Page 19 of The Duke’s Man-At-Arms (The Duke’s Guard #11)

M rs. Wigglesworth smiled as she entered the largest of the duke’s guest rooms, where the women had gathered to help Michaela get ready to marry O’Malley. “Just what this house has been missing, ladies.” She glanced around at the smiling faces as they were sipping tea and enjoying the teacakes Mrs. O’Toole and Emma had frosted. “Where is Mary?”

Michaela’s heart sighed with relief at the concern evident in the housekeeper’s tone. “Emmett agreed with me that Mary needed quiet and rest and someone to sit with her to ensure she was awakened every few hours.”

Miranda nodded as she used one of the linen napkins to gently wipe her daughter’s tiny fingers after Emma had licked the frosting off them. “Head injuries are always serious.”

“We all would rather have Mary here with us, drinking tea and offering our advice”—Aimee smiled at Emma and winked—“when Emma is otherwise occupied.”

“Emmett and I were in complete agreement, but it was O’Shaughnessy who was adamant that he would not be leaving Mary’s side until we were satisfied that she was not concussed,” Michaela said.

Mrs. Wigglesworth nodded. “Always best to err on the side of caution.” She slowly smiled at the women and confided, “It is so much easier when the patient in question is not one of the duke’s guard.”

Michaela burst into giggles. Aimee and Miranda were soon laughing with her, while little Emma clapped delightedly before she dove across the table, reaching for another frosted teacake.

“That is absolutely your last cake, Emma.”

Michaela bit her lip to keep from laughing at the little one’s fierce frown. She did not want Emma to think she was laughing at her. That was not the case at all—it was how closely Emma’s fierce frown matched her father’s. More often than not, Captain Coventry frowned.

“Please join us, Mrs. Wigglesworth,” Michaela invited as she filled a teacup. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Neither, thank you,” the housekeeper said as she sat on the empty chair and accepted the proffered teacup. “I really only just stopped in to advise that the vicar has arrived. Garahan wanted me to tell you that O’Malley has been wearing a hole in the library’s carpet.”

Michaela flushed, but could not keep from smiling. “Is he really?”

The housekeeper nodded, then sipped from her cup. “Mrs. O’Toole and I are both of a mind when it comes to O’Malley. He is a fierce and formidable warrior with a heart of pure gold. You have nothing to fear marrying him, Michaela. He will guard you with his life, as will the rest of the men in the duke’s guard.” She turned and beamed at Miranda, adding, “And of course the man who oversees everything from London…Captain Coventry.”

Mrs. Wigglesworth set her teacup on its saucer and smiled at Michaela. “Are you ready to dress, now that you have soaked in a hot tub and soothed the rest of your nerves with tea and cake?”

Michaela sighed. “It is not nerves, exactly.” She did not how to put into words what she was feeling, so she fell silent.

“We understand,” Aimee said with a glance at Miranda. “You trust O’Malley, don’t you?”

“With all my heart,” Michaela answered.

“Then do as Aimee and I have done,” Miranda said. “Remember that as you dress, and we accompany you down to where your husband-to-be is pacing, worried sick that you will have changed your mind.”

Michaela shot to her feet. “I promised to marry Emmett. I would never go back on my word.”

Mrs. Wigglesworth rose and reached for Michaela’s hands. “Best hurry now. I overheard the vicar confiding he missed afternoon tea and is quite famished. We need to feed him soon.” With that, the duke’s housekeeper nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Miranda and Aimee rose and slipped their arms through Michaela’s, escorting her behind the dressing screen. Miranda chatted until Emma got tangled in the damp drying cloth draped across the back of the fainting couch and started to cry when she discovered she was stuck. Aimee took over the chatting and fastening the buttons on the back of Michaela’s borrowed gown.

“Please remind me whose gown I’m wearing? I’d like to send a note of thanks.”

Aimee was quick to respond, “I believe it is one of Lady Aurelia’s gowns. All of the duke’s relatives keep gowns on hand so they need not pack so many when they come to London. Her Grace’s gowns would be several inches too long for you. Lady Phoebe and Lady Calliope’s gowns would only be a few inches too long.” Fussing and smoothing the pale cream gown, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. “You look stunning, Michaela, and are so fortunate that Lady Aurelia is the same height and of a similar build.”

“Are you certain she will not mind my borrowing it?”

“I am quite sure. Mrs. O’Toole confided that the duke’s sister-in-law has had a new wardrobe made to accommodate her new figure. Poor Lady Aurelia is beside herself that she doesn’t appear to be able to regain the figure she had before giving birth.”

“It seems to be the nature of things, from what I have observed,” Michaela said. “I hope the earl has reassured her that she looks as lovely as ever. Women who have recently given birth need reassurance that they are loved and needed by their husband as well as their babe.”

“I haven’t had any experience with babes or new mothers,” Aimee added.

“I would be happy to invite one or two that are quite good friends who would be happy to share their experiences with you. Just say the word, Aimee.”

“Thank you, Michaela. I think that would ease my mind. Oh, I nearly forgot—O’Malley sent one of his cravats for you to wear.”

“Odd,” Michaela said. “Why would I want to do that?”

“He insisted that you listen to someone who has been shot in the arm and knows that the healing time is slowed considerably if you do not keep it immobile and elevated in a sling.”

“But if my arm is in a sling, I cannot use it,” Michaela protested.

Aimee smiled, folded the black square in half diagonally, and held it up in front of Michaela. “I do believe that is what I just said. Please do this, if not for Emmett, then for me?”

Michaela grumbled, but complied. She knew it was the proper treatment, but had balked because it would leave her with one useless arm, if she had to defend herself.

As if she understood and recognized what worried Michaela, Aimee reminded her, “You have O’Malley to protect you.”

“He is often on assignment,” Michaela countered.

Aimee nodded. “There will always be one of the other members of the guard, or one of Coventry’s men, who will step in to protect you. You are part of the duke’s extended family now, and therefore added to the growing list of those the men in the duke’s guard have vowed to protect with their lives.”

“I had no idea,” Michaela whispered.

“Neither did I, until the day came when I needed protection, and Darby was on the other side of the city.”

“Gordon’s men rotate their duties, leaving one man to stand guard at all times,” Miranda said, holding a now sleepy-eyed Emma in her arms. “If there is a threat, the number of men standing guard increases. If there is a need, Gavin King has a select few who are first choice to fill in for the duke’s guard and my husband’s men.”

Michaela felt the worry leaving her. “Thank you for explaining that to me. I am so sorry that I brought danger to your door, Miranda. You, Emma, and Aimee should not have had to be terrorized by Haversham. Please say you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.”

Miranda shook her head, and Michaela’s heart sank.

“Of course I forgive you,” Miranda rushed to assure her. “I was shaking my head at the idea that you would feel responsible for the actions of a dishonorable man, taking them on as your own.”

Aimee added her assurances to Miranda’s, then said, “Give me a few moments, and I can pin up your hair. You will look fashionable and O’Malley will thank me later.”

Michaela laughed softly. “He’s seen me covered in filth, battered, and disheveled. I doubt he cares what my hair looks like.”

Aimee shared a glance with Miranda before holding up three hairpins. Michaela frowned. “I use three times as many pins to hold my hair in place.”

“Pay attention,” Aimee said as she quickly fashioned a flattering updo that required just three pins to fasten it.

“Thank you, Aimee. It’s lovely.”

“ You’re lovely, Michaela,” Miranda and Aimee said simultaneously. “Don’t forget to tell us what O’Malley thinks of your coiffure,” Aimee added.

Though she wondered at the merriment in the other women’s eyes, Michaela didn’t ask why, simply agreed.

The loud knock that Michaela had been waiting for, and dreading at the same time, came a few moments later.

Aimee rushed over and opened the door to greet her husband.

Garahan smiled at his wife, pulled her into his arms, and kissed the breath out of her before stepping over the threshold. “Ye’re a vision, Michaela.” He cleared his throat and said, “I’ve been tasked with collecting the bride and escorting ye to me eedjit cousin… Er…yer husband-to-be.”

Michaela was smiling as she walked over to Garahan and slipped her arm through his. “Thank you, Darby. I’m so happy that you are the one to escort me.”

“’Tis the Garahan curse to be wanted by every female in God’s creation, when our hearts love but one.”

“I have heard that sentiment before, you know,” Michaela said. “From your brother James.”

“He’s always stealing me best lines,” Garahan murmured before changing the subject. “We’d best not tarry, lass. O’Malley’s temper is on the rise.”

“We’ll be down in a moment,” Aimee said. “I’ll make certain Miranda doesn’t rush, as she’s carrying Emma.”

Garahan smiled at his wife and said, “Himself expected ye a quarter of an hour ago and fears the worst.”

Michaela lifted the hem of her gown and tugged on Garahan’s arm. “Hurry!”

*

O’Malley wanted to stalk out of the library, take the stairs two at a time, and bang on the door his bride-to-be was hiding behind. “What is keeping her? Does she not know the vicar’s arrived?”

Cameron smiled. “I dinna think I’ve ever seen a man so far gone over a lassie before.” O’Malley curled his hands into fists. Cameron noticed and laughed. “Michaela is stout of heart and afraid of nothing. She’s taking her time. It cannot be easy with one arm out of commission.”

At the reminder, O’Malley’s gut roiled. “Ye’re right. How could I forget?”

The Scot shrugged. “She rarely tells anyone how she feels. It’s like pulling teeth to get her to confide when something is worrying her. My wife is the same way.”

“I’ve just extracted vital information that I knew she’d been keeping from me.”

Cameron stared at O’Malley, waiting for him to share what Michaela had told him. O’Malley decided that Cameron knew her best, having guarded the lass closely. “She knew the name of her abductor. The man who had her bound, gagged, and delivered to an abandoned warehouse on the docks rolled up in a rug.”

Cameron narrowed his eyes. “What of the other man, the one who shot her?”

“Same man.” The shock on Cameron’s face had O’Malley nodding. “Before ye ask, ’tis the same bloody bugger who stole her virtue.”

Cameron’s eyes flashed with anger as he clenched his jaw. Relief flowed through O’Malley. Here was a man who would not hold him back. He would insist Cameron accompany him to exact revenge against the man who had tried to crush the life out of the brightest of earthbound angels, his Michaela. “I couldn’t understand why she’d keep the name from me. Why she would protect the man who’d taken so much from her.”

Cameron relaxed his hands and said, “You thought she was in love with her tormentor.”

“Briefly,” O’Malley admitted. “She finally confessed that she was protecting—”

Cameron swore and interrupted, “Her father. I was tempted more than once to have a discussion with Dr. Colborne. If he had eyes in his head, he would have seen her turmoil, her need for his assurances.”

“Aye, that she was not alone. She was valued… She was loved,” O’Malley rasped.

“Michaela is a gem among women, with a healing touch and a pure heart,” Cameron said.

“And if she doesn’t hurry up and get here in the next few minutes,” O’Malley barked, “I’m going to go fetch her meself, toss her over me shoulder, and demand the vicar marry us before I set her back on her feet!”

“Is that really necessary, Emmett?”

O’Malley turned, and every ounce of spit dried up in his mouth. The vision standing in the doorway, her arm linked with his cousin’s, was a beauty beyond compare. The gown she wore was the color of freshly churned butter. It accentuated her soft brown hair that had been swept up onto the top of her head, adding to her small stature. Tendrils had escaped their pins and caressed the sides of her face, calling his attention to her full lips and moss-green eyes. There was a hint of worry in the depths of them. Worry for what?

Instead of asking, he immediately sought to soothe her. “Ye’re a vision of loveliness, lass, from the top of yer head to yer toes.”

The worry faded as a hint of embarrassed pleasure took its place. O’Malley strode over to her and held out his hand. “Careful now—I don’t want ye losing yer balance now that ye’ve finally listened to me instructions and are using the sling to elevate yer injured arm.”

She glared, and he grinned. “By God, lass, the temper in yer eyes only adds to yer beauty. I’ll have to be careful not to anger ye too much, else ye’ll constantly be getting whatever ye ask.”

Michaela’s lilting laughter filled the room. “I would be a fool to forget that I have a weapon to hold over your head, O’Malley.”

He closed the distance between them. The toes of his boots touched the toes of her serviceable footwear. The incongruity of his wife-to-be wearing her worn boots and a gown that had to have belonged to Lady Aurelia, given their respective heights, bothered him. Did the lass not own more than one pair of half boots? What of gowns? Did she only own the trio that he had seen her wear—dark brown, dark blue, and dark gray?

He would see to it that Madame Beaudoine created a gown just for her. In the meantime, he would send word to the modiste that his new wife was in need of a few new gowns immediately. He knew from what the Garahans had said that the modiste had a supply of ready-made dresses on hand that could easily be altered to fit at a moment’s notice.

“I’m sorry for the urgency, lass, else we could have waited to marry and mayhap asked Earl Lippincott if we could be married in his garden.”

Garahan nodded when O’Malley held out his arm to Michaela. He let her go and bowed to her. “It was me pleasure to escort ye, Michaela. Have ye noticed that me cousin seems a bit impatient and possessive today?”

Michaela pressed a kiss to Garahan’s cheek before placing her hand on O’Malley’s arm. He placed his much larger hand atop hers. The chill surprised him. “Lass, are ye unwell? Yer hand is cold to the touch.”

She licked her lips and shook her head. Leaning close, she whispered, “I never thought to marry, O’Malley. I confess to worrying that I would disappoint you. We share common ground with our calling to heal. We work to do something about the injustices we encounter… But my past—”

He bent and brushed a kiss to her lips to silence her. “Yer past is part of what has made you such an admirable woman, Michaela. Knowing what obstacles ye have faced and beaten back to enrich the lives of others is more irresistible than yer faerie eyes, the sunshine of yer smile, and the beauty that shines from yer heart.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and he immediately eased a step back, though he did not release her hand. “I didn’t mean to make ye sad, lass. I’m after explaining the reasons why I love ye.”

“Ah,” a raspy voice said from behind them. “I see the bride and groom are ready at last.”

O’Malley wished the vicar to perdition for interrupting when he was about to kiss Michaela again, while at the same time was relieved the man was here. “Thank ye for coming on such short notice, Vicar Dalrymple.”

“I am honored to be asked, O’Malley. Viscount Moreland is a longtime friend, as are Gavin King and Captain Coventry.”

O’Malley noticed the others had begun to file into the room. Garahan escorted his wife, and the captain escorted his. Little Emma must be visiting with Mrs. O’Toole in the kitchen. He frowned, and was about to ask where O’Shaughnessy and Mary were, when they entered the room—walking slowly, given Mary’s injuries.

O’Shaughnessy frowned. “The lass wouldn’t let me carry her.”

The incredulity of the statement surprised those gathered, with the exception of the captain, Garahan, and O’Malley. They knew the sway the women they loved held over them. O’Malley would walk over burning coals if Michaela asked him to.

The vicar beamed at the latecomers. “I am so happy that you feel well enough to join in the ceremony,” Dalrymple said. “Miss Michaela and O’Malley expressly asked that the two of you join them.”

The vicar’s words surprised O’Malley. Very few of the clergymen that he had met since coming to London would be this kind to the couple who had obviously followed a path that led away from the church’s teachings. Then he remembered his cousin James singing Viscount Moreland’s praises. Mayhap all those within the former naval captain’s sphere were men with strong convictions and a giving nature.

Mary’s face flushed beneath her bruises, and O’Shaughnessy straightened his shoulders.

O’Malley was ready for the vicar to begin, and was surprised when the man continued speaking to the other couple. “Your act of bravery, Mary, when you knew that there was a distinct possibility of retaliation and injury, saved Miss Michaela’s life and weighs heavily in your favor. God has heard your plea, and that of the man standing beside you.”

The vicar turned to O’Malley and Michaela. “With your permission, O’Shaughnessy has asked me to marry them after you have said your vows.”

Garahan’s wide grin had O’Malley smiling in return. He squeezed Michaela’s hand. “We do not mind at all, do we, mo chroí ?”

Michaela’s happiness for her newfound friend was evident. “I think, given Mary’s condition, and her need to rest, that you should marry O’Shaughnessy and Mary first—if you do not mind, Vicar Dalrymple.”

The vicar’s wrinkled face shone with pleasure. “This is a most auspicious occasion for all gathered here, for two of God’s children who have atoned and returned to the fold. Aloysious, would you and Mary please come stand in front of me?”

“ Aloysious? No wonder he never told us his first name,” O’Malley whispered in Michaela’s ear. She pinched his side, and he smiled at the feisty woman he would soon marry.

The vicar cleared his throat to begin, and a few moments later Mary and O’Shaughnessy were man and wife. “Thank ye,” O’Shaughnessy said. “Especially Captain Coventry for applying for the special license on me behalf so I could marry the lass without having the banns read. ’Tis imperative that I protect her from harm. She has suffered enough. And a special thanks to Gavin King for offering me a position with the Bow Street Runners.”

King smiled. “We need more men like you, O’Shaughnessy. Those that break the law will think twice when faced with the choice of running or accompanying you to Bow Street.”

When the congratulations died down, O’Shaughnessy swept his wife into his arms and nodded. “Thank ye from the bottom of me heart.”

“And mine,” Mary rasped.

“We’ll have a tray sent down shortly,” O’Malley said. “We wouldn’t want you to miss out on our wedding supper.”

O’Shaughnessy’s eyes were suspiciously bright as he thanked them again. “Thank ye, O’Malley. Me wife is exhausted, and I’m needing to stand vigil waking her every few hours.”

After they left, O’Malley turned to Michaela and pulled her closer, anchoring her to his side. “’Tis our turn, mo ghrá .”

A short while later they were married and following the others toward the dining room. Instead of following them inside, O’Malley led Michaela toward the main staircase, lifted her into his arms, and carried her up the stairs and down the hallway to the room at the end. The door stood open, and the room was aglow from the fire burning brightly and the candles set out.

A small table was set for two with covered dishes. “’Tis for later, lass.”

Michaela laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. “I have been blessed from the day you frowned at me.”

“Frowned, was it?”

“You were contradicting me at the time.”

“Ah.” He pressed his lips to her cheek. “I don’t recall that part, but I do remember being drawn in by your eyes and the way ye stuck yer stubborn chin out at me.”

“I did no such thing.”

O’Malley laughed delightedly. “Ye’re doing it now.” Shock had her pressing her lips together, and O’Malley apologizing. “I did not mean to upset ye, lass. Just explaining the reasons ye captured me interest from the start.”

“It sounds more like I irritated you from the start,” she murmured. As soon as she noticed the turned-down bed, she started to tremble.

“Kiss me, lass.” He waited for her to meet his gaze. “I’ll do me best not to hurt ye, lass. But we must—”

“We have had this conversation before,” Michaela interrupted. “I trust you, Emmett, but ask that you please be patient with me.”

“I am, lass.”

“It doesn’t appear that way.”

“That’s because I’m fighting the need that has a hold of me bollocks. Ye’re a rare beauty, Michaela-mine, and I finally have ye all to meself for the night. For all of the nights, the rest of our lives. I promise to go slowly, but if ye don’t kiss me soon, I’ll go out of me mind.”

She cupped the side of his face, and her lips found his. It was the kiss of an angel. His angel. Love for the lass filled him to overflowing. O’Malley dug deep for the control to temper his desire and show the other half of his heart that he was a man of his word. He kissed her gently, reverently. “Are ye hungry, lass?”

She pressed her lips to his in answer.

He took control of the kiss, keeping a tight rein on his passion. “The food is getting cold.”

“I don’t want to wait, Emmett. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

He ignored the hurt that she would brush away their joining as if it were of no great importance. The two of them becoming one, mayhap creating a babe, was not to be tossed aside as if it didn’t matter. ’Twas a gift.

“Ah, lass, a real man takes his time. There’s so much more to making love than the act. I’m after teaching ye what pleasure there is to be had between a man and his wife.”

She shook her head. “There is pain—”

“Mayhap for our first time together, but before that, I intend to drive ye mad kissing every inch of ye…from yer nose to yer toes…and lingering in between. Ye’ll be so hot for me, ye’ll be begging me to make ye mine.”

Michaela narrowed her eyes at him, then nodded. “Your challenge is accepted.”

O’Malley gave a whoop of joy and kissed the breath out of his wife. While she was still trying to get a hold of herself, he removed her sling and waited for her to catch her breath before he suggested helping her undress. He could not wait to teach her the silent language of love with his lips and his fingertips.