patrick O’Malley.

“Sorry to be late, Yer Grace.” Patrick hesitated in the doorway for a moment, then entered the room. “What is this I’m hearin’ about Her Grace protectin’ ye?”

“Do you believe that Persephone would do anything to protect our children?”

“Aye,” Garahan replied.

“In a heartbeat,” Flaherty answered.

“And yerself as well, Yer Grace,” O’Malley said.

Patrick continued, “Ye knew when ye married Her Grace that she was strong-willed.”

“Indeed.”

Garahan added, “Strong-minded.”

The duke snorted.

Flaherty was not to be left out. “Brave.”

His Grace smiled.

Patrick nodded. “Aye, with a heart of pure gold. She would not hesitate to stand beside ye to defend yer babes, yerself, and yer home, Yer Grace.”

The bluster went out of the duke. “Her heart holds so much love, yet it always seems to expand to hold more. Why doesn’t she see that it is my job to protect her?”

The pained expression on Patrick’s face smoothed into a neutral one. “I nearly lost Gwendolyn to me pride.”

O’Malley waited for the duke to say something…anything. Finally the man rasped, “Why couldn’t I have fallen in love with a biddable woman?”

The men snorted, while Patrick snickered. “Instead of one wearing a bilious-colored gown and borrowed spectacles?”

“’Twas obvious she was meant for ye by the way she fell backward into yer arms,” O’Malley said with a nod.

The duke smiled. “At the time, I had no idea it was part of her bluestocking disguise, and that she could not see through the lenses, or I never would have touched the tip of my finger to her spectacles to straighten them.”

O’Malley had heard the story many times over. “Was that when ye knew?”

“Aye. I tried to ignore the voice inside my head when our eyes met, but couldn’t.” As if the duke knew what O’Malley wanted to ask, he added, “Don’t ignore that voice.”

“I won’t, Yer Grace.” O’Malley cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Now that everyone is present and accounted for, I’ll be telling ye ’twas an interesting meeting with the constable and Burrows.”

“Every one of you have spent time guarding my London town house, which is where I assume this Burrows’s uncle met one of the O’Malleys. Does the name sound familiar?”

Patrick answered, “Nay. Depending on when the uncle met one of us, it could easily have been Sean, Michael, or Emmett.”

Garahan’s expression suggested he may have an idea, but the duke motioned for him to wait, while O’Malley continued with his report.

“Apparently whichever O’Malley it was left a lasting impression on Burrows’s uncle, as the man was tossed behind bars for having been involved in breaking into Madame Beaudoine’s shop—but before he was sent to the gaol, O’Malley offered to look after the man’s wife and family until he was released.”

Garahan grunted. “It had to be Sean. He was there after the break-in, and rescued Mignonette, one of Madame Beaudoine’s seamstresses who had been staying at the shop.”

“Wasn’t she instrumental in saving Sean’s arm?” Flaherty asked. “Before she married our cousin?”

Garahan grimaced. “Aye, along with Emmett O’Malley, and Lieutenant Sampson.” He paled. “Emmett was the one who heard the commotion and found him outside… From the description, ’twasn’t an exaggeration—his arm was flayed to the bone.”

“Now that we’ve solved the mystery of which O’Malley,” the duke said, “why would Sean’s helping the man’s family have Burrows taking aim at you ?”

O’Malley sensed the duke’s patience was nearing its end. “He wasn’t taking aim at me, he was protecting me. ’Twas meself who fired before giving whoever it was a chance to explain himself.”

Garahan and Flaherty found O’Malley’s suggestion humorous—which irritated him. “I had other concerns on me mind, and did not think beyond the fact that it was happening again and that I had to stop the sharpshooter.”

While Flaherty snorted with laughter, Garahan said, “Ye should have pressed the man with his rifle aimed at ye…while ye were on patrol.”

The duke asked, “What else did you find out from Burrows?”

“Apparently, rumor is rife through the bowels of London that someone has put a price on O’Malley’s head—which we have just decided is Sean,” O’Malley said.

The duke cleared his throat, and the men fell silent. “Do you have any other information about who is behind this threat, which you have already said could be a distraction?”

O’Malley glanced at Garahan before answering, “There’s scuttlebutt that it’s tied to the death of Lord Montrose. Which is why I have the feeling it is a distraction.”

“Bloody fecking hell!” Garahan spun on his heel and made for the door.

Patrick blocked his way. “Ye gave yer word, Aiden.”

“This involves me wife! How would ye feel if it were Gwendolyn?”

“The same way I would feel if it were Persephone,” the duke calmly stated. “Go soak your head, Garahan. Flaherty, go with him to make sure he doesn’t do anything rash.”

“I’ll make the man spill his guts,” Garahan vowed. “’Tis me wife that’s in danger.”

“And Helen.” O’Malley could not get past the worry that Helen would be in the middle again .

“Persephone and Gwendolyn could be in the cross-hairs of whoever is heading our way to exact revenge, too.”

“We’ll protect them all by doing what we’ve done in the past,” Patrick said. “Draw back, keep a close eye on the women, and add to our number.”

The duke nodded to O’Malley. “Eamon, tell Humphries that I’m preparing an urgent missive to be delivered to Bow Street.”

“Aye, Yer Grace.”

“You’ll need to speak to Gwendolyn,” the duke told Patrick, before turning to Garahan. “You will speak to Emily. Your wives will stay here at the hall until the danger is over—not in your cottages. That is an order and not open for discussion.”

“I’ll tell Humphries about that, too,” O’Malley said. “Between yer butler, cook, and housekeeper, we’ll stand prepared to meet the foe as we have done before.” He was confident they would handle whatever was coming their way. “Yer Grace, the feeling in me gut is getting stronger—this distraction is planned.”

“A salient point, O’Malley. We will not disregard any and all possibilities. Our wives and families, staff, and tenants depend upon us.”

“Aye, Yer Grace.” O’Malley dug deep to bury his concern. He would see to Helen’s safety personally because he’d already decided she would be his wife. She just had to become accustomed to the idea.

Not for the first time, he wished that they had insisted the lad Stark had stayed on a bit longer at Wyndmere Hall. He may have been able to identify any strangers in the village as those working for Hardwell. But wishes didn’t answer questions or point out those working for blood coin—money that paid for the elimination of another. The uneasy feeling that the newest threat was connected to the murder of Lord Montrose was not one he could ignore.

Bugger it! He’d forgotten to ask Garahan for the details of the attack on the women at the inn, and if there was any other information about Hardwell that may help lead them to the source of this latest threat. The niggling thought that therein would lie the reason Helen wanted to leave Wyndmere Hall, where she was safe within his sight, roiled in his gut.

Was she somehow involved in this? As soon as the thought occurred, he dismissed it. He’d taken the measure of the lass, and added it to what he’d learned by observing her in the short time she’d been at Wyndmere Hall. She would never be involved in anything that would harm another. Though why she was so determined to leave was something he planned to find out.

He needed Helen Langley to be safe. He also needed her in his arms and in his bed. But he wanted more than a quick tumble—he wanted forever, and her vow to cleave unto him and him alone.

O’Malley slowly smiled. All he had to do was convince the lass that she couldn’t bear to part from him. And he knew just how to begin convincing her, but it would have to wait until the next shift change. He knew just where to find her, too. First, he needed to catch up to Garahan.

He found him a few minutes later, about to follow Flaherty out the rear entrance. “Garahan, I need a word.”

“I’ve a horse trough with me name on it. Can it wait?”

Flaherty stood on the other side of the door. “I’ll make sure there’s plenty of water in it. Ye have five minutes before I come and haul yer arse out to the stables.”

“I’ll be there,” Garahan told him. “And we can go a few rounds.” Garahan turned back to O’Malley. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to know what happened.”

“Ye need to be more specific. A shite -ton has happened I since fulfilled me duty, escorting Emily to her guardian.”

O’Malley felt his hands curling into fists and relaxed them, reining in his anger at the same time. “At the inn where the attack happened. Helen and Emily arrived with identical deep bruises on their cheeks. They were struck by the same person. Was it Hardwell?”

Garahan scrubbed a hand over his face. “Aye.”

“What else happened?” When his cousin hesitated, O’Malley groaned. “Can ye not understand that I cannot fix what I do not know?”

“Aye, but can ye not understand how difficult it is for me to speak of it?”

O’Malley placed a hand to Garahan’s shoulder, gave it a squeeze, and let go. “I do. I know ye interrupted Hardwell’s plans. Can ye tell me where he was, and where Emily and Helen were, when ye and Masterson kicked in the door?”

“The first thing I saw was Hardwell straddling Emily on the bed. The bloody blackguard backhanded Helen—the brave lass was clinging to him, trying to get him off Emily.”

“Emily wasn’t—” Half the question slipped out before O’Malley could stop himself. “I’ll be planning me form of retribution when I get me hands on Hardwell, not because I would think less of yer Emily if the worst had happened to her.”

Garahan’s eyes darkened, and O’Malley knew his cousin had his own plans in mind when he finally got Hardwell alone. “We may not have the opportunity to do what we’re planning for some time, as he’s behind bars.” He shook his head. “We got there in time, and they had been threatened, battered, and bruised, but we stopped the buggering baron before he could violate either Emily or Helen.”

The knowledge lowered O’Malley’s lethal anger to a manageable level. “If I know ye, ye got a few blows in before someone stopped ye.”

“Aye. You should know Helen was the one to tell me what happened. She said the baron sprang out from behind the door, bashing Brewster—one of the Montrose footmen assigned to help protect the women—on the head when he opened it.”

“He’s young yet, and will have learned from the experience to be ready for anything,” O’Malley replied. “Did the lass say anything else?” What she’d told Garahan was enough to give her nightmares.

“Helen told us that Hardwell grabbed Emily, tossed her on the bed, and threatened to do unspeakable things to her. We didn’t ask her to go into detail.”

O’Malley’s heart began to hammer. “Anything else?”

“Aye. Helen said the bastard told Emily no one would care—or have her—when he got through with her. ’Twas then that Emily finally spoke up. She told me he planned to ruin her for her inheritance, and would force her to marry him.”

O’Malley’s gut iced over like the pond behind their barn back home. “Whenever ye’re ready to ask His Grace to grant ye leave to take a few days off, I’ll do the same. We can be in London in fifteen or so hours, less if we push it.”

“Fifteen?”

“Aye—are ye forgetting the record set in Scotland a number of years back?”

Garahan frowned. “I am. How far was it again, and how many changes of horse?”

“One hundred and five miles and eight changes of horse in seven hours. I’ve estimated twice that time, as London is double the miles, plus a bit more.”

Garahan grabbed hold of O’Malley’s arm. “I’ll be wanting the pleasure of gutting the man, though I will wait until ye get in a few blows first.”

A sense of rightness settled over O’Malley. “I’ll hold yer coat, so ye won’t get his tainted blood on it.”

Garahan let go of him and grinned. “Ah, what a ride that would be, what a satisfying revenge. But…”

O’Malley understood without asking what the “but” was. “His Grace would be displeased with us.”

Garahan snorted with laughter. “That he would, but I’m thinking he’s kept track of the number of times we’ve been shot, clubbed on the head, and stabbed, and it could count in our favor.”

O’Malley sighed. “Aye, but that would not balance the scales, as I’m thinking a man doesn’t recover from being gutted.”

“’Twas an ingenious suggestion, and a good plan. Too bad we cannot act upon it.”

“Thank ye for confiding in me, Aiden. I know it pained ye to speak of it.”

“I should have told ye before now, as it’s Helen that yer heart has decided on. ’Tis clear the lass’s heart calls to yers as well.”

“She’s stubborn,” O’Malley admitted.

“The best ones always are.”

The men parted to see to their assigned tasks. O’Malley hoped he could convince the lass that he would never hurt her or treat her as she had been treated by that bleeding bugger Hardwell. His mind made up, he decided he’d start paving the way to convince her to trust him and accept his offer of marriage.