The Irish Devil by Diane Whiteside Page A

passionately.
    William cleaned his weapons, then turned to leave. It was none of his affair if Lady Irene’s lover was a servant. Rescuing those two grooms from Black Kevin’s remaining brother was more important.
    “Wait, lad. I’m coming with you.”
    William measured Jocelyn with his eyes, then nodded at Black Kevin’s big knife clutched in the man’s hand. “You know how to use that?”
    “I’ve fenced with sabers in England and on the Continent.”
    “Right then. But be as silent as possible.”
    Just then, a call reached them from outside. “Kevin, can I come in now? You said I could have the tall one first.”
    Jocelyn growled almost soundlessly. William glanced at him, then indicated the stairs. They went down into the deserted shop, taking up positions on either side of the door.
    The doorknob rattled. “Bloody hell, Padraig, if you’re on her now, I’ll crack your head in.”
    The door opened, and Mickey, a man close to William’s age, marched in, still whining. “Kevin, you promised her to…”
    Jocelyn sprang upon him before he finished the sentence. The following fight was savage but brief while William waited, ready to intervene if necessary. But the manservant was a better fighter than he’d expected. He easily blocked the other’s first wild lunge and ran the big knife through the thug’s heart. Mickey was dead in an instant.
    Jocelyn stepped back carefully, his hand over his mouth, then ran outside to retch. William’s mouth twitched sympathetically. Killing a man was always hard and this was likely Jocelyn’s first.
    “Lad.” Lady Irene stood at the foot of the stairs. She was pale and trembling, her hands clasped tightly. Still, she’d recovered her self-possession remarkably fast, as she always had in his father’s tales.
    “My lady.” He took off his cap and bowed, as he’d learned in earliest childhood.
    “My thanks, lad. You undoubtedly saved our virtue and our lives.”
    “I am honored to have been of service to you, my lady.” Instinctively, William used the genteel English accent he’d mimicked as a child. “Is the other lady recovering?”
    Lady Irene nodded absently but continued to scrutinize William. “Miss Whittington wished for some privacy while she used the facilities. Are there any remaining villains outside?”
    “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