Page 13 of The Duke’s Man-At-Arms (The Duke’s Guard #11)
O ’Malley should have expected Captain Coventry to be in deep discussion with Gavin King by the time he and Garahan arrived at King’s office on Bow Street. He stood in the hallway digging deep for a calm he did not feel, holding himself back from storming into the office when he heard them discussing his cousin’s injury and the fact that there had not been any recent improvement. The lid he had clamped down on his irritation ever since Coventry had suggested Darby was not up to par after his recent injury battered at him. Before the lid blew off, he knocked on the doorframe, nodded to King, and glared at Coventry. No time like the present to let the captain know that he’d already warned his cousin of that fact. “Ye don’t have to dance around the subject, Coventry. I’ve already informed Darby here where ye stand on including him in our duties for the next month or so.”
He flexed his hands, curled them into fists, and then relaxed them before he turned to meet King’s bland expression. Did King hold the same opinion as Coventry? Did no one trust O’Malley’s pronouncement that his cousin was back to fighting form?
King lifted his chin in O’Malley’s direction and cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, Lieutenant Sampson has already sent his detailed assessment of Garahan’s condition. Coventry and I were just discussing it. Apparently the good captain has an objection that he was about to explain, as I am in full agreement with Sampson.”
O’Malley noted a muscle twitching beneath Coventry’s eye and the set of the man’s jaw. He swallowed a crude comment and felt satisfaction that he wasn’t the only one to get a rise out of the unflappable captain. About bloody time. He glanced over his shoulder to gauge Garahan’s mood before turning back to Coventry and reminding the captain, “Ye aren’t the only man to have been severely injured, and had to learn how to compensate for his injury.” Satisfied that he now had the captain’s full attention, he added, “Michaela knows who kidnapped her.”
The shift of subject had Garahan, King, and Coventry simultaneously demanding, “What?”
“I know for a fact not one of ye is deaf. I’m not repeating meself.”
“Did she tell you that she knows?” Garahan asked.
“For feck’s sake, ye were there when she was dancing around the topic of us searching for her captor. Did ye not see the panic in her eyes? There’s more to what happened than the lass is telling us.”
“What specifically has you believing she knows her kidnapper?” King asked.
“’Twasn’t anything she said,” O’Malley replied, “but the faraway look in her eyes…a look laced with pain that changed to one of dogged determination. I know the look, have shared it with me brothers first, me cousins second.”
“When Patrick delivered the news yer da was dead,” Garahan said.
“Aye.” O’Malley swallowed against the lump of emotion that clogged in his throat whenever he thought about the injustice of his da and uncle having been wrongly accused and imprisoned. “There was a bit more added to the look in the angel’s eyes… ’Twas fear. She’s hiding something. I’m thinking she knows who kidnapped her.” The men’s gazes were riveted on him when he added, “I’m willing to wager it has to do with the reason she began her mission to rescue lasses off the street.”
“And that it interferes with someone’s ability to turn a profit,” Garahan murmured.
O’Malley met Coventry’s look of speculation and said, “Before we go any further, I want to know why ye don’t have faith in Garahan.”
The captain seemed surprised by the question. “I have the utmost faith in him. He has reflexes like a cat, an intuition that we have depended on more times than I can count, and a strength equal to every last man in the duke’s guard.”
“Then why exclude him?” O’Malley demanded.
King answered before Coventry could: “Aimee.”
Garahan frowned. “What does me wife have to do with me position within the guard?”
Coventry raked a hand through his hair, then swore when it loosened strands from his military-style ribbon-wrapped queue.
King answered O’Malley’s question, leaving him to surmise the two men had been discussing his cousin for more than a few minutes. “Suffice it to say, there is more to it than Garahan’s mental acuity or his physical readiness for the task.”
“Bollocks!” O’Malley growled. “Do ye think I’d trust me cousin to guard me back if I didn’t believe he was up to the task?”
Coventry answered, “It’s more me than you, Garahan. Miranda and Michael were in my life for a decade, and in all that time, I never thought I was worthy enough to offer marriage. Now that I have been married, I lie awake nights worrying that if something should happen to me, they would be in worse straits than if I had never married Miranda.”
O’Malley snorted with derision. “That’s a load of shite , and ye know it.”
Garahan stared at Coventry for a few moments, shook his head, and then said, “His Grace, the earl, the viscount, the baron, and every man in the duke’s personal guard would protect Miranda, Michael, and little Emma with their lives. Miranda would have to decide where she wanted to live: Wyndmere Hall, Lippincott Manor, Chattsworth Manor, Penwith Tower, Summerfield Chase, or the duke’s town house on Grosvenor Square. Ye have no worry about yer wife and family—everyone would insist she move in with them.”
O’Malley grunted. “Me married brothers and cousins would insist that she live with them.” From the identical expressions on the captain’s and Garahan’s faces, O’Malley sensed it was time to distract them. “Have ye forgotten how devoted yer men are, Coventry?”
“You’ve already established that your brothers and cousins would open their homes to Miranda.”
O’Malley grinned. “ Yer men, captain. Tremayne, Bayfield, Masterson, and Hennessey… All of whom have plenty of space in their living quarters and would protect yer wife and family with their lives—night and day.”
Coventry’s expression was priceless, then—to O’Malley’s delight—the man growled and lunged for him. “Are you questioning my men’s honor?”
O’Malley calmly stepped to one side and asked, “Are ye?”
“Stop taunting him,” King ordered O’Malley before glaring at Coventry. “You’re letting your emotions interfere with your decisions.”
The captain’s face paled, and he admitted, “You’re right.”
Garahan spoke up. “Meaning no disrespect to ye, King, but neither yerself nor me cousin know what it’s like to love with yer entire being, all the while worrying something would happen to the woman ye love.”
The runner was oddly silent, and for a heartbeat O’Malley saw anguish in the man’s eyes before King blinked and it was gone. So the man had had a love at one time, mayhap recently. Time enough later to see what could be found out.
O’Malley turned to stare at Garahan, silently willing him to accept the fact that O’Malley did understand. Just because he had not wed the angel of the streets yet, that did not mean he did not have a fierce love for the lass.
“Well now, gentlemen,” Garahan said. “It seems as if I’m wrong… Another of the sainted O’Malleys has fallen.”
Coventry’s expression changed, and O’Malley relaxed. The man had himself back in hand and under control. The captain nodded at him and said, “I have already seen to your request.” He pulled a sealed document from his waistcoat pocket and glanced at King before handing it to O’Malley. “Open it.”
O’Malley clenched his jaw to hide his overwhelming need to shout with elation that the captain had received his request and already seen to the task, obtaining the permission he needed. Willing his hands to steady, he broke the wax seal and opened the document. Satisfaction swept up from the soles of his boots. He looked up and noted Coventry’s look of understanding.
“I have already secured a vicar known for his discretion in situations like this,” Coventry told him. “Highly recommended by Captain Broadbank…er, Viscount Moreland.” Coventry shook his head. “We served together in the Royal Navy for years as captains…far longer than he has been a viscount.”
King nodded. “Vicar Dalrymple. Excellent choice. Is he available tonight?”
Coventry nodded and said to O’Malley, “Given the situation, I thought you would want to marry immediately.”
“Aye, thank ye, Coventry.” O’Malley looked at Garahan and waited for his cousin’s nod of agreement. “I spoke with Cameron, as Greenwood wasn’t in any condition to question, and Dr. Colborne.”
“What did you find out?” King asked.
“Cameron suspected Michaela’s past influenced her decision to help others. He is going to make discreet inquiries. He’s needed at home. His father-in-law is recovering, thanks to Lieutenant Sampson, but the poison took a toll on Colonel Merriweather.”
“Of course, Cameron is newly married and responsible for his wife’s two younger sisters to protect as well. From what I understand, Cameron’s sisters-in-law are more of a handful than his wife,” King remarked. “What did you learn from Dr. Colborne?”
O’Malley’s anger started to burn. “After pointedly questioning the doctor, I believe he now suspects his daughter was not ill with a virulent fever ten years ago after attending a function with one of the gentlemen he approved of.”
“Virulent?” Coventry asked.
“Aye, the lass is cagey and must have used that as a ruse to cover up what happened.” O’Malley schooled his features, adopting a neutral expression before continuing, “I’m going to go back and question her da to get the handful of names the men approved of at the time. No doubt the lords are still in London, married by now. One of them is to blame for what happened to my wife-to-be.” The need to seek vengeance flared to life and threatened to burn him alive. “When I have the name… I will track him down…”
He bit back the rest of what he was going to say. No point in letting King know his plans. The Bow Street Runner was against premeditated murder. Garahan, Tremayne, or one of the others would probably follow him and try to stop him from actually letting the man bleed to death when O’Malley extracted a pound of flesh.
“What have your contacts reported, men?” Coventry asked.
O’Malley and Garahan filled the others in on what they had heard, adding what they had uncovered speaking with some of the additional men the duke had Coventry hire, expanding the web of protection around the duke’s family through additional contacts in the stews and on the docks.
Three quarters of an hour later, the meeting ended. Garahan went in search of Burke, his contact in the bowels of the city, while O’Malley would meet with Leach on the Dark Walk. Garahan agreed that since his contact, O’Shaughnessy, had already been instrumental in aiding O’Malley in finding Michaela that O’Malley should be the one to speak with O’Shaughnessy, too.
O’Malley was determined to have the information he needed by the end of the day. He would take care of the bloody bugger who had gotten away with stealing the lass’s virtue, her hopes, and her dreams. I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t take two witnesses with me. He considered who to take with him as he rode toward the docks.
“Garahan,” he said aloud. “He won’t talk and may even hold the man while I wield me blade.” The second witness was more of a problem. Though he’d worked with Findley recently, he did not know how the man felt about justice or revenge. He finally decided on Tremayne—he’d worked closely with Garahan and his brother James, and O’Malley’s brother Finn. Tremayne had argued in favor of leaving Melinda’s cousin alive when they had accompanied James to exact retribution with the duke’s approval…and conditions not to kill the man.
Mayhap he should ask Masterson. The man had all but admitted that he was half in love with Michaela. Masterson wouldn’t think twice if O’Malley told him he planned to take a pound of flesh or geld someone. He’d have to ask Garahan whom he thought would be the better choice, Tremayne or Masterson.
That settled, he was ready to question O’Shaughnessy when he noticed the man’s bulk moving toward him at a fast clip as he approached the docks. Before he could speak, O’Shaughnessy called, “He’s got her! Ye have to help me get her back!”
O’Malley dismounted, grabbed O’Shaughnessy by the arm, and dragged him toward the alley then let go. “Lower yer voice, man. I’m needing their names.”
Ignoring O’Malley, the big man rambled on, “He has the lass… The one I told ye about that I convinced to go into hiding.”
“Ah, the one who saw the carriage and the toff carrying a rolled-up rug on his shoulder.”
“Aye.” Worry bled from the man. “She’s got a heart of gold. I don’t want ye thinking just because she’s—”
O’Malley interrupted, “She’s the woman who helped me find Michaela. I will not hear a slight against her. All I’m needing is her name.”
“Pretty Mary.”
O’Malley felt the man’s love pouring out of him. “Does Pretty Mary have a last name?”
The big man shrugged. “I wasn’t in the way of asking… Ye’d understand why.”
“Aye. Tell me her height and describe her to me. I’ll be needing to know so I can find her.” O’Shaughnessy’s pain was a living, breathing thing. O’Malley had felt the same depth of emotion himself just the day before. “How tall is she?”
“Five foot nothing. She’s a curvy lass with black hair, green eyes, and a nose that tips up.”
“Any distinguishing birthmarks or scars? Does she have a limp? Anything that would help narrow my search.”
“Pretty Mary has a scar that slashes beneath her left cheekbone…from one of her customers a few years back. When she finally tells me his name, I’m going to—”
“Do nothing,” O’Malley interrupted for the second time. “If Bow Street got wind that you injured…”
The bold laughter had O’Malley realizing O’Shaughnessy did not intend to injure anyone. “ Permanently injure. No coming back from what I plan to do to the man.”
“Don’t say another word,” O’Malley warned. “If I’m asked, I’ll have to confess what I know.”
Garahan’s contact clamped his mouth shut and folded his arms over his massive chest. “She’s been gone for at least four hours.”
O’Malley asked, “Anyone else see her leave?”
The man shook his head. “You have to find her, O’Malley.”
“I promise ye that I will.” They parted company, and O’Malley headed back to Coventry’s building and the angel who waited for him there.