The Irish Duchess (21 page)

“Well, at least you’ve moved on to adjectives today,” she said with a sigh, climbing from the bed. “You might make one word speeches all the rage in the Lords, and wouldn’t that be a blessing.”

He didn’t bother trying to understand the string of words. He just smiled at her wry tones. Redheads had a temper, he remembered. At least, he thought he remembered. He didn’t know where else the thought came from.

The youngest child bounced up to the bed. Wide dark eyes watched him, while sticky lips sucked on equally sticky fingers. Neville stared back. He didn’t think he’d ever seen this creature in his life. Surely it didn’t belong to him, but the woman did. He knew that of a certainty.

“Here, your lordship, wipe the little monster down.”

A damp rag was shoved into his hands. Neville glared at the woman, then back at the child. He might not understand what she said, but he knew what to do with wet rags and sticky fingers. The child didn’t protest as Neville cleaned him up.

He watched in amazement as another troop of midgets danced into the room a short time later. They emerged from the walls like cockroaches. He wanted to send them all away so he could concentrate on the lovely woman whose tempting curves were now wrapped in a hideous black shawl. But then he would have to concentrate on his communication problem, and that made his head hurt. So he followed the antics of the tribe of midgets instead.

He cleaned them off if they bounced on the bed. When one appeared half-naked and carrying a shirt, he pulled the garment over his head. Or her head. He wasn’t entirely certain. The entire lot had hair of various and assorted colors curling about their ears, except for the one with stick straight hair that stood on end. It was a trifle difficult distinguishing gender until they were into dresses or trousers.

At some point one of the elder children brought him some steaming hot tea and a crumbly cake of bread. It scarcely filled his protesting stomach, but he had some sense that there was barely enough to go around. That didn’t seem quite right. His memory had holes in it, large gaping holes that frightened him, but he did have some awareness of how things should have been. The visual image of groaning sideboards of assorted egg dishes, rashers, sausages, and muffins haunted his empty head.

Unable to voice his question, he sipped his tea and munched his bread. The woman he knew must be his wife disappeared into the adjoining room and returned fully dressed. To his utter relief, she ushered the children back to that room and closed the door on them, leaving the two of them alone.

Neville studied her quizzically. Among other things he remembered, one did not get dressed when interested in bedplay. And he was definitely interested. His mind might not be functioning fully, but the rest of him had no such problem.

He didn’t like her high-necked gown, but he couldn’t form the words to tell her. He just fastened his attention on the full curves of her bodice as she approached, and the lower part of his body tented the blankets.

“Damn you, Neville, I need your help. Sean aimed for the wrong part of your anatomy.” She sat down beside him, wrapping her shawl tightly, blocking his view of the scenery. “I don’t know if it’s safe to go to your yacht, but I have to let them know where you are and find you some clean clothes. I lured you here to keep you from harm in England, but I’ve just muddled everything worse. What the devil am I supposed to do?”

His gaze instantly lifted to her face at the distress in her voice. Worry wrinkled her lovely eyes and twisted her lips into flat lines. He couldn’t abide seeing her like that. Searching his addled brain, he sought some means of reaching her.

“One... word.” There, he’d done it. Triumphant at this small accomplishment, he waited for her response.

She frowned and studied him. Reaching some decision, she nodded. “Yacht.”

That wasn’t the response he wanted. He recognized the word, but couldn’t put it together with any other. He shook his head. “Where?”

“Sligo.” She waited expectantly.

Frustration began to build, accelerating the pounding in his head. He clenched his fists and tried again. “Home. Go home.”

Her lips tightened. “Can’t. Danger.”

“Can,” he answered stubbornly. “No danger.” He wasn’t certain what he demanded, yet he knew he didn’t belong here. Neither did she. He had to get back to where he belonged.

She rubbed her brow as if it pained her as much as his did him. Then she leaned over and kissed his cheek, enveloping him in the scent of lilacs. Before he could grab her, she sat up again. “Rest. I’ll be back.”

She was gone before he could collect his befuddled senses and stop her. Frustrated, Neville slammed his fist against the bed again and again, swearing with the one curse word arising through the fog of his mind, one that seemed particularly apt considering the state of his aching loins.

***

Fighting a growing panic, Fiona searched up and down the harbor for the familiar sight of the duke’s yacht. For the love of Mary, she’d sailed on the damned thing. She knew what it looked like.

The yacht wasn’t there.

Being left alone with the burden of the duke’s illness, the orphans, the danger to His Grace and to Michael’s holdings, terrified her. She had to find help. She couldn’t do it all alone.

Draping her shawl around her face, she stopped and talked with the harbor master, asking about private ships, but he’d not seen anything but the fishing boats that sailed out regularly. When he began to look at her with curiosity, she hurried away.

A physician. Perhaps she could find a physician who would know what to do. If only she could get word to Michael. But she didn’t like worrying Blanche until she was certain they had cause to worry. Neville could come around. She’d seen it happen.

She hurried down what passed for a prosperous street in Sligo. The duke was her responsibility. She had known he would follow her. It was her fault he had come here and got his head bashed in. She scanned the swinging overhead signs for one that indicated a physician.

She still had a few of the duke’s coins left. She’d spent them rather recklessly, believing she would have more on the yacht. But now she had a wagon load of children and nowhere to take them or any means of feeding them. She could look after herself, but seven children, an old woman, and an addled duke presented a burden beyond her abilities. Where was the damned yacht?

She finally gave in and asked for the physician’s direction. He wasn’t in, of course, and she left a message asking that he come to the inn. Until she knew his fee, she didn’t dare spend any of the remaining coins.

Fiona almost cried in relief as a familiar face appeared in the crowded street. And then she remembered who he was and what he might have done, and she sought to hide, too late.

“Fey-onah, my love! What brings you to this gateway of hell?” The handsome features beamed in pleasure beneath a head full of dark curly hair.

“Colin.” Nervously, Fiona kept walking in the direction of the inn, forcing Colin to turn and follow her. “I thought you’d gone to America.”

“Patsy didn’t want to part from her family while the babe’s due. And what is yourself doing here? I thought I’d heard you’d gone to be a duchess.”

Oh, damn. Did all the world know her business? “I’m looking for a place for Aileen’s orphans. And yourself?” She avoided the issue as neatly as possible.

“Looking for work. The fishing is bad. Thought I’d go on to Belfast next. You wouldn’t happen to have a coin or two about you, would you, Fiona? I hate asking, but it’s that low I am, and with the babe coming... You know how it is.”

Did that mean he’d not killed Burke for the money or that he’d gambled it all away already? Cursing the suspicion that Burke’s death had thrown upon her childhood friend, Fiona shook her head. “You know better than to ask, Colin. I’ve no allowance from my cousin. If I did, I’d spend it on the orphans and not on your gambling.”

“Arrah, and you’ve always been a hard woman, Fiona. You’ve a place to stay, then? Could I come up and share a drop of tea?”

Tea wasn’t what he wanted. He hoped for whiskey. She knew his sort, and his handsome charm had never spun her head. Not in a long time, leastways. Clamping her lips, she shook her head. “The least one is ill. It could be the mumps. Have you had the mumps, Colin? It can kill a grown man. You don’t want to come near if you’re not after having them.”

“And weren’t you the one giving them to me when we were wee ones? Don’t begrudge an old friend a cup of tea, lass. Come along with you, then.” Catching her hand, Colin placed it firmly in the crook of his elbow.

Damn. Damn, and double damn. Cursing furiously all the way up the street, Fiona sought some means of escaping Colin, and preventing him from seeing the duke in his helpless state. She could be walking on the arm of a murderer, for all she knew. She couldn’t believe it of Colin, but Neville was right. Desperate men sometimes did desperate things.

Fighting the urge to scream in frustration, Fiona fumbled for her purse as they reached the lobby of the inn. She knew one certain way of diverting a man like Colin.

Producing a coin, she held it out. “Why don’t you buy a pint while I check on the orphans? I’ll be down directly.”

Colin gave her a dark look of suspicion as he took the coin. “And who is it you’re after keeping from me,
cailin
? You’re not harboring a man up there, are ye? For Seamus’s sake, I’d have to take the man apart.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Have you ever been in a room filled with six children and one squalling babe? I’m doing you a favor, I am. Now go hoist your pint. You know that’s all you’re after.”

“Fiona! Fiona MacDermot! I never thought—” A woman hurried across the floor and stopped abruptly as she caught sight of the handsome Irishman at Fiona’s elbow. Her expression of welcome immediately turned to one of outrage. “Well, I never! And you with a wife and babe on the way, Colin Moriarity!”

The Widow Blackthorne. Groaning inwardly, Fiona steepled her fingers against her forehead and swore to worship the devil if God couldn’t do better than this. What was the widow doing in Sligo? Catching a ship with poor murdered Burke’s coins?

“And a pleasure it is to see you, too, Mrs. Blackthorne,” she said dryly. “Won’t you join Colin in a pint while I’m after seeing to the orphans? They’ll have the room destroyed if I’m not lookin’ in on them soon.”

Not caring what glances the pair exchanged behind her back, Fiona hurried up the stairs and away from any witnesses. She didn’t know how long she’d been gone, but she knew it was too long. Neville could have had a relapse. The hooligans could have tied their granny to a chair and let themselves out the bedroom window. Aileen had never been much for discipline.

She burst into the room to a wild shout of triumph from inside. Closing the door and leaning against it, she swiftly absorbed the scene before her.

Neville sat in a chair near the brazier. He bounced two of the youngest on his knees, teaching them to clap hands, while Sean burped the baby over his shoulder and the rest played some wild game involving twisting a blanket into a jump rope and alternately tugging or jumping at it. Terrified Mrs. Callaghan had died of exhaustion, Fiona gathered her strength and pushed off from the door.

“Miss Fiona! Miss Fiona! Can we play outside, can we? Can we see the ships? I’m hungry! Can we have more apples, please?”

Fiona scarcely acknowledged the voices attacking her from all sides. Taking up one toddler in her arms, she watched Neville. If he were strong and in his right mind, half her problems would be solved. But she saw only the glint of admiration in his eyes as he set the younger two on the floor and let them join the fray. She didn’t need his damned admiration right now. She needed his help. His lack of welcoming speech told her all she needed to know.

“I’m sorry to take so long.” She waited to see if he understood. He continued watching her, his expression one of pleasantness and no more.

“Doctor,” she said succinctly.

He grimaced and rubbed the back of his head, nodding his understanding.

“No yacht.”

He looked briefly puzzled, seemed to concentrate, then frowned. “Dublin?”

“Sligo,” she countered. “Not Dublin.” Talking in one word sentences made understanding hideously difficult, but at least she thought they were communicating to some extent.

Neville firmly shook his head, then winced. “Yacht. Dublin.”

Oh, hell. “You told me Sligo!” she nearly screamed.

He gave her one of those ducal looks with one raised eyebrow. “Yacht. Dublin.”

Someone rapped at the door behind her.

“Miss Fiona! We’ve a proposition for ye! May we come in?”

Oh, double hell. Colin.

Before Fiona could head him off, the door opened. One of these days, she’d learn to lock doors. In a panic, she glanced at Neville. He winked, and swiped another toddler from the floor.

Well, that certainly made for a domestic scene.

Twenty-one

“William, what the divil do ye do here when they’re after burnin’ your house down back home!”

The portly man striding anxiously up and down Dublin’s dock turned on his heels at the cry, his face taking on a deeper flush of fear. “Eamon! Don’t frighten an old man like that.”

The younger, lankier man hurried toward him. “I’ve notified the army, but the bastards are sitting on their rumps. You need to get back there now, warn them Lord Aberdare will have their heads if they let the castle burn.”

“My genealogy! I can’t let them burn my genealogy. If it’s lyin’ you are, Eamon O’Connor, it’s your head that will roll.” William hastened down the dock toward the cobbled street leading into the city.

“It’s McGonigle stirring up the trouble. The earl has asked me to look after the matter of Burke’s murder, but all I’ve seen are the English conniving with every blackguard in the county. It’s after the earl, they are, and no mistake.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” William replied, already huffing at the pace the younger man set. “Michael never harmed a soul in his life. It’s the duke they want, I’ll be bound. Have you seen our Fiona?”

O’Connor jerked to a halt and stared at Fiona’s uncle. “Our Fiona? Is she not on her honeymoon with the blasted duke?”