Page 9 of The Duke’s Man-At-Arms (The Duke’s Guard #11)

O ’Malley kept missing Michaela’s father by five minutes or more at each stop he’d been assured the good doctor would be. Fed up with the chase, after trailing in the physician’s wake for the last hour, he changed tactics and rode to Colborne’s town house to wait for the man.

Frustration and worry tangled inside of him, as he wondered if Michaela was still listening to reason and resting. Taking a chance that the butler would be as astute as the duke’s London butler, O’Malley was ready to demand entrance if necessary.

“O’Malley to see Dr. Colborne.”

The older man squinted up at him, frowned at his disheveled state, then asked, “Do you have an appointment?”

“Gavin King sent me.”

The butler’s expression changed to one of respect. “Of course. One moment, please.” The man turned and motioned to one of the footmen hovering behind him. “See to O’Malley’s horse.”

“Me fine four-footed friend has been waiting to slake his thirst,” O’Malley told the footman who walked over to take the bridle from him. He leaned close and pitched his voice low. “Don’t listen if this fine gelding demands a shot or two of whiskey—’tis water me horse is needing after being one stop behind the doctor for the last hour.”

The footman snorted with laughter. “Water it is.”

“Thank ye.” O’Malley gave his horse a quick pat and walked over to where the butler waited for him. Raking a hand through his hair, he had to hide his grimace of annoyance from the pull of the threads holding his most recent injury closed. “Please excuse me appearance. I have been on duty for the last twenty-four hours. With what I’ve just learned, I thought it best to come directly to speak with Dr. Colborne.”

The butler held the door for O’Malley and waited until they were inside before asking, “Do you bring news of Miss Colborne?”

O’Malley hesitated, but the hopeful expression on the man’s tired face had him going with his gut. “She’s safe.” The butler’s eyes were suspiciously damp with emotion. O’Malley went on to explain, “I can say no more until I speak with the doctor.”

“That she is safe is a huge relief. When she did not return home…” The servant straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon. Allow me to show you to Dr. Colborne’s study. I do expect him to return at any moment.”

“Thank ye…”

“Stark, sir.”

“Thank ye, Stark.”

Alone, O’Malley scanned the room. He’d heard it said that you could gauge a man’s wealth by the number of books he owned. Da always said a man’s true wealth was found in his family. Gazing at the books littered about the room, he imagined Colborne was a man of considerable wealth. If this was the physician’s study, he could only imagine how many books were housed in the man’s library! There were books on shelves, tables, and stacked on the floor beside one of the leather wingback chairs by the fireplace. The desk was a thing of beauty, a huge, dark, scarred piece of furniture that did not look as if it belonged among the other pieces in the room. It had books stacked this way and that on two corners of the large desk.

Aware that he looked as if he’d been either brawling on the docks or one of the alleys in the stews, he brushed off a bit of dirt from the cuff of his sleeve, still more from his frockcoat. No one usually cared what state he was in when he arrived with urgent news—he generally only stayed long enough to deliver his missive, or verbal message, before leaving.

This time would be different. Now that he had time on his hands, he wondered why he hadn’t acquiesced when Michaela asked him to change his shirt.

The door to the study opened, interrupting his thoughts. Stark announced, “Dr. Colborne.” With a nod to O’Malley, the butler added, “O’Malley was sent by Mr. King.”

The physician paused to stare at him before turning to Stark. “We are not to be disturbed.”

“Of course, doctor.” The butler closed the door behind him, and Michaela’s father walked over to where O’Malley waited.

“Stark blurted out that my daughter is safe. Why didn’t you bring her home?”

“Why did ye wait until this morning to report her missing? It would have spared the lass the pain she’s suffering.”

The man visibly blanched as he grabbed hold of O’Malley’s arm. “Take me to her!” O’Malley dropped his gaze to where the man clutched his coat sleeve, but the physician did not remove his hand—he tightened his grip. “Now!”

“Not without her permission.”

“I’ll have you hauled down to Bow Street, and you can explain to King why you refused.”

O’Malley snorted. “King knows full well why I will not be bringing her here.”

They stared at one another, not speaking. Just when O’Malley was about to grab the man by his cravat and start shaking him, the doctor capitulated. “My reasons for waiting to report her missing to King are my own.”

“How much do ye love yer daughter?”

“What kind of question is that?” the physician demanded.

“What would ye give up to save yer daughter and her reputation?”

The bluster went out of Colborne. “Everything.”

O’Malley narrowed his eyes. “You’d give up yer life, yer thriving practice, yer hard-earned reputation?” Colborne blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but O’Malley cut him off. “Because that is what the lass gave up a decade ago to do the only thing that would purge the anguish in her soul.” His voice broke when he continued, “To help other women who have been ill used, abused, and violated.”

The older man’s face flushed as he clenched his jaw and reached again for O’Malley, who stepped back out of reach. “I’ll ask ye again, why did ye not report the lass missing yesterday?”

Colborne scrubbed a hand over his face. “It was part of the agreement I have with my daughter. She accepted my insistence that she have a guard and agreed never to divulge her full name, if I allowed her to continue what she told me was her calling without interference.”

“Did ye never ask why she felt compelled to answer this particular calling?”

“Before I answer any more questions, tell me how she was injured.”

O’Malley looked away for a moment to block out the memory of the lass’s pain-filled eyes when he broke the door down and found her trussed up, lying on her side. “Three broken ribs, a lump on the back of her head, and her wrists rubbed raw.”

Colborne strode over to the sideboard and the crystal decanter, poured a squat glass half full, and downed the contents. “Has she been seen by a physician?”

“In a way.”

“What the bloody hell does that mean?”

“I’m a gifted healer, as is yer daughter. I wrapped her ribs meself, though she was tended to first by two women I’d trust me life with to wash away the filth from the warehouse floor when she’d been dumped.”

The doctor’s hand trembled as he set the glass on the sideboard. “You will take me to her immediately!”

“Nay.”

“I am her father!”

“And fat lot of good ye’ve done for her while she’s been an angel to those in need, suppressing her need for compassion and understanding herself.”

A fierce expression settled on Colborne’s features. “Michaela is my life!”

“Is she now? I do not think yer daughter is aware of that fact. Though she was worried enough about ye to ask someone to get word to ye that she is safe.”

“Why you?”

“She trusts me.”

“Why would she?”

“We’ve worked together more than once, tending to those who have been cast aside by the same Society ye cater to with yer tonics and laudanum. Do ye have any idea how many young women yer daughter has saved?”

Colborne opened his mouth to speak, but a groan emerged. He shook his head. “We used to be close, helped one another grieve after my wife died. All Michaela wanted was to become a doctor like me. She worked tirelessly by my side, learning all that I could teach her. She was a comfort to my patients, who adored her.” Colborne frowned. “But there was no future for her. Who would allow a female doctor to tend to them? I told her it was time to give up her dream and urged her to accept a few of the invitations she had received from young men I approved of.”

O’Malley listened, though the need to plant his fist in the man’s face nearly overwhelmed him. “Men like yourself, or men with a title?”

Michaela’s father glared at him. “Both.”

“And did she do as ye asked?”

“Aye. But only once or twice before she came down with a virulent fever.”

O’Malley wondered if he had been wrong about what he suspected happened to the lass. “And ye treated her?”

“She would not let me in her bedchamber,” the doctor replied. “She feared that I would succumb to the same fever and knew my patients depended on me.”

O’Malley had to call on all of his steely control not to go for the man’s throat. “So ye don’t know if she had a virulent fever or something else was wrong with her.”

“What do you know?”

O’Malley didn’t answer.

Colborne took another step closer. “By God, you will tell me what you know!

O’Malley crossed his arms in front of him. “’Tisn’t what I know—’tis a feeling I have.”

“What possible reason would my daughter have for hiding in her room?”

O’Malley glared at Colborne. “Ye might ask yerself why she didn’t trust ye enough to confide in ye.” He pushed past Michaela’s father and strode to the door.

“O’Malley, wait!”

He paused on the threshold.

“What is Michaela to you?”

The despair in Colborne’s voice cut through O’Malley’s anger. He spun around and locked eyes with the man. ’Twas plain to see the man loved his daughter. O’Malley could not condone the fact that he had waited to tell King his daughter was missing. Putting himself in the other man’s place, O’Malley answered, “Everything. I have risked losing her trust and her love by coming here and speaking to you without her knowledge. Yer daughter may never speak to me again, but I love her enough to risk that, because she cannot go on hiding from the bloody bugger who…” He shook his head, turned back around, and strode from the room.

“Wait!”

He ignored the doctor and inclined his head to Stark. “I’ll send word as soon as I’m able, but remind yer employer that the lass is safe and well cared for.”

“Thank you.” Stark opened the door and closed it behind O’Malley.

Emmett vaulted into the saddle and was a few houses away when he heard the doctor bellow his name. He did not give he man the satisfaction of stopping or turning around. ’Twould be a sign of capitulation. He’d cut off his right arm before he gave in to the man.

“Bloody blind, fecking eedjit !”

The threads holding the paltry nick in his side itched and felt as if they were on fire. He should be able to ignore the minor wound. Just like ye should be able to ignore the lass with the moss-green eyes and healing hands. Calling on his innate ability to block out the pain from injuries and worries in order to concentrate on his duties, he was surprised that the irritation did not immediately disappear.

The heat from the wound spread beyond where the window glass had sliced into his side. Slipping a hand beneath his frockcoat, he unbuttoned his waistcoat. He wanted to see if it was his imagination, or if the wound was putting off heat. “Bloody hell!” Heat radiated through the bandage and his cambric shirt. ’Twas infected.

Torn between the need to add one more stop, to see if Greenwood was conscious and able to speak before returning to the captain’s building, and the knowledge that his wound was beginning to fester, he retraced his steps, riding back to the captain. “Well, laddie, change of plans. I need to have another look at me side before we speak to Greenwood and corner King in his office on Bow Street. I’m thinking King knows more about the situation between the doctor and Michaela than he is letting on.” The runner had a lot to answer for, the most pressing of which was why he had intentionally kept O’Malley in the dark where Michaela’s father was concerned. Surely King knew that O’Malley had added the lass to those he protected.

Mayhap he didn’t.