Page 15 of The Duke’s Man-At-Arms (The Duke’s Guard #11)

O ’Malley’s gut warned that the trail would eventually lead back to the docks where he’d found Michaela. God help those who had abducted Mary if one hair on her head was harmed! He would not be able to stop O’Shaughnessy from slowly tearing them limb from limb.

His blood ran cold when he followed the lead right back to where he’d left the lass—at Coventry’s apartment under the protection of Coventry’s men. “We know the bleeding bastard abducted O’Shaughnessy’s woman, and she’s the one who helped me find the lass!” As he approached the intersection of Hart and Lumley, O’Malley felt as if his guts were being shredded. “The devil take him if he’s nabbed Michaela, too!”

Though the urge to push ahead at full speed had him by the throat, he and Garahan had to slow their horses to navigate around two slower carriages. Garahan leaned close. “We don’t know for certain that he has her. Get a hold of yerself!”

O’Malley’s heart did not want to listen to his cousin, but his head knew it was essential to verify the facts. The most important being discovering if Michaela had been snatched from the protective web he’d woven around her with the help of Captain Coventry and his men. Knowing his cousin expected it, he nodded and urged his horse toward the building on the corner where he’d left his angel.

Their horses balked as they reined in. “What in the bloody hell…” O’Malley fell silent as the scent and metallic tang in the air reached him. Blood! The front steps were awash in it, which spooked the horses. He calmed his gelding and, using hand signals, motioned to Garahan to follow him around back. They could leave their horses in the alley and enter the building without disturbing the evidence out front.

The building was oddly quiet when they entered through the back door. The hallway was paneled in dark wood and dimly lit, hiding their approach. The two men shared a glance before silently making their way toward Coventry’s rooms near the front. A door opened and closed, and O’Malley exhaled the breath he’d been holding. Tremayne paused for a heartbeat before his head snapped toward O’Malley and Garahan. He motioned them forward and opened the door he’d just exited. “In here.”

Masterson locked gazes with them as he and Garahan stepped into Coventry’s apartment. The colonel was standing, jaw tight, hands fisted at his sides. O’Malley sensed Masterson was fighting pain in order to give his report. The colonel’s eyes were red-rimmed and slightly dilated.

“I failed…” He shook his head and grimaced. “I was standing guard out front. Heard a woman call for help. When I turned to render aid, I was clubbed on the back of the head.”

O’Malley admired the man’s strength, but he needed to gather more facts. He had to find Michaela! “’Tis the front of yer head that’s bleeding.”

“I’m aware,” the colonel said.

“Where’s me wife?” Garahan growled.

“Safe upstairs with Miranda and little Emma in the captain’s office,” Tremayne replied. “Bayfield and Michael are guarding them.”

“Go to her,” O’Malley ordered Garahan. “Ye’ll be no help to me until ye see that Aimee’s safe.” His cousin didn’t argue. O’Malley heard the door close and heavy footsteps pound up the staircase. He understood his cousin’s urgency to ensure the woman he loved was indeed safe.

Masterson turned and locked gazes with him. “I was focused on the well-sprung, dark carriage that was slowing down out front when I heard the call for help.”

O’Malley drew on his ability to separate himself emotionally when dealing with serious wounds. It had worked when he fought to save his cousin Sean’s arm. It aided him now. “Did ye see the bugger who clubbed ye on the temple?”

Masterson waited a beat before continuing. “A pair of matched grays had me checking the side of the black coach. No crest. No insignia.”

The urge to throttle the colonel for not answering the questions was equal to O’Malley’s need to run off in search of Michaela. Not wise. He needed whatever facts Masterson had. “Where is the lass?”

“I recall the sound of a pistol being fired, and a searing pain ripping through my arm. Another shot hit my other arm.” The colonel paused, then said, “The last shot fired had white-hot pain blazing from the front of my head to the back… Then darkness.”

“Ye’re certain about the carriage and the team of horses?”

The colonel nodded, and it was clear from his stilted movements and deliberate recounting of the sequence of events that he was hanging on to consciousness by a thread. The blood out front was a testament to how much the man had lost.

“O’Malley… I… Find the angel,” Masterson rasped. “Bring her back so I can apologize.”

O’Malley nodded. “Ye have me word. And if that bloody bugger touched one hair on her head, I’ll—”

“We’ll,” Masterson interrupted.

“Aye, together,” O’Malley said. “Ye’ll hold him, while I geld him.”

Masterson’s eyes blazed with the same emotion that roared through O’Malley, and that had him poised to tear through the streets of London at a gallop. But emotion equaled mistakes and led to narrowed vision, where one missed what was happening peripherally. He tamped down the urge to dive into action. O’Malley would use calculation and caution in order to run Michaela and Mary’s captor to the ground.

“I’ll have your word on it, O’Malley.”

“Ye have it, colonel.” He turned and nodded to Tremayne. “Ye know how to find us.” Tremayne didn’t bother to answer, but O’Malley didn’t expect him to.

He walked toward the rear entrance and paused at the sound of someone thundering down the stairs, then glanced over his shoulder and noted the grim expression on Garahan’s face. It matched his own. They were both battle ready. Their next move was to get to the docks. Their ultimate goal—finding Michaela and O’Shaughnessy’s woman.

They scanned the alley where they’d left their horses, but didn’t note anything suspicious. They mounted and rode around the building to the front. “We’ll start with the docks and work our way to the heart of the—”

“O’Malley!” A man on horseback rode toward them at too swift a pace for the carriages snarling traffic on Lumley. They rode out to intercept him before the man spooked the next pair of horses pulling a carriage he was about to overtake.

Drawing closer, O’Malley recognized the man as one of the new recruits to the duke’s expanded London guard. “Donnelson!”

The man reined in his horse next to O’Malley and Garahan. “We have the connection, and the reason why the angel of the streets has been singled out… Lord Ashbrook.”

“The bastard who would not think twice about selling innocents no more than babes,” Garahan growled.

O’Malley forced himself not to react—he’d carried those two little poppets out of hell. They’d clung to him and refused to let go even once he delivered them into Michaela’s keeping. “Do ye have a name yet?”

Donnelson nodded. “Dr. Colborne gave three names to King. Coventry narrowed it down to a member of the ton …Haversham. Lord Haversham.”

“We’re headed to the docks where we found Miss Michaela,” O’Malley explained. “If she is not there—”

“We’ll work our way back to the stews,” Garahan interrupted.

“He owns a trio of abandoned warehouses slated to be torn down.” Donnelson gave the rest of the details to O’Malley and Garahan as they made their way through the streets toward the docks. If O’Shaughnessy was surprised to see them, he gave no indication other than to lift his chin in silent question.

“Donnelson is one of our contacts,” O’Malley told O’Shaughnessy, who visibly relaxed. Turning to Donnelson, he added, “O’Shaughnessy’s woman has also been abducted. We were fortunate to have a solid lead as to the description of the coach and the direction they were headed. It matches the one from the night Michaela was abducted and delivered here.”

“Aye,” Garahan said, “it led us to Coventry’s building.” He waited a beat and said, “Michaela is in Haversham’s clutches by design!”

O’Malley grabbed his cousin by the throat. “What did Miranda and Aimee tell ye, and why didn’t ye tell me ?”

“And have you react like this, before we had the information we needed to locate the women?” Garahan demanded.

O’Malley eased his grasp, but did not let go. “What else aren’t ye telling me?” Garahan shifted and shoved hard. O’Malley held up his hands in front of him. “I’m not apologizing. Now spit it out.”

“Aimee said that Michaela called him Haversham so they could tell us who he was when we arrived.” Garahan clenched his jaw and rasped, “Haversham took aim at me wife.” His voice broke, but then he shook his head and continued, “Michaela leapt in front of Aimee and was grazed in the arm by the lead ball.”

A calm swept over O’Malley, as all emotion shut down and a resolve took hold of him. “I’ll kill him.”

“Ye cannot,” Garahan reminded him.

O’Malley’s heart pounded in time with the instinctive need to find Haversham and tear him apart. He met Garahan’s determined look with one of promise. “Ye won’t stop me.”

“Where are they?” O’Shaughnessy demanded. “I’ve searched through all of the abandoned warehouses.”

“Even the ones blocked off, slated to be demolished?” Donnelson asked.

O’Shaughnessy roared in anguish, mounted his horse, and took off. O’Malley and the others spread out behind him as they spurred their mounts toward the group of roped-off, run-down buildings. Two had no doors or windows, and half of the roofs had caved in. The third building was in far better shape. It had most of its roof, a door, and partial windows.

The men dismounted and approached the buildings, splitting up to perform a careful search. O’Shaughnessy and Donnelson began to search the first two buildings.

Garahan and O’Malley approached the other building with caution. “Could be a trap,” Garahan murmured.

“I’m counting on it,” O’Malley replied. He paused outside the rear door to the building. “Did ye hear that?”

“Aye,” Garahan said. “Voices, pitched too low to make them out.”

“They must be in the room closest to the door. I’ll go in first,” O’Malley said.

Garahan nodded. The two men entered the building and jolted to a stop at the sight before them. A tall man was leading Michaela and a woman who had been badly beaten directly toward them.

Michaela wavered on her feet and gasped, “O’Malley?”

He had her in his arms in a heartbeat. “We need to see to yer arm, lass.”

“How do you know about my arm?” she asked.

Faith, the lass didn’t sound as if she was about to swoon. She sounded irritated as hell. “Garahan told me.”

“Put me down.”

The man who seemed to be aiding the women spoke up. “Miss Michaela said she was able to walk. From what little time I have spent with Miss Michaela and Miss Mary, they only say what they mean.”

O’Malley grunted, but didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to the other woman and said, “O’Shaughnessy’s frantic with worry, Pretty Mary.”

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “He won’t call me that anymore after… After…” She bowed her head.

Michaela pinched O’Malley above the wound in his side. He immediately swung his gaze back to stare at her. “What?”

She whispered, “Let me down. Please? Mary needs me.”

Reluctantly, he lowered her, bracing her when she wobbled on her feet. He let go when she straightened and walked over to the other woman. Reaching Mary’s side, Michaela said, “If O’Shaughnessy is anything like O’Malley and Garahan, he may yell, but not at you—because he is angry.”

“I know,” Mary replied, leaning against Michaela. “It is how he expresses his fear.”

Garahan’s loud whistle had the women jolting apart as the sound of running feet, and then a door smashing against the wall echoed through the building. O’Shaughnessy pounded toward them, stopping short of knocking Mary off her feet in his haste to get to her. Lifting his hand to cup her cheek, he stopped a hairsbreadth away and dropped his hand to his side as if he were afraid to touch her battered face. “Tell me who did this to ye, lass.”

Mary closed her eyes, and O’Shaughnessy’s expression turned deadly. She sighed, and O’Malley watched the other man school his features as she slowly opened her eyes.

O’Shaughnessy’s expression was neutral when he slipped an arm around Mary and swept her into his arms. “Let me tend to yer wounds.”

“Fitzsimmons already did what he could under the circumstances,” Michaela said.

O’Malley noted that the other man watched them closely. There was something in Fitzsimmons’s gaze that reminded him of his brothers and cousins. “Ye were helping the women escape.”

“Aye.”

“How did ye find them, when others had combed the docks without finding them?” Before the man had a chance to answer, O’Malley stalked over to Fitzsimmons. “Ye were left to guard them… Ye’re one of the ones responsible for them being abducted.”

“I am.”

O’Malley’s move to wrap his hands around the other man’s neck was blocked. He feinted to the right and again found his move blocked. The men traded blows, half blocked, half landing, accompanied by grunts of surprise, until finally O’Malley said, “Ye fight well for a blackguard. I’ll be sorry to have to break yer legs.” He grinned when he added, “It’ll be a pleasure, seeing as how ye’ve managed to evade me fists longer than others I’ve fought.”

When O’Malley stepped back from his opponent, O’Shaughnessy stared at the other man. “I know ye.”

“You should,” Fitzsimmons replied. “We fought in the same regiment—and, since retiring from the military, have passed one another outside of the Prospect of Whitby pub. But you were intent on other business.”

O’Shaughnessy stared at him for a few moments before nodding. “Fitzsimmons. I thought that was someone who resembled you.”

Fitzsimmons snorted. “You still owe me.”

“Bloody hell. I thought ye were dead, and I was free of me promise to save yer bleeding hide one more time.”

Fitzsimmons chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you, O’Shaughnessy. But you still owe me for the second time I saved your life.”

“Best leave him be, O’Malley,” O’Shaughnessy grumbled. “Fitzsimmons is cut from a similar cloth as yerself and yer cousin. Stubborn as the day is long, with a head thicker than mine!”

Garahan snorted with laughter. “No one’s head is as hard as yers, O’Shaughnessy.”

“I wouldn’t want to put that claim to the test,” O’Shaughnessy warned. “But I’ll gladly hold yer coat if ye want to go a few rounds with Fitzsimmons here.”

Garahan and O’Malley shared a look before Garahan shook his head and asked Fitzsimmons, “How soon before Haversham returns?”

“He has other business to attend to, but is unpredictable,” Fitzsimmons replied, “and could return at any time. If I encountered either O’Malley or Garahan in my search, I was to remind you that Cameron told you he had connections.”

“Cameron?” O’Malley asked. “How do ye know him?”

“A connection through Colonel Merriweather.”

“Ye’re lying.”

“Am I?” Fitzsimmons asked.

“Aye, Cameron’s father-in-law was a dragoon,” O’Malley said. “Not a foot soldier like O’Shaughnessy.”

“True,” Fitzsimmons agreed. “And he was nearly poisoned. Save for the keen eye of Cameron, and the efforts of Lieutenant Sampson, the colonel would have died and Cameron’s wife would be married to that cur who would poison his future father-in-law to get his hands on her dowry.”

“Ye’re either working for Haversham,” O’Malley murmured, “or ye’re telling the truth!”

Fitzsimmons’s fist connected with O’Malley’s jaw, snapping his head back. Instead of knocking him off his feet, it had O’Malley grinning. Rubbing his jaw, he spat blood. “Faith, ye used me own move on meself. I was about to deliver a right cross.”

“Ye would have, too,” Garahan said in his cousin’s defense, “if ye hadn’t been injured.”

“Cameron warned that you would test me with your fists,” Fitzsimmons said.

Garahan shoved the man out of his way with his shoulder. “Fall in line. O’Malley’s giving the orders today.”

Fitzsimmons nodded and stepped back.

Without another word, O’Malley scooped Michaela off her feet and strode toward the door leading to the back of the building. O’Shaughnessy followed, and they both waited while Fitzsimmons took the lead and Garahan fell in line behind them, bringing up the rear.

“If I’m leading the way, I need to know where you are headed,” Fitzsimmons said.

“The duke’s town house,” O’Malley replied.

“Are ye daft?” O’Shaughnessy demanded. “We cannot just ride up to the duke’s home as if we’d been invited, especially with the lasses injured.”

Garahan shrugged. “’Tis a sound plan. Haversham traced Michaela to her new location, took out Greenwood, and clubbed the lass on the back of the head, broke her ribs—”

Before his cousin could get up a head of steam and list all of the lass’s injuries, O’Malley growled, “Haversham managed to track Michaela down at Coventry’s apartment. Where else would ye suggest that we would have backup that could easily defend our position while protecting the women?”

“I cannot go with you to the duke’s home,” Mary protested. “I would never disrespect His Grace by entering his home, even by the back door.”

“Poppycock!” Michaela elbowed O’Malley, who jolted to a stop to stare down at her.

“What now?”

Michaela’s gaze bored into O’Malley, silently entreating him to answer honestly. “Will the duke’s staff treat Mary unkindly?”

“’Tisn’t in them to even think to do so. They are kind women who have served three dukes faithfully. No one who enters the duke’s doors is ever a stranger. No servant was ever let go without a glowing recommendation.”

“Aye,” Garahan agreed. “They’ve patched us up more than once, and have a way with babes. They’re gems and have a light hand with making scones.”

“Scones?” Fitzsimmons’s eyes lit up. “I wouldn’t mind lending my expertise in that regard taste testing scones. I am renowned for my good taste.”

O’Shaughnessy chuckled. “Do ye not mean renowned for tasting anything and everything sweet?”

Fitzsimmons grinned as they approached their horses where they’d left them. “We’d best be on our way.”

Garahan and Fitzsimmons held the reins while O’Malley and O’Shaughnessy mounted the horses with their precious burdens held close to their hearts. Fitzsimmons fetched his horse from the back of one of the derelict buildings and the group rode out, single file, the same way they’d exited the building, with Fitzsimmons in the lead and Garahan bringing up the rear. Given the hour was closing in on teatime, there were fewer carriages as they entered Grosvenor Square. No one was out and about as they rode up to the duke’s town house and O’Malley signaled to Findley, who led them to the stables around back.

“Alert Mrs. O’Toole that we have two women who have been injured,” Findley told one of the stable lads. “Hurry now!”

The young man took off at a trot, while the others dismounted and turned their mounts over to the other stable hands to care for them. Without asking permission, O’Malley carried Michaela to the back entrance. “I can walk,” she protested.

The feeble sound of her voice had worry gnawing at his gut. “Ye’re weak from blood loss, exhausted, and could use a hot meal.”

She sighed and laid her head in the hollow of his shoulder. “As long as the meal comes with a cup of tea.”

“Mrs. O’Toole always has the kettle on.”

Michaela’s sigh of acceptance was music to O’Malley’s ears. “Trust me, lass.”

“I do.”