Page 17 of The Duke’s Man-At-Arms (The Duke’s Guard #11)

H aversham glared at Fitzsimmons. “I should put a lead ball between your eyes! Do you realize what you have cost me?”

“Do you realize,” Fitzsimmons said in a calm, clear voice, “that I will lead you to the angel of the streets, and those who have been protecting her…those who were instrumental in arresting Ashbrook and Anderson, destroying a part of your enterprise that impacts the ready income from one of your sources?”

Haversham’s eyes widened. “How many men do we need?”

“A handful, no more. They have sought refuge in the Duke of Wyndmere’s town house on Grosvenor Square.”

“Will they be expecting us?”

“Aye,” Fitzsimmons replied. “But they will only have the duke’s footmen and two of his private guard in place.” With a confidence he felt in his bones, Fitzsimmons added, “You’ll crush them and take back what they’ve taken from you—twice in twenty-four hours.”

Hatred was exactly the emotion Fitzsimmons hoped to see, not the bloodless look of indifference. Haversham was about to make a mistake underestimating O’Malley, O’Shaughnessy, and the men who would stand beside them and fight to protect the women Haversham had violated.

Fitzsimmons could not wait for the rest of O’Malley’s trap to spring shut on the devil spawn who preyed on young women and, God help him, little girls. Haversham would pay for his crimes.