Page 21 of The Duke’s Man-At-Arms (The Duke’s Guard #11)

O ’Malley was awake at dawn. The overpowering need to cradle the angel sleeping next to him for another hour nearly had him giving in, but he had no choice. Duty called.

He slipped out of bed without disturbing his wife. The lass had given her trust, her heart, and, last night, her body to him. Then the lass had turned the tables and rendered him speechless when she woke up a few hours ago asking for another lesson as the first faint streams of dawn caressed her face. He’d never given up control to a woman before, but he could not resist the mix of uncertainty and shimmering passion in her eyes.

He stood at the edge of the bed, staring down at her sleeping form, marveling that the woman who had had so much of her life stripped from her had given the gift of her innocent heart wrapped in passion to him. It had been agony to go so slowly, but he’d wanted her to experience pleasure in his arms, not pain. Lord, how he had reaped the rewards.

He washed quickly with the cold water in the pitcher and dressed, then stood halfway between the bed and the door, unsure if he should wake her to tell her he was leaving, or just leave. “Bollocks! Marriage is harder than I thought it would be.”

Muffled laughter had him looking over his shoulder.

“Are ye laughing at me, wife of mine?”

Michaela sat up, winced, but then slowly smiled. “I could not help but find your predicament amusing, husband of mine. I woke when you left our bed, but couldn’t decide if I should greet you when you obviously did not want to be disturbed. Marriage is harder than I imagined.”

He walked over to sit on the side of the bed and leaned close to brush a lock of soft brown from her eyes. “I didn’t want to wake you, mo chroí . It was not that I did not want to be disturbed.”

“In that case, I believe I shall accompany you downstairs, if you wouldn’t mind helping me dress.” She grabbed the bed linen and wrapped it around her as she slid off the bed.

“I’ve seen and kissed every inch of your delectable body—why are you hiding it?”

She frowned as another lock of hair slid into her eyes. She blew it out of the way and reminded him, “That was last night.”

“Aye, and what difference does that make?”

“It was dark.” She splashed cold water on her face and shivered, then attempted to use one of the linen cloths to wash, but couldn’t hold the bed linen up and wash at the same time.

“Michaela, let me help.” She shook her head and stared at the floor, but it did not deter him. He walked over to where she stood and tilted her chin up, then rubbed his thumb over her plump bottom lip. “What happened to the passionate woman who stole my breath last night?”

“It was dark.”

He coughed to cover his snort of laughter, tucked the sheet around her, and used the cloth in her hand to blot her face dry. “Ah, I can see I will have to arrange someone to cover me midday shift and convince you to come back to bed. I’ll teach you how satisfying it is to make love in the light of day.”

Her eyes were round with shock. “During the day?”

He laughed and pulled her into his arms. “Aye, wife. While you are a vision by firelight and candleflame, I cannot wait to see you lying back on that bed with the sun’s rays glinting off your warm brown hair. Caressing the cream of your throat, and the satin of your beautiful breasts.”

He eased back and stared down at the fascinating woman he’d married. Such a refreshing combination of sharp intellect, healing hands, and innocence wrapped up in a beautiful package that he planned to unwrap one layer at a time. He would take her to the stars every night, and after her ribs and arms healed, every morning, too.

“If you stand still, you can hold the bed linens to preserve your modesty, while I wash your arms and torso for you.” She nodded, and he tenderly performed the task, deftly but gently. “I need to check yer ribs.”

Michaela nodded. “After that one twinge last night, they haven’t bothered me.”

He grunted.

“And what is that sound supposed to signify?”

He smiled at her autocratic tone. “’Tis best if we let it go for the moment.” He scooped her into his arms and placed her on the edge of the bed. Unwrapping her ribs, he frowned, but admitted, “The bruising isn’t quite as deep.”

“The comfrey root poultice relieves the worst of the bruising. Why are you frowning?”

He had to clear his throat as emotions he had not felt before bombarded him at the thought of what this brave woman had suffered. He would see to it that she was never at risk again. “The boot print.” O’Malley motioned for her to sit while he returned to the pitcher and bowl.

He dipped the cloth in the water, rubbed it with the round of rose-scented soap, and returned to her side. His ministrations were gentle as he bathed then dried her and rewrapped her torso with the clean length of linen he’d added to the washstand last night. The boot print got beneath his calm like a splinter, making it difficult to ignore. O’Malley swept his eyes over her, taking in other fading bruises, landing on the bandage he’d wrapped around her upper arm. He hoped to God she never suffered such an injury again, but it was a distinct possibility given the cause she’d taken up. He would tend to her, but it had left his gut raw and bleeding having to repair the damage a lead ball left behind.

The bloody blackguard had broken her ribs when he’d kicked her three times. Abducted her twice. Held a pistol to her temple. But the worst of his crimes was a decade old… He’d stolen her virtue, hopes, and dreams when she was but a lass of seven and ten.

Swallowing his anger, he retrieved her chemise, helped her to stand, and slipped it over her head. Unable to leave with such dark thoughts crowding his brain, he dug deep for the control he was well known for as the duke’s man-at-arms.

O’Malley hid his anger and worry that he wouldn’t be able to make the bastard pay for what he’d done to Michaela and asked, “Now then, mo ghrá , anywhere else I can wash? Somewhere you cannot reach yourself at the moment?”

A delightful shade of rose swept from the neckline of the soft cotton garment to her forehead. He fought the urge to grin as he watched her fight and conquer her embarrassment to remind him, “You washed me there early this morning. Do you not remember?”

“Aye, lass. I remember every curve, every inch.” Pride filled him. This strong and compassionate woman, who’d given so much of her life to others and taken little for herself, had agreed to marry him. Despite what she’d suffered at the hands of a monster, she had bravely put herself into his hands last night, knowing that there would be pain, but trusting him not to intentionally hurt her.

If possible, her cheeks flushed an even deeper rose. Her embarrassment endeared her to him. He would not have minded washing all of her again this morning. Of course, he would have to strip out of his clothes or take the chance he would get them wet.

Pulling her close, he rested his chin on top of her head. “Have I told ye how much I admire yer courage and the gift ye gave me last night?”

“Mayhap you should tell me again,” she whispered.

“Yer courage puts Boadicea to shame. I’m humbled by yer trust and will never forget the way ye held nothing back. ’Tis a heavy weight, holding yer tender heart in me hands. I’ll guard it, and ye, with me life.”

He bent to press his lips to hers, sipping from them, then pressed more fully, tasting her, committing her flavor to memory. When he could bear to end the kiss, he confided, “I had hoped we would have had time for another lesson this morning, but duty calls.”

“I hope I have not unwittingly brought trouble to the duke’s town house and those who have sought safety within its walls. I know how to wield a knife, though mine is too small to do much damage to a heartless blackguard like the one after me.”

“Your fierce determination adds fire to the green of yer eyes and a delightful rose to yer cheeks.”

She blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Aye, lass. Did ye not hear me tell ye that ye’re even more beautiful when angry?” He raised his eyes to the ceiling and rasped, “Ye’ll be the death of me.”

“I doubt that, O’Malley. Do not forget that you aren’t the only one with the knowledge of healing. I will use all of my skill to heal you, Emmett. You will not die!”

He held her to his heart. Feeling the rapid beat of hers calmed his. “Ah, lass. If yer vow is all it takes to ensure that I wouldn’t, then the two of us will live forever, healing one another constantly. But a long life isn’t a given—me da’s untimely death is proof of that. But the love me ma, me brothers, and I have for him lives on. The love he had for us will never die—it lives on as we remember his words and deeds and hold them in our hearts.”

He kissed her deeply, promising, “Should the Lord call me home, I’ll go valiantly, fighting to ensure ye, and any babes we make between us, are safe with me brothers and cousins guarding yer lives, protecting yer heart.”

O’Malley kissed the tears from her face and in that moment wondered what it would feel like to live forever with this woman. Knowing it wasn’t a possibility, he silently thanked God for the gift of her love, and asked Him to take him first. Patrick, Finn, and Dermott would protect Michaela and any children the couple made between them with their lives. He ended his prayer with another, asking that he be the one to bring Haversham to justice, and if it meant he would forfeit his life to do so, he would willingly give it to keep Michaela safe.

Unaware of the turmoil in his heart, she asked, “Where were you headed before I interrupted?”

“Given the current circumstances, I am expected to report to me post. We have a number of women to protect, especially one who is infinitely precious to me.” She sighed when he again kissed her tenderly. “Shall I help ye dress? I’m expecting a knock on the door any moment to ensure I’m up and ready to take me shift.”

“Please.” She let him help her don her gown and then turned around so he could do up her buttons. That simple act, turning her back to him, knowing she could trust him, had him wishing he had the time to caress every inch of her this morning.

It took great effort to push that thought aside. He needed to keep his mind on his duties. With the threat of Haversham and his lackeys hanging over their heads, he could not afford to let his mind wander.

“Do you really think Papa will arrive this morning?” Michaela smoothed her stockings into place and tied the silk garters.

“Aye.”

“I’m not an invalid,” she protested while he assisted her with her half boots.

“True, but bending is on your list of what not to do for at least a sennight.”

“How am I expected to dress myself, then?”

He slowly smiled and urged her chin up with the tips of his fingers. “Ah, lass. ’Twill be me pleasure—and me agony—to help ye wash and dress each morning.” His gaze locked on hers. “And me distinct pleasure to undress ye every night, even after yer ribs are healed.”

“Emmett, I—”

The loud knock interrupted what she had been about to say. “That’ll be Garahan.”

“Open up, O’Malley. ’Tis time to man yer shift.”

“I’m not out of bed yet.” He was smiling as he kissed Michaela with all of the love in his heart and bade her goodbye. “I’ll check on ye in between shifts.” He walked over to the door and yanked it open.

“Bloody hell, Emmett! If I have to be up and leaving me wife all soft and warm in our bed, then—” His cousin frowned. “Ye’re dressed.”

“Aye.”

“Ye’re a bloody bugger, O’Malley.”

“Good morning, Darby.”

Garahan stopped frowning and turned to greet Michaela. “Good morning, Michaela. I didn’t expect ye to be awake.”

“There is work to be done, if we are to be staying here for a few days. Mrs. O’Toole cannot be expected to take care of all of us without assistance. Besides, I fully expect my father to call anytime now. I will have to remind him that I am well above the age of consent and do not need his approval to marry.”

“If me da was still alive,” O’Malley said, “and if me sisters hadn’t already been married, he would have raised the roof with his shouts if any of me brothers-in-law did not ask permission before marrying me sisters.”

Michaela sighed. “You and your brothers aren’t in Ireland, O’Malley.”

“Aye, that we’re not, but still, I should have made the time to speak to yer da again and tell him me intentions toward ye.”

“And those intentions would be?” she asked.

“Marrying ye to not only protect ye with me strength, but with me name.”

“When would you have had the time? When you were out on the duke’s business earlier yesterday? Mayhap afterward, when you were searching for Mary and me.”

“She’s got ye dead to rights there, O’Malley,” Garahan said. “Give it up and realize that yer father-in-law will have to accept what is. Ye can always ask His Grace to write a letter of recommendation to Dr. Colborne listing yer many fine qualities.”

O’Malley shoved his cousin aside with his shoulder. “Feck off, Garahan.”

Garahan laughed like a loon. “Language, O’Malley.”

Michaela was smiling as she followed the men down the servants’ staircase to the kitchen. Hand on the rail, O’Malley right in front of her, her stomach rumbled. The echo in the narrow staircase mortified her.

“Ye’d best feed yer wife, O’Malley. I’ll let Findley know that ye’ll relieve him in a quarter of an hour.”

They parted, with Garahan going out of the rear entrance to the town house, and O’Malley putting his hand to Michaela’s waist, guiding her down the long hallway to the kitchen. As they passed the room with the cot where Mary was recuperating, the door opened and O’Shaughnessy nodded to them. “I’m to report for duty midday.”

“King is lucky to have ye as one of his runners.”

“Thank ye, O’Malley. Never thought I’d be working for the law.”

“Ye’re a married man now, with a wife and maybe someday soon a family to feed.”

O’Shaughnessy’s head snapped around. “I need to speak to me wife. I just wanted to thank ye again for helping me find her, and yer wife as well. Count on me to help take down Haversham.”

“I will.”

The door closed behind O’Shaughnessy, and they made their way to the kitchen. “I smell fresh-baked scones!” O’Malley said.

Michaela was laughing as they entered the kitchen. “Now that is what I love to see in the morning,” Mrs. O’Toole said. “A happily married couple laughing, sniffing around for a plate of scones, freshly whipped cream, and berry jam.”

“Don’t be forgetting the pot of tea,” O’Malley added, snitching a still-warm scone from the cooling rack. He bit into it and sighed. “Heaven, Mrs. O’Toole.”

“You forgot to feed your wife first,” the cook reminded him.

O’Malley immediately reached for another scone and offered it to Michaela. “You don’t need the cream and jam…but it does add a bit of sweetness to the scone.” He met Mrs. O’Toole’s steady look and asked, “Would it be all right if I left Michaela in your care while I relieve Findley? Garahan gave me a quarter hour, but I’ll have used it up by the time I reach me post.”

“Of course. Have a seat, Michaela, while I pour you a cup of tea.”

“I’m grateful, Mrs. O’Toole,” Michaela replied.

“O’Malley, wait!” The cook wrapped four scones in a linen napkin and handed it to him. “Put these in your pocket, and please tell Findley that I have scones and breakfast waiting for him.”

“Don’t I get breakfast?” he asked.

“After your first shift, same as always.”

“I’m half starved,” O’Malley complained.

“And you have four scones in your pocket,” Mrs. O’Toole reminded him.

“That I do. Thank ye, Mrs. O’Toole.” He leaned toward her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Ye’re a darling woman and wonderful cook.”

“Kissing another woman the morning after we wed?” Michaela asked, though he knew she was teasing him from the devilish glint in her eyes.

“Please excuse me, Mrs. O’Toole—I forgot to kiss me wife goodbye.” He bent and kissed the breath out of his wife, then had to steady her so she didn’t fall off her chair. O’Malley was whistling when he strode along the hallway toward the back door.

After the night he’d spent in his wife’s arms, he was ready to face down anyone…anything!