The Irish Devil (8 page)

“Not to my knowledge, my lady.”

“Then let us free my two grooms while my companions compose themselves.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

The carriage was accompanied only by its horses and two grooms. William cut the unconscious men’s bonds and Lady Irene checked their pulses. Satisfied by their condition, Lady Irene spoke again just as William turned to walk away.

“You’re the true surprise, lad. Where did you learn to speak the Queen’s English so well?”

So she hadn’t recognized him. Not surprising: William had been barely eight when his parents were turned off, in his lordship’s bid to save money after rent rolls collapsed during the Famine’s first year. “My father was undergroom to Lord Charles Mitchell and my mother was nursery maid, God rest their souls.”

Her eyes softened. “My condolences. Did you recognize me earlier, lad? My first husband was the Earl of Albany and we toured Bantry Bay often. We stayed with Lord Charles more than once.”

“Yes, my lady. You own Lyonsgate.”

She nodded, smiling. “I have that honor.”

Jocelyn came up behind her quietly, having apparently recovered his composure, at least for the present. He produced some coins from his pocket, appropriate behavior for a servant escorting a gentlewoman, and held them out. Gold coins.

William hesitated, then took the chance. “If you please, my lady.”

“Don’t you want the money, lad?”

“If you please, my lady, I’d rather have a post at Lyonsgate.”

“As boot boy?” she asked, raising one aristocratic eyebrow.

William gulped at the thought of regular meals, a roof over his head, and clothes on his back. But he held his ground. “I believe I would be more useful as a groom, my lady.”

Her eyes widened with surprise, then narrowed. Jocelyn’s eyes narrowed as well, but he remained silent. “How old are you, lad?”

“Seventeen in November, my lady.”

“And you believe sixteen years of life qualifies you to tend my horses?”

“Yes, my lady,” William said stubbornly. His jaw set hard. A few years of a groom’s tips should be enough for passage to America. Even if his audacity cost him the money, he’d be no worse off than he’d been this morning.

She surveyed him for a long minute, a stare that might have quelled even the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. Her lover was silent, watching her more than William.

Finally she looked over her shoulder at Jocelyn, who nodded slightly. Her gaze returned to William, bearing a hint of a smile.

“What’s your name, lad?”

“William Donovan, my lady.”

“Then you may be my fourth undergroom, William.”

“Yes, my lady. Thank you, my lady. And you, sir.”

“And here’s my thanks for protecting my wife,” the man added, finally dropping the coins into William’s palm.

He was her husband? Then why was he dressed as a servant?

William bowed again. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Mr. Fitzgerald to you, William.”

“Yes, Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“William.”

“Yes, my lady?”

“How many men have you killed?” Her voice wavered for the first time on the last word.

“Do you truly want to know, my lady?”

“No need to say more, William. You have given me the answer.”

He’d reached Lyonsgate, and a new life, within days. Lady Irene had also given James and his family a cottage on another estate. When William left in 1855 after three years’ service, Lady Irene and Mr. Fitzgerald had given him the money and contacts needed to smooth his way in San Francisco.

William considered his time there, pondering what could be used in his present situation. What would Lady Irene, the daughter and widow of earls, expect to find for her comfort? Clothes, certainly, and good food. A maid. What else?

Viola shifted against him. William froze. She muttered something in her sleep, then relaxed again.

He exhaled slowly and kissed the top of her head. He hadn’t known he was holding his breath.

What trinkets could aid his dalliance with Viola? He’d brought only a few gewgaws with him, preferring to keep his favorite trifles at home in San Francisco rather than use them to titillate courtesans. Now he wished he’d brought his entire collection with him, just to see Viola’s face when she opened the first chest. Would her eyes widen in shock or close in rapture the first time he teased her with a bit of jade?

He choked as his cock jerked at the thought.

William carried Viola to the settee in the corner, mercifully free of the paperwork that cluttered every other surface. Her fingers slid down his arm as he stood up, evoking a frisson that ran all the way to his head and groin. He took a deep breath then moved away. There’d be time enough to savor her touch later.

He found Abraham sweeping the colonnade outside the office. Morgan was in the side yard, checking the fittings on the ammunition wagon, while all his other men were too distant from the office to have heard much. Unless, of course, he’d shouted louder than he had thought.

“Yes, sir?” Abraham asked politely as he set aside the broom.

“There are a few matters needing your immediate attention, Abraham.”

“Sir.” Abraham came to full attention.

“Mrs. Ross will be my
chère amie
for the next three months. She will share my quarters and be under my protection at all times. Your first duty is to guard her as you would me.”

The former enforcer bowed deeply. “My pleasure, sir.”

“Mrs. Ross will also require a personal maid. Please ask Sarah to attend her. Ah Lum can cook for the household, as he did before our arrival. If necessary, ask China Mary to send additional help. Everything must flow as smoothly as possible.”

“Certainly, sir. My wife and I will do our best to be worthy of your trust.”

“There’ll probably be trouble with Lennox and his thugs. Be careful, especially when Mrs. Ross is outside the compound or depot.”

The other nodded. “She will be safe, sir. My life on it.”

“Thank you,” William said sincerely. Heaven forbid Abraham’s phrase was a prophecy. He continued briskly, “Mrs. Ross will need clothes, as well. Ask China Mary for clothes the Chinese tailors can create quickly, items suitable for a lady of high fashion.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll also need some Chinese clothing for her, such as a very pampered concubine would wear.”

“I will visit China Mary myself and select only the best for your woman, sir.”

How had Abraham managed to change from implacable enforcer to suave man of the world without moving a muscle? “Good. We’ll stay here at the depot till supper, which gives you some time to prepare.”

Abraham bowed. “Until this evening, sir.”

William smiled as he watched his houseman disappear up the street. Then he went to see how Morgan was faring with the ammunition wagon.

Lennox drove into the depot within the hour, his gaze sweeping across the busy confines. William finished the knot and left the wagon without a backward glance. Securing the colonel’s furniture could wait until he’d dealt with the potential threat to Viola.

“Donovan,” Lennox snapped, and yanked the gelding to a halt, causing the usually patient beast to toss its head in complaint. He smoothed his jacket back, disclosing a Colt’s fancy handle. A bloody bandage was wrapped around his right hand.

William’s eyes narrowed. “Lennox.” He faced his visitor openly, hands away from his weapons in a show of peace. One of the sentries turned to watch and the depot’s usual hubbub began to quiet as other men noticed.

Paul plastered a polite smile on his face as he waited for Donovan to approach. Damn all these arrogant Irishmen anyway. Why didn’t they just crawl back into their hovels and die?

At least in New York he made money from them, selling them a few square feet in a tenement to rest their filthy bodies. But in this hellhole, he had to pay an Irishman if he wanted anything delivered. And to have his precious silver hauled out, the priceless ore that would give him back his proper position in society and crush that Vanderbilt scum.

Intolerable to be beholden like this.

Sunlight glinted from one of the sentries’ rifles. Paul’s eyes flickered around the depot quickly. Trust the Irishman to keep his stores well guarded, and by men who’d fought in the recent unpleasantness. He recognized a Union cavalryman he’d last seen fighting in the Wilderness, now standing beside a flour barrel with a very serviceable carbine in his hands.

Paul nodded an acknowledgment, which was curtly returned. Then he brought his attention back to the big Irishman, careful to modulate his tone.

“What a pleasure to see you again, Donovan. Perhaps you can help me.”

“Glad to do what I can, Lennox.”

“I was told Mrs. Ross came here little more than an hour ago. Where did she go next?”

Donovan’s face didn’t change but Paul sensed immediately something had gone wrong. What could have happened? Had she run off to the Indians, as she’d threatened?

No, she mustn’t die yet.

“Mrs. Ross is here with me,” Donovan answered calmly.

Surely he’d misheard. “What do you mean, ‘with you’? She’s marrying me today.”

Donovan shook his head. “Mrs. Ross will be living under my protection for the next three months.”

Three months! Too damn long. Her brother could be here well before then to take her back to Ohio. Then he’d have to court her like anyone else, a ridiculous delay when he could have all that lovely money now. “The devil you say! You must be joking. She’d never tolerate the likes of you for five minutes.”

Donovan’s mouth tightened. “She asked for my aid, Lennox, and I gave my word on it.”

“You cur, you’ve stolen her from me. Stand aside and let me through,” Paul demanded, his voice rising, and reached for his revolver. His gelding sidled, clearly unsettled by the commotion.

A rifle was cocked up on the rooftops, then another, and a third only a few feet away.

Paul froze, recognizing the sound all too well. Slowly he removed his hand from his revolver, the cut complaining bitterly at the movement. Furious, he tightened the reins in order to quell his fretful horse, while he wondered how he could escape with his skin intact.

“No, she’s resting and must not be disturbed,” Donovan answered calmly. The arrogant prick had not even reached for a weapon, Paul realized. Not that he needed to, with so many of his men nearby. “My regrets for any misunderstanding that may have existed between us,” Donovan added smoothly.

“Yes, a misunderstanding, of course.” Irish scum. The other brutes were gathering now, their weapons blatantly ready, even without a signal from Donovan.

Paul gathered his last shreds of composure. The most important thing was to get out of here alive. After that he could decide how best to make Donovan regret his presumption, damn his dirty Irish hide. “Pray convey my compliments to Mrs. Ross. I shall hope to call upon her again when she is feeling recovered. Good day.”

Donovan nodded in response. “Good day, Lennox.”

Paul turned the buggy in a series of harsh jerks. Its wheels grazed more than one of the heavy wagons, scraping paint but not stopping him. Finally, he was free of the Irishman’s mud-brick warren and on his own streets.

He cursed viciously as he drove. Losing Viola Ross like this was intolerable. He’d wed a toothpick if it brought him a quarter of a million dollars. But when an immense fortune was attached to a lady of the highest social standing? Such a bride would grind those Vanderbilt parvenus into the dust, along with the woman who’d dared to reject him and then marry a Vanderbilt dependent.

Donovan had lied, of course, when he said Viola Ross came to him. Her parents came from the finest families in New York and Kentucky; she’d never sully herself with an Irishman. No, Donovan must have stolen her, hungry for a lady to assuage his animal lusts. Not because of her money or he’d have married her immediately.

An abortionist would have to flush her womb immediately after he regained her. No Lennox would ever rear or give his name to a bastard of that Irish devil.

He’d also need Donovan killed immediately. Paul stroked the reins slowly as he considered possibilities. Shot dead in the street perhaps. No, crippled and left for the Apaches would be better. He smiled at the thought, remembering the more lurid tales of their cruel creativity.

But who would run the freighting business then, and carry the silver out? It would probably be Evans, who wanted to raise the shipping rates into this hellhole. Paul cursed softly. He’d be better off dealing with Donovan, who was rarely in Rio Piedras and could probably be bamboozled by juggling numbers.

None of this solved the real problem: Viola’s brother. Hal Lindsay, a first-class Missouri River pilot and Union Navy lieutenant during the war, was now searching for his sister somewhere in Colorado, possibly as close as Santa Fe. Lindsay was no man to be trifled with, especially with his formidable family’s resources behind him.

No need, of course, to involve Nick back in New York. This matter should be solved in Arizona where it began.