Page 16 of The Duke’s Man-At-Arms (The Duke’s Guard #11)

“Y e need to send word to Coventry and King where we are, and what’s happened,” Garahan said.

O’Malley ignored him in favor of watching Mrs. O’Toole carefully cleanse the wound left by the lead ball that grazed Michaela’s arm. It was deeper than he’d thought. Given the length of time it had gone untreated, the chances of the lass developing wound fever were far greater. “Why did ye insist on waiting for Mary’s injuries to be tended before yours?” When she did not answer fast enough, he asked, “And why in the bloody hell did ye not tell me how deep the wound was, lass?”

Michaela kept her gaze on Mrs. O’Toole’s ministrations when she answered, “I was concerned that Mary had suffered a concussion, given how many times she was struck in the face and head. Besides, I did not have time to inspect the wound. I had a pistol against my temple at the time.”

O’Malley’s entire being absorbed her words like blows from Declan McNamara—his first bare-knuckle opponent, a mountain of a man. He could not have heard right. “Did ye say ye had a pistol to yer head?”

She turned to look at him and met the intensity of his gaze. “Yes.”

He was torn between the need to chase down Haversham, geld him, hobble him, and then beat him within an inch of his life, and the need to stay with Michaela and Mary until the threat of the lass suffering from wound fever had passed, and the worry of Mary being concussed had been ruled out. Time was not on O’Malley’s side.

“No,” Michaela rasped. Her shocked expression surprised him.

“No, what?” He would see that justice was served. Haversham would pay for everything he had done to this brave, strong, resilient, willful woman glaring at him.

“You are not going to chase after him and do whatever it is that turned your eyes a hard yellow green.” Michaela flinched when Mrs. O’Toole removed another bit of cloth from her wound.

“Ye’d best understand, lass, that no man, nor woman, tells me what to do.”

“I will say whatever I want, whenever I want,” Michaela replied.

“Faith, but I admire yer spirit, lass. A fine bride ye’ll be. Have I mentioned that Coventry has arranged everything?” She shook her head, and O’Malley took her silence to mean she was too overcome with gratitude to speak. “I have the special license, and Vicar Dalrymple will be marrying us tonight.”

He looked over his shoulder at his cousin. “We need to get word to the vicar that we’ve relocated to Grosvenor Square.”

Garahan shook his head. “With the number of connections King and Coventry have on the streets, they’ll have heard what happened. By now Coventry will be ensconced in his apartment with his family. Do ye think his family is safe there?”

O’Malley removed his frockcoat, rolled up his sleeves, and washed his hands. Considering his cousin’s question, he replied, “Given the amount of traffic going past the building he lives in at all hours of the day, the chances of someone trying to sneak past the guard the captain has posted are high.”

Mrs. O’Toole straightened and said, “There, all ready for you to close the wound, O’Malley. I’ll just go down the hall and check on Mary.”

“Thank ye, Mrs. O’Toole. Make certain O’Shaughnessy hasn’t let her fall asleep.”

“Of course,” the duke’s cook replied.

He walked over to stand beside his intended. Because of who she was, and the bond of trust he was working to build, he confessed what he would normally keep to himself. “I do not normally have to tend pistol ball wounds on women, nor have I ever done so for my bride-to-be.”

Michaela slowly smiled. “How many brides-to-be have you had, O’Malley?”

He chuckled. “Tell her, Darby.”

Garahan frowned. “Well now, are ye wanting the long list of women pining for ye back home in Cork, or the ones in—”

“Blithering eedjit !” O’Malley interrupted. “Do not listen to me cousin. I should have realized he would be no help to me. Ye’re the only woman I have asked to be me wife. Ye’re the only woman for me, lass.”

Her smile added a sparkle to her moss-green eyes. That she held affection for him was evident, but would she trust him with her body as well as her heart? Time would tell. The need to show her that not all men are rutting beasts filled him. He needed to show her that she could trust him, or else he’d never be able to help her heal from the horror he suspected she still held inside of her.

O’Malley was the man she needed. He would be the man who would gently show her, teach her, that she could trust him to keep his word and not hurt her. He would show her with an open and loving heart, tender touches, and feather-soft kisses that her heart and body would be safe within his arms.

“What are you thinking, O’Malley?”

“Thoughts best saved for later, lass, after I’ve taken care of ye.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Garahan, I could use a hand.”

Michaela grimaced. As a healer, she would know what was to come.

“If there was a way I could stitch ye without causing ye pain, lass, know that I would.”

She sighed. “I have never had a wound deep enough to require threads,” she confessed. “I know from having taken care of a number of patients who suffered through the mending that it will be painful, no matter how sharp the needle or how carefully and quickly I work.”

“Well now, mayhap ye can tell me a tale of yer most difficult patient while I thread this needle and close up yer wound.” He locked gazes with Garahan. “Hold her arm, steady…gently.”

“I’m wanting to hear about yer most difficult patient too,” Garahan said. “Was it me sister-in-law, Melinda?”

Michaela laughed softly, then gasped as O’Malley began to close the wound with the sharp needle and boiled threads.

“I’m thinking it was yer pain-in-the-arse eldest brother,” O’Malley said. “Didn’t he get slashed or shot rescuing Melinda?”

“James?” Garahan asked. “Oh aye, didn’t he refuse to let ye sew him back together, Michaela?”

She drew in a breath, flinched, and exhaled as O’Malley worked carefully closing the wound. “Up until meeting O’Malley, I thought James was the most stubborn man I had ever encountered.”

“Stubborn is a compliment, lass,” O’Malley murmured. “Almost done. Ye’re a brave woman, mo chroí .”

“I’m grateful that you have a firm but gentle touch, O’Malley,” Michaela rasped as he tied off the thread. “Thank you for tending to my wound.”

“Hold still while I apply the healing salve.” She watched him tend to her, and a feeling of rightness settled around O’Malley. Knowing she trusted him, he said, “I don’t believe you mentioned when or who shot you.”

Michaela did not answer right away. Giving her the time he thought she needed, O’Malley said, “Garahan, hand me a few of those linen squares, would ye?” His cousin complied, and O’Malley instructed her, “Hold the edges carefully, now. I’m going to wrap a length of linen around them to hold them in place.”

His mind was racing with possibilities. The one that kept coming back to him was that Michaela for some reason was protecting the person who shot her. Why would she? Who was Haversham to her?

Mrs. Wigglesworth, the housekeeper, walked into the kitchen and smiled at Michaela. “I just wanted to tell you how grateful we are that you were instrumental in lending aid to Melinda and Aimee when they needed it most. His Grace sent a missive recently. He wanted to convey his thanks. The duke and duchess value every man in his private guard, and their wives as well.”

O’Malley let the lass be distracted by the engaging housekeeper. There would be time enough to ask the lass again who shot her.

Letting Michaela think that he would not remember she had yet to answer his question, he said, “The duke and duchess have been instrumental in lending their aid to those sailors and soldiers who have been injured serving king and country, as well as the widows and orphans of those who have given the ultimate sacrifice.” He paused, then said, “Coventry once confided that it was His Grace’s father, the fourth Duke of Wyndmere, that met and befriended him when he’d returned after the Battle of Trafalgar so badly injured and lying in that hospital bed.”

“They are some of the rare few,” Garahan said, “that see where help is needed and do whatever they can to lend their aid. Whether it be His Grace standing up in the House of Lords pushing for reforms, or opening his town house to the lasses we rescue who steal our hearts and fall in love with us.”

Michaela’s eyes welled with tears. “I have felt the same calling, and have devoted my life and skills that I learned at my father’s elbow to help others.” She turned and smiled at Garahan and then O’Malley. “It is my calling, something I know Emmett understands and shares—the need to heal others to the best of his ability.” Tears spilled over as she confided, “It warms my heart and reaffirms my hope that there are still others in this life who judge not and lend aid to whomever needs it.”

Mrs. Wigglesworth handed her a handkerchief from her sleeve. “You need not worry about Mary—not one of us on His Grace’s staff judges others. She needs us right now, and we are more than up to the task. With O’Shaughnessy as her protector, you can be certain she will be safe and well cared for.”

O’Malley finished clearing away the supplies he’d used, and set the ointments, salves, and herbs back in the basket Mrs. O’Toole kept them in. Washing up again, he experienced something that never happened before. As he stared at Michaela’s blood on his hands, her words ripped through him… I had a pistol against my temple.

A delayed reaction set in, and his hands trembled. He willed them to stop, confident that no one would see, as his back was turned to everyone. He regained control of his hands, but not his racing heart. He had been up to his elbows in blood more than once when called upon to heal others, but this was the blood of the woman he loved.

“And that makes all the difference,” he murmured. He accepted the visual proof—the lass’s blood on his hands. His head was finally in accord with his heart, and O’Malley silently vowed to share his love, the hope of the family they could make between them with his life-giving seed. God help him, he would be half a man without Michaela by his side.

“Did ye say something, O’Malley?”

He shook his head at Garahan. “We’d best ensure the vicar knows to come to Grosvenor Square tonight.”

“I’ll speak to Jenkins,” Garahan said.

“Before ye do, Darby,” O’Malley said, “I’m thinking ye need to bring Aimee here and insist Coventry bring his family—and his men. Even though Masterson is injured, he’s still an excellent shot. With Hennessey, Bayfield, and Tremayne added to our numbers, we’ll be better able to defend the women and little Emma.”

Gratitude shone in Garahan’s eyes. “I was going to suggest it, and am glad ye agree. ’Tis a sound plan and a much easier location to defend. I’ll advise Jenkins and Findley of our plan. Ye can speak to Mrs. Wigglesworth and Mrs. O’Toole.”

“I’ll stay here to keep watch over the women, until ye return with yer wife and the others in tow. The next few hours are critical—for their healing and for waiting for Haversham to make his next move.”

O’Malley turned to the woman who would be his wife, and still could not believe his good fortune that she had said yes to him. “We’ve had a bit of a change in plans, mo ghrá . Ye’ll soon have the company of Aimee, Miranda, and little Emma.” When she smiled at him, he repeated his question. “Now then, lass, I’ve let ye avoid answering me long enough. Who shot ye? Was it Haversham?”

*

Michaela felt every ounce of blood rush from her head to her feet. Her stomach roiled as her head began to pound, her ribs ached, and her arm… She bit down on her lip to ignore the slashing pain from the stitches O’Malley had used to close the wound. Thoughts of the precious, tiny babe growing in Aimee’s belly, and the thought of how close the young woman had come to losing not just the babe but her life, had bile surging up Michaela’s throat. Haversham had taken so much from her, but would have taken far more from Aimee and Darby if she hadn’t reacted so quickly.

Dear God—if O’Malley knew about Haversham, then he must know what had happened to her that night… He would have no choice but to rescind his offer of marriage! There was no way a proud man like Emmett O’Malley would marry a shell of a woman like her. Ruined, her reputation in shreds. Beyond redemption.

Doubled over in pain, fearful of being sick in front of O’Malley, she fought the urge to cast up her accounts. When she could no longer control it, she glanced up in time to see O’Malley holding a pot in front of her. Her eyes watered as she heaved until she relieved the meager contents of her stomach. It had been hours since she’d had tea, a scone, and a bite of gingerbread.

“Easy now, lass. I did not mean to upset ye to the point where you’d vomit.”

Mrs. Wigglesworth handed him a cloth, and he gently wiped her mouth before handing it back to the housekeeper, who had a damp cloth ready this time. When he gently bathed Michaela’s face with the cloth, as if she were as fragile as her mother’s bone china teacups, she felt her composure begin to crack.

When he held out a cup of water to rinse out her mouth, she accepted it, surprised that he’d added a bit of mint to the water to wash away the vile taste. O’Malley was a thoughtful, caring man who would have valued her—if she had not been tainted.

Unable to hold back the tears, she gave in and cried, remembering the fear that slashed through her when Haversham pointed his dueling pistol at Aimee. She cried for the terrible beating Mary had suffered at Haversham’s hands. And lastly, she cried for the love of the man who offered another dream that would now be snatched away from her.

She didn’t realize she’d curled into a ball until she was gently lifted off her feet and wrapped in the strong embrace she would dream of for the rest of her life. It was the only place she felt safe…and now that too would be taken from her. Being unable to protect her virtue from the man who stole it from her rendered her unworthy of being in the same Society as others who had not suffered the same fate. Where would she go now? What would she do if Papa found out what had happened ten years ago?

Gradually, she regained control and felt acutely embarrassed. She eased back to look at O’Malley’s face. “Forgive me,” she rasped.

He brushed a lock of hair from her eyes with the tip of one finger. “Nothing to forgive, lass. Ye’ve been through more than I have in one day. Rescued after being abducted and held against yer will. Bound and gagged, suffering from broken ribs and a good-sized knot on the back of yer head. Then shot at and held captive a second time. Ye’re due for a good cry.”

She stared at the man who’d blithely announced his intention to wed her this evening—without asking if she was ready, mind you. Now that she knew she would only feel safe with O’Malley, she was absolutely positive that he would change his mind and want to have nothing to do with her.

Such had been her luck for the last decade—to be forgotten, to feel as if the only way she could atone for what happened to her was to give aid to others who had suffered as she had. She had had a purpose rescuing others and helping them rebuild their lives. Now, when the gift of this man’s love had been offered, the man who’d taken her virtue had resurfaced and tainted her beyond redemption for the second time. O’Malley will never marry her now.

Michaela pressed a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes, just for a moment. She needed to apologize again. Maybe then he would not come to revile her. “Please forgive me, O’Malley. I never mean to bring trouble to Captain Coventry’s door. If I thought my nightmare would reappear and try to wreak havoc on those that I have come to care deeply for, I would have refused your offer of help.”

He grunted. “As if I’d leave ye in that rat-infested room I found ye, hands bound behind yer back, lying in the filth he placed ye in.”

“If I had refused to go with you, Aimee, Miranda, and little Emma would never have been in danger. You should have left me in that abandoned warehouse.”

He nudged her chin up with a knuckle and stared into her eyes. “I will always come for ye, lass. Ye have me heart. I’ll be damned if I’ll take it back because ye’re afraid of repercussions from the actions of a dishonorable man. One who earns coin by selling young women and girls to the highest bidder.”

Shock arrowed through her at the intensity and determination in the depths of his brilliant green eyes. “But you don’t know what he took from me…” She couldn’t say any more than that. Surely O’Malley would not make her confess to everything that happened.

“I guessed, lass. It was what ye didn’t say and the path ye’ve taken. Ye are a woman of great strength. A woman who gives hope back to those who have lost it. Ye’re the woman I am proud to marry.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Yer hands heal others, a calling that echoes me own. We’re meant , lass. Best get used to the idea that we’ll marry tonight.” Cupping her chin in his callused hand, he said, “I’m going to kiss ye, lass. Will ye let me?”

She couldn’t seem to find her voice to reply. O’Malley had turned her world upside down with his heartfelt declaration. He knew what happened to her and yet did not blame her for it. He admired her for putting her past behind her by helping others.

She licked her lips and met his gaze, surprised by the desire swirling in his eyes.

She knew what happened in the marriage bed. He’d already told her that in order to keep her safe once they were wed, they had to seal their vows. In the next breath, he’d said once they had, they would be safe in the eyes of God and man. He would be patient and wait for her to come to him when she was ready to do more than seal their vows. She would be a fool to throw away a chance that she would feel whole again and regain a bit of her self-respect.

She cleared her throat. “Please.”

O’Malley bent his head and kissed her gently, reverently. “Ah, lass, yer lips are sweet as honey. I’m needing another sip.”

He waited, and she sighed. “All right.”

This time when his lips met hers, she felt tingles of awareness shooting from her lips to her fingertips, and could not feel the top of her head. Her heart beat a frantic rhythm in her breast as O’Malley staked his claim to her heart with a drugging kiss. When he eased back, she whimpered, then opened her eyes to find him staring at her.

“I have much to teach ye, lass, once I’ve gained yer trust. Know that I would never willingly hurt ye.”

“I believe you, Emmett.”

“’Tis a start, lass. Now then, I’d best let ye rest while I speak to Findley and Jenkins about adding some of His Grace’s footmen to our guard.”

She prayed she was wrong, but she had the feeling O’Malley expected Haversham to show up on the duke’s doorstep…or climb in through one of the windows. “You truly believe he’ll have discerned where I am and come after me here?”

“Aye. But know that he’ll never breach our guard. I’ll be introducing yerself and Mary to the rest of the men when they arrive.”

She’d just noticed that they were alone and Fitzsimmons was nowhere to be found. “Did you ask Fitzsimmons to leave after he was instrumental in freeing Mary and me?”

“Nay, he had an appointment to keep and will be luring Haversham here.”

Her heart lodged in her throat.

“Fear not, lass. We’ll be ready and waiting for the bloody bastard. He’ll not escape justice this time!” O’Malley promised.