Page 7 of The Duke’s Man-At-Arms (The Duke’s Guard #11)
O ’Malley recognized the expression on Michaela’s face. He’d seen it often on his ma’s. The lass had no intention of telling him. The need to have the name, to track the man down and exact revenge, had him by the bollocks. If she were a man, he’d use force to extract the information—a quick jab with his left or a right cross usually did the trick. But she wasn’t a man—she was a strong, vibrant woman dedicated to helping those Society shunned. At the moment she was weak from her injuries, but he would not use her current weakness as a way to get her to confide in him. He needed her to tell him of her own accord.
He wanted her to trust him with the truth of what happened—and the name of the bloody blackguard who compromised her. She hadn’t said as much, but the hints dropped into conversations he’d heard snatches of were all there. As was the way she’d retreated from Society. The very women she chose to help. He’d suspected Garahan’s wife had suffered from such an attack, though he would never speak of something that would only bring heartache to Aimee and his cousin. Marriage to Garahan had helped her to blossom into a stronger version of the woman rescued from that boarding house a few weeks ago.
O’Malley didn’t try to hide his frustration as he locked gazes with Michaela and put the damned bloodstained shirt on. It was not only dirty, but cold where the blood had yet to dry.
Masterson shook his head and said, “There are times when I forget I am no longer on the battlefield, where we did not have a ready change of clothes for those we patched back together.” He inclined his head to Michaela and told O’Malley, “I need to resume my post.”
The door opened and closed quietly behind the colonel. O’Malley rose from where he was seated and walked to the back of the apartment. He knocked on the doorframe to Emma’s bedchamber. “Masterson patched me up, and I’m decent, wearing me shirt.”
Miranda walked toward him with her little girl on her hip. “Thank you for letting us know.” She stepped around him and proceeded to the kitchen.
Aimee followed him to the sitting area, and was near the door when someone knocked. “’Twill be Garahan,” O’Malley said.
Aimee opened the door and smiled at her husband, though he stood in the doorway frowning. “I’ve news.”
“I am certain we’d all love to hear it,” Michaela replied.
Garahan’s one-eyed gaze met hers. “’Tis an official missive, Miss Michaela, or I’d share it with ye.”
O’Malley was standing near her chair as he echoed Garahan’s statement. “Once we’ve been given leave to share information, and not before, we will.” The two men shared a telling look before O’Malley followed Garahan out into the hallway.
Closing the door behind him, he asked, “What did O’Shaughnessy find out?”
“’Tis as we suspected, and it’s either a connection to her good works as the angel of the streets, or a connection to her past.”
Frustration surged through O’Malley along with the need to pummel something. Garahan’s expression mirrored his own when Darby added, “There’s more. Word is, he’s a member of the bloody fecking ton , and has his fingers in the same pies as Farrell, Robertson, and Ashbrook.”
O’Malley’s gut clenched at hearing the names of the men directly connected to Garahan’s wife being lured to London with the promise of employment on Bond Street. It had only been a few weeks since the men instrumental in luring Aimee from the country had been apprehended. She’d answered that advert and traveled to London, only to be duped, and held against her will at Underwood’s boarding house. “Are ye certain there’s a connection to the boarding house and the brothels?”
“Aye,” Garahan answered. “Heard it from three sources. I’m biding me time, but I mean to see that all three pay for what me wife endured.”
“I need his fecking name!” O’Malley growled. He needed to find the bastard—not stand in the hallway talking about it!
“If I had it, ye know I’d give it to ye, and I’d hold yer coat while ye beat the shite out the fecking bugger for every tear Aimee cried, and what Miss Michaela suffered.”
O’Malley drew in a breath to stifle his anger. He couldn’t go off half-cocked in his bid to extract the name of the man responsible for kidnapping and then imprisoning Michaela. Then he remembered the rug. “You don’t know the whole of it, and I haven’t had the time to tell ye. After Michaela was hit on the back of the head, they rolled her up in a rug and transported her to the docks before dumping her in that abandoned warehouse, bound and gagged! I mean to make every man who had a part in it pay dearly for that. But I know from what the lass hasn’t said…she knows the man who tied that filthy gag around her mouth, bound her hands behind her back, and kicked her in the ribs.”
Garahan placed his hand on O’Malley’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’ve a new whetstone. Put a fine, sharp edge on both me blades.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled it out. “Here. Use it before ye leave.”
O’Malley spat on the stone and rubbed until it was ready to use. Withdrawing the blade from his boot, he placed the edge of the knife against the stone and added a little pressure before swiping the blade across the stone. He pictured using both of his knives on the nameless, faceless lord who’d injured the lass as he pressed both sides of the blade against the whetstone. He lifted his gaze to Garahan’s before testing the blade against the pad of his thumb. It drew blood. “Didn’t feel a thing,” O’Malley said with a grin.
He pulled the knife from his belt and repeated the steps. A few swipes of the blade against the stone, and he tested it against his other thumb, with the same results. This time he felt his temper calm. He would be using his knife on the nameless man…and soon. “When I find the bastard responsible for kidnapping and harming the lass, I’ll need someone to hold him down while I take me payment from him.” He held the whetstone out to his cousin, who returned it to his waistcoat pocket.
Garahan’s eyes narrowed. “Done! We’ll find him. But when we do, ye can’t kill the man. Ye know how His Grace feels about that.”
“I only plan to extract me payment with a pound or two of his flesh.”
Garahan shook his head. “I wish we could, but ye know ’twould be a bloody mess. ’Tis best if we stick to our normal punishment. I’ll hold him down while ye kick him in the ribs three times. Ye’ll be breaking more than a few.”
O’Malley shook his head. “An eye for an eye won’t be enough. Not this time, Darby.”
His cousin stared at him. “Do ye realize how deep ye are?”
“Deep?”
Garahan nodded. “Aye, ye’re so deep in love with the lass, it would take ye a week to claw yer way back to the surface. Admit ye love Michaela aloud; it’ll ease some of the tension inside of ye. Don’t fight it. Life’s too short.”
O’Malley drew in a breath and blew it out before meeting Garahan’s fierce one-eyed stare. “Faith, I wish life hadn’t been so short for me da.”
Garahan threw his arm around O’Malley’s shoulders. “I miss him too.” He waited a beat, then said, “O’Shaughnessy has another lead that he’s following. We should have a name in the next few hours.”
O’Malley’s calm snapped. They’d been discussing it in the hallway long enough. “I’m not waiting!” He turned around and yanked open the door to the captain’s apartments. Anger such as he’d never known slid like a noxious oil through his veins. He grabbed his waistcoat and put it on, but didn’t bother buttoning it, then snatched his cravat and frockcoat.
“Where are you going?”
O’Malley met Michaela’s worried look with a fierce frown. “Out.”
Surely the lass remembered asking him to get word to her father that she was safe and unharmed? The latter was more than a stretch—’twas a bold-faced lie. Without another word, he opened Coventry’s door a second time, and slammed it behind him.
Slipping his arms into his coast sleeves, he rasped, “Guard the lass with yer life, Darby.”
“Done.”
The acid of his anger roiled in his gut as he tucked his cravat in his pocket, but he didn’t let it show on the outside. O’Malley kept his expression neutral as he opened the door to the building and stepped outside.
Masterson was waiting for him. “Are you headed to Bow Street?”
O’Malley shook his head.
“Greenwood’s in bad shape,” Masterson said. “He’s going in and out of consciousness. I’d wait to try to question him.”
O’Malley considered the advice. “By the time I get there, he may be able to stay awake long enough to answer a few questions.”
The colonel studied him before adding, “If you plan to speak to Lieutenant Cameron as well, you’ll need to keep a tight rein on your temper. He’s very protective of his new wife and her younger sisters. His father-in-law is on the mend, but needs his rest after being poisoned.”
“I will. I do not plan to take up too much of his time. I only need a few minutes.”
“From what Tremayne has said of Cameron’s wife Eglantine,” Masterson said, “she’s a handful and liable to try to interfere on the lass’s behalf.”
“Does she know Michaela?” O’Malley asked.
Masterson shrugged. “I would not be surprised if she does.”
For a brief moment, O’Malley thought about confiding in the colonel about his third and final stop, then decided against it. It would be best if no one knew the last person he planned to interrogate.
The colonel locked gazes with him, and it felt as if the man was attempting to read his mind, though O’Malley knew it was not possible. He was still surprised when Masterson drawled, “If you’re going where I think you’re going, Miss Michaela may never forgive you.”
O’Malley shrugged. “I’m doing what she asked, getting word to her father.”
Masterson stared at him. “Ye plan on doing more than that.”
O’Malley didn’t have time for palaver. “Aye. She’ll have forgotten about me speaking out of turn to her da by the time we’re saying our vows.”
The colonel’s eyebrows rose. “You asked her to marry you?”
“Not yet. But I will. Sharing me name will add another layer of protection around the lass.”
Masterson was silent while O’Malley untied his horse’s reins from the hitching post. “Is that the only reason you plan to marry her?” The question wasn’t a surprise, as O’Malley had asked it of himself a short time before.
He whispered promises of oats and a carrot or two to his gelding before scratching behind the animal’s ears. “’Tis reason enough.”
“The angel of the streets deserves a man who will cherish her,” Masterson said, “value her good works, and stand beside her through thick and thin. She deserves love, O’Malley.”
A slap of jealousy hit O’Malley between the eyes. “I thought she irritated ye?”
“She does, but that does not negate what I’ve just said. If you do not agree with me, tell me, because I’m half in love with her already and will marry her to protect her.”
O’Malley lunged for the colonel, who evaded the blow. “Well?” Masterson demanded.
Fists raised, O’Malley rasped, “Over me dead body! I have worked alongside her, healing a few of the lasses we’ve rescued. I admire her spirit, her gift of healing, and her ability to calm even the most skittish of those she tends to. There’s magic in her small hands.” Needing to ensure Masterson knew the truth, he continued, “I didn’t know how deep me feelings for the lass went until I’d heard she was missing.” He stared down at his clenched fists and opened them, relaxing them. “I’d die for her, Iain.”
Masterson slowly nodded. “I believe you would. I’ll not challenge you for her love, Emmett.”
“’Tis a good thing, because ye’d lose.” Feeling as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders, O’Malley added, “I love the lass to the depths of me soul, and I will love her from this lifetime into the next.”
Masterson’s lips twitched. “I always wondered if you were as poetic as other Irishmen I’ve met over the years.”
“Count on it. Me da once confided it took his considerable gift with words to charm his stubborn lass, me ma Bridget Flynn, into marrying him.”
The colonel’s snort of laughter had O’Malley grinning before he sobered once again thinking of the conversations and the information he needed to confirm his suspicions. “This may take a while, as the last stop and conversation won’t be an easy one.”
“Michaela’s father will be relieved that she is safe. We’ll guard her with our lives, O’Malley.”
He should have known the colonel would guess the last stop he would be making. O’Malley mounted his horse and settled onto the animal’s back. “I’m counting on it.”
As he wound his way through the streets toward his first stop, he was not surprised to discover that Greenwood was sleeping. O’Malley left word where he could be reached and set out for Cameron’s father-in-law Colonel Merriweather’s town house on the fringes of Mayfair. He only needed to speak to the former dragoon for a few moments, then he would track down the last man he planned to speak with today. Depending on what he found out, he’d be riding to Bow Street before he returned to the corner of Hart and Lumley.
The dour-faced butler who answered the door had him wondering how the Scot handled living temporarily in his father-in-law’s house if the servants all shared a similar disposition. “O’Malley to speak with Cameron.”
The servant’s eyes widened. “ The O’Malley?”
A snort of laughter escaped, and O’Malley cleared his throat. “Aye, if ye’re meaning meself, Emmett O’Malley, head of the duke’s guard in London.”
The butler said, “If you require privacy to speak, may I suggest the stables around back? Horses don’t talk.”
“’Twould be best if no one overheard our conversation. Thank ye…?”
“Hendricks,” the butler replied.
“Thank ye, Hendricks.” O’Malley inclined his head, untied his horse, and led him to the stables behind the town house.
“We’ll get to the bottom of this, laddie,” he told his gelding. “You and I know this was well planned, and there is more to the abduction than appears on the surface.”
“Aye, O’Malley.” The familiar Scots brogue had him looking over his shoulder. “How is she?”
There were few men O’Malley trusted outside of his brothers and cousins, but the hulking Lieutenant Alasdair Cameron, with the slashing scar bisecting one side of his face, was one of them. “Then ye agree with me?”
Cameron frowned. “Are ye deaf?”
O’Malley lifted his hand to scratch behind his gelding’s ear. “I have a lot on me mind.”
Cameron was silent for a moment before asking, “Ribs or knife wound?”
“A shard of window glass,” O’Malley replied. “If ye know the lass was abducted, ye should know how she fares.”
The Scotsman’s hand shot out, reaching for O’Malley’s throat, but O’Malley tilted his head to one side and held up both hands. “Ye didn’t know?”
The anger simmering in the former dragoon’s gaze intensified. “She never should have settled for one guard, when the angel needs half a dozen.”
“How many times did you have that conversation with Michaela?”
Cameron raked a hand through his hair. “Too many to count. Ye know how stubborn the lassie is.”
O’Malley snorted. “Aye. King received the information late last night, though her da must have known or suspected sometime yesterday, but did not report it.”
“He has never looked after the lassie the way I would have if she were my daughter,” the Scot rumbled.
O’Malley noted the hint of surprise in the other man’s eyes. He should have realized Cameron would see beyond his mask of indifference to the heartache he was trying to hide. “Don’t ask.”
“I don’t have to. I can see how ye feel about her. I’ve suspected ye’d be the one to fall for Michaela, given her healing ways and dedication to what has become her life’s work.”
O’Malley shook his head. “I thought I was masking how I felt.”
“To any other man, aye, but to one who’s only just been granted a second chance with the woman who has held his heart for more than half a decade, ’tis plain as the nose on yer face.”
Before Cameron demanded to know the details, O’Malley gave them to him. “King sent for me—that’s how I learned she was missing. I used me contact Leach over on the Dark Walk, and then Garahan’s, O’Shaughnessy, on the docks.” He paused. “Apparently a woman friend of O’Shaughnessy’s noticed a dark carriage pulled by a matched set of grays arriving the night before last. A man alighted with a rug on his shoulder. As she’d seen the like before, she paused to listen and heard the muffled cry for help. She told O’Shaughnessy.”
“I’ll skin the bloody bugger before I—”
“Get in line, Cameron.”
“Finish it, O’Malley.”
He nodded. “He returned to the mouth of the alley empty-handed.” O’Malley ignored the low growl of anger and continued. “I decided not to wait for Darby to arrive. I made me way down the alley, inspecting the run-down buildings, looking for signs of a forced entry, and found one building with a broken window. I climbed inside to investigate and heard an odd sound…like tapping.”
“Someone was trying to get your attention?”
O’Malley shook his head. “I followed the sound past a handful of rooms with open doors. The sound stopped when I stood in front of the only closed door. ’Twas locked.”
Cameron clenched his hands into fists, then relaxed them. “Ye broke down the door.”
“Aye, but not before the lass shouted that she wouldn’t change her mind.”
The other man nodded. “That’s the brave lassie we both know and ye love…” Cameron’s face lost all expression, except for the promise of death in his eyes. O’Malley knew it was the moment the man had come to the same conclusion that he had earlier. “She knows her captor.”
O’Malley did not bother to deny it. Reliving what happened carved a hole in his gut, so he got to the point. “She’d been lying on the floor all night, with her hands bound behind her back. She had worked the gag off her mouth, but could not loosen her bonds.”
“Why couldn’t she roll out of the way when ye broke the door down?”
“She was exhausted and in pain. The bloody blackguard kicked her in the ribs…three times. I saw the bruises meself after Miranda and Aimee washed the filth from the abandoned warehouse away. They were the size of a man’s foot.”
Emmett had not been expecting the drastic change in the Scotsman. Gone was his calm demeanor, replaced by raw hate burning in the depths of his eyes. Cameron clenched his jaw and raised his hands, closing them into tight fists, as if he were strangling someone.
“Ye’ve a wife and her family to protect while her father recovers. I’ll take care of her kidnapper.”
Cameron dropped his hands to his sides, and his expression was neutral once again. “Ye’re looking for a name.”
“Aye. Someone from her past…before she devoted herself to rescuing others from the streets.”
“Because she knew what they suffered, had felt their pain, but they had no one to rescue her,” Cameron rasped.
“Do ye know who was responsible?” O’Malley could not utter the rest of what he wanted to know—who’d violated her and taken what she had not freely given.
“Nay. I surmised that may have been what led her to dedicate her life to saving others. Every once in a while, there’d be a young woman who told a tale of a bloody lord who forced himself on her. The lassie’s expression would change—’twas there for anyone to notice if they looked hard enough.”
O’Malley nodded. “You looked, and you knew.”
“Aye. If my heart had not been stolen already…” Cameron didn’t bother to finish the statement.
“I have been fooling meself,” O’Malley said, “believing that the lass hadn’t tugged the heart from me breast the first time I looked into moss-green eyes that held compassion laced with pain.”
Cameron shook his head. “I’d be lying if I said I had not felt the same the first time I looked into my wife’s eyes.”
“You’ll see what ye can uncover, then?”
“Aye, O’Malley, I will.”
“And ye’ll be careful not to share any information about who’s asking and why?”
“I give ye my word.”
Emmett held out his hand to Cameron, who took it. “Thank ye.”
“Do ye need the address for Dr. Colborne?”
“Nay,” O’Malley replied. “I have it.”
“Good luck to ye.”
“Thank ye.”
Retracing his steps, O’Malley headed in the direction of Colborne’s town house. As he neared the building, he sent up a silent prayer that his gift of words would not fail him. ’Twould be his first conversation with his future father-in-law.
Once he’d spoken to Michaela’s father, he’d be speaking to the lass. If she was as intelligent as he’d given her credit for, she should be expecting his offer of marriage.
A curl of dread started to unravel in his gut, but his mind was made up—he planned to save the lass from the nameless man. After they were wed, he’d deal with the repercussions of what he feared she still harbored…the touch of a man.
But by then he wouldn’t be just any man. God help him, he’d be her fecking husband!