Trouble With Harry

by Katie MacAlister

  He tipped her chin up, smiling down at her with love shining in his beautiful eyes. “You married me.”

  “Any woman with a shred of common sense would have done that,” Plum replied, warmed by the look despite the knowledge of what she was going to have to do.

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “You accepted my five little hellions into your heart despite their best attempts to drive you mad.”

  “Well,” she said with a little smile, “I will admit that might have taken a tiny little morsel of courage, but they are good children. Most of the time. Sometimes. Underneath, where it counts, they’re good. Even India has come around, and I thought she’d never warm up to me, although I admit, allowing her to wear her hair up and that pair of pearl earrings I bought for her birthday might have something to do with the thaw in her affections.”

  “She simply realized her good fortune in having such a wonderful stepmother. Not many women would stop running from the little monsters long enough to see their better qualities,” Harry said dryly, then pulled her closer, his hands warm on her backside as he teased her lips with his own. “What amazes me the most is that despite everything, you love me.”

  She melted completely against him, unable to hold out under the heat of his passion. “I would have to be witless not to, you’re eminently lovable.”

  “I am,” Harry agreed, swinging her up in his arms. “I am so lovable, you should worship me in tangible methods that will leave me exhausted, but sated. Would you mind opening the door?”

  Plum turned the latch. “Harry? Where are we going? I thought we were going to discuss Charles, and what to do with him?”

  “We are. We will. Later. Right now I must address the issue of a wife who keeps secrets from her husband.” Harry climbed the two flights of stairs without the least sign of strain.

  Plum, for a moment concerned by what Harry said, realized by the heated gaze that seared her that he was truly not angry with her for not telling him everything before they married. “There simply couldn’t be a more perfect man than you,” she sighed, tugging at his cravat, freeing the tanned column of his neck from its snowy hold.

  “No, there couldn’t,” Harry said shamelessly, the twinkle in his eye warming her almost as much as the stark, burning desire she saw there. He pushed open the door to his bedchamber, kicking the door shut behind him. “Which is why I feel you should worship me. Daily. Hourly, even. I am a god amongst men, wife, and I expect you to treat me as such. Let us discuss the form this worship will take.”

  “Well,” Plum said as he allowed her to slide down his body until she was standing. His fingers danced along the back of her gown, slipping free button after button. Plum shivered with anticipation as her gown parted. “I thought that first I might make a sacrifice.”

  “A sacrifice?” Harry cocked an eyebrow at her. She gently took the spectacles off, followed by his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt. “You wouldn’t happen to be talking about—”

  “Acolyte Worshipping the High Priest,” Plum said, her hands dancing along the fastening to his breeches.

  Harry sucked in his breath, looked wild for a moment as she reached within his breeches to wrap both hands around the hard length of his arousal. “You said that was the one connubial calisthenic that had not been taught to you. You said that was the one you had thought up all yourself, the one you had never put into practice, the pinnacle of all the calisthenics, the one you were saving for a very, very special occasion.”

  “This is such an occasion,” she said, smiling because he was panting. Her smile deepened when he shuddered, prying her hands off him with a look that warned her he was close to losing control. He jerked her gown off, not even pausing to admire her lovely new frothy shift before he removed it, too. She kicked off her shoes. “My stockings?”

  He eyed her, a deliciously wicked glint to his eyes. “We will leave them. You are, after all, a deliciously naughty acolyte. You will have to be punished later.”

  “Oooh,” Plum said, giving up the last of her guilt. She loved him and knew he loved her. She would do whatever she had to do to make sure that nothing tarnished that love. She took a deep breath, then immediately lost it when Harry’s warm mouth closed over her breast. His mouth was hot as it kissed a path around her soft flesh, teasing an already aching nipple with both tongue and teeth. Her fingers bit hard into his shoulders as she tried to keep her legs from giving way under her. “What sort of punishment are you speaking of? Will it involve your hand and my bare…um…sit-upon?”

  “It might. Or it might involve two feathers and the leather cuffs,” Harry said as he pulled her close to him, fitting the soft curves of her flesh exactly against his hard planes as if they were designed specifically for one another.

  She breathed in the wonderful scent of his lemon soap, allowing her head to fall to his shoulder as she pressed her lips to the pulse point in his throat. “And what sort of form would you like the ritual purification of spirit to take, oh mighty High Priest?”

  “Bathing,” Harry said, sliding his hands along the long length of her thighs, his eyes alight with love and passion and desire. “You will need to bathe me. Later. Much later. I plan on being very sweaty.”

  Plum opened her eyes and tipped her head back to gaze into his face as he slid an arm around her waist, lifting her and carrying her the few steps to the bed. She mused for a moment about the ridiculously wonderful nature of men that made them feel it necessary to carry their women to a bed, then pushed that thought aside to concentrate on more important things. “About Charles—”

  One boot thudded to the floor. Harry glanced at Plum for a moment, a glance so full of promise she squirmed on the bed as he used the bootjack to pry off the other boot. “Later, Plum. We’ll talk about that bastard later.”

  “Yes, but I am worried—”

  “Later,” Harry repeated, quickly stripping off the rest of his clothing, standing before her in all of the glory of his masculinity.

  Plum’s breath caught in her throat as her gaze greedily consumed him from toes to nose, tossing aside her cares, worries, and unhappiness, giving herself up to the wondrous love that bound her to her husband.

  ***

  “Harry,” she mumbled against his breastbone some time later, her fingers trailing up the side of his rib cage, reveling in the heat of him. “We should talk about Charles.”

  Harry groaned slightly and shifted beneath her. “You’re insatiable, woman. Give me a few minutes to gather the tatters of what strength you’ve allowed me to retain, and I’ll be happy to oblige.”

  Plum giggled, lifted her head, and gently bit his chin. “It was a particularly successful calisthenic, wasn’t it? I very much enjoyed the benediction.”

  Eyes closed, but with a smile on his face, he answered. “I thought you might like that. A little something I thought of one day when I saw a balloon ascension.”

  “It was heavenly.” Plum rested her mouth against Harry’s neck for a moment, and then raised back up, resting her chin on her hands crossed on top of his chest. She wiggled her hips slightly to get his attention and immediately felt his manhood begin to stiffen against her thighs. Two strong hands settled on her hips and held her still. A little gleam of green shone through slightly opened eyes. She smiled. “Now we’ll talk about what to do with Charles. I think if you were to find a murderer, and I modified my scenarios—”

  Harry sighed, sliding his hands down to massage her behind in a manner that made her groan in pleasure. “Much as I think the bastard deserves to be killed, there is another way. I will simply threaten to destroy him if he so much as breathes a hint of your literary identity.”

  Plum raised both eyebrows. “Really? Are you sure you can do it? I thought a scandal might stop him, but after tonight—”

  Harry kissed her forehead and slid his hands lower, chuckling a sexy chuckle that set Plum’s blood to simmering. “W
hat a violent bit of baggage you are. It’s one of the many things I adore about you.”

  Plum wiggled again in silent protest of this new train of thought.

  Harry gripped her behind. “You don’t have to kill a man to destroy him, sweetheart. If anything happened to you or the children, it would destroy me.”

  “Yes, I know it would, but that’s because you are a singularly wonderful man. Charles, however, is an absolute rotter. I doubt if he feels anything for anyone but himself, let alone affection for his family.”

  Harry shook his head slightly and slid his hands along the warmth of her inner thighs, parting them as he said, “I had not intended on striking him through his family. You’re quite correct, that wouldn’t affect him at all. But there’s something that will—money. I will simply pay the man a visit and inform him in no uncertain terms that if he mentions anything about you, I will see to it he is destroyed financially, to such an extent that he will never recover.”

  Tears of gratitude pricked her eyes. “Can you do that?”

  Harry shrugged, not a very easy act considering she was lying on him. “With the help of my friends, yes.”

  “And you really think it will work?”

  “Yes.” His fingers stroked ever tightening circles on her thighs.

  “He won’t tell anyone? We won’t face another scandal?”

  “No, and no.”

  Plum was distracted for a moment by the path his fingers were taking, but she had one last shameful secret to bare. She had to say it now, while he was in a forgiving mood. “About the babe—Harry, I used you. Shamefully. I wanted a child of my own so badly, even though I know you don’t think I’m a good mother, but truly, I am trying. That incident with the twins and the cow in St. James’s Park was truly a fluke—that cowherd was exaggerating when he said the cow was frightened to death. And yesterday, when Digger put the fish down India’s back while we were in the glass shop picking out new crystal, I lectured him most sternly about taking responsibility for his actions and told him you would take the cost of the broken decanters out of his quarterly allowance. And later, at the fruiterers, where we had gone because the children had never seen a pineapple—and they were quite taken by the one in the window display—I told them all we would not go for ices at Gunters as we planned because they would insist on wreaking havoc with all those lovely pyramids of oranges and apples, not to mention what they did to the figs, but honestly, you can’t lay the blame for that at my door, because I did tell them before we went in not to touch anything.”

  Harry, who had been shaking beneath Plum as she recounted event after shameful event, finally gave up and roared with laughter. She slapped her hand down flat upon his chest and gave him a look to let him know she wasn’t amused. “Harry, this isn’t funny! I’m baring my soul to you!”

  “You’re baring something,” he leered, sliding his fingers into her damp heat. “I never thought you were a bad mother, Plum. Far from it, I doubt if anyone could have done as good a job with the children as you have done. You are patience personified with them.”

  “Hardly. Oh, my, Harry!” she gasped as he rolled her onto her back, coming into her with a smooth movement that never failed to thrill her. “The Kingfisher? Now? Here? But we were talking about…about…about something! Oh, yes, the children, that’s it, we were talking about the children and the babe and…and…mmmmrowr!”

  Harry kissed the knees that rested on either shoulder before he stroked deeply into her. “Do you really want to talk about that now?”

  Plum arched up beneath her husband, sliding her legs down to his waist as she pulled his head down to her own. “No,” she whispered on his lips. “It can wait until later. Much, much later.”

  Seventeen

  “Well, I guess that settles the question of what to do about him,” Noble said, nudging the body with the toe of his boot. “You sure your wife didn’t hire someone other than you and Nick to take care of the matter?”

  Harry steeled himself for the unpleasant task of examining the bloated corpse, rolling it onto its back, and trying not to think too much about the ghastly expression on the face or the damage normal to a body that has floated in the water for several hours. “Quite sure. That was all a misunderstanding between her and Thom. She wanted simply to blackmail de Spenser. When did your man say he found the body?” Harry glanced up to the two large men who stood beside him in the pale light of dawn.

  The younger one answered. “About two hours ago. He found the body caught up in a net on the pier, and since it had obviously been someone of quality—and this is my particular patch—he alerted me before he sent for the watch. I told Papa, and he suggested that since you are in touch with a number of Runners, you might ask them if they had heard anything about a gentleman being killed.” Nick’s gray eyes were just as puzzled as his father’s. “I had no idea that you’d have a connection with the body.”

  Harry grunted and conducted a quick search of de Spenser’s pockets. He found nothing but a few coins and a cheap snuffbox painted with a pornographic scene.

  “He wasn’t robbed. Interesting. I don’t suppose you’ll leave the investigation up to the proper authorities?” Noble asked.

  Harry glanced over to where the representative of the city police force was questioning a couple of drunken sailors. “I doubt if they’re up to the sort of challenge that de Spenser’s body presents.”

  “They’re not so bad,” Nick said with a grin. “Stanford’s all right, although he’s a bit of a stiff neck when it comes to reform.”

  “Stanford?” He stood up slowly, rubbing his nose, frowning at the name.

  “Sir Paul Stanford. He’s the head of the city police force.”

  “Yes, I know of him.” Harry’s gaze met Noble’s. The latter raised his ebony brows. Harry answered the unasked question. “Sir Paul was Sir William’s brother. Been out of the country for a few years. Had some business in Canada that he ran—something to do with trading. One of my men checked up on him. He’s been back in England for almost a year.”

  “Ah,” Noble said. “So it’s not likely he has anything to do with your other business?”

  “Not likely, although I suppose anything is possible. I have a man taking a close look at his affairs.” Harry examined the body one more time before covering it up with an oiled cloth, the three men moving slowly to their carriage. “De Spenser was strangled, that much is clear, but by whom? And why? Assuming Plum didn’t hire anyone to kill him—and I certainly didn’t—who would want de Spenser dead?”

  “Sounds like it’s another task for your Runners,” Noble said. “How is your other investigation coming along?”

  Harry sighed and climbed into the carriage after his friend. Nick took the seat opposite, his eyes interested and watchful. Harry had told both men about Plum’s history with de Spenser after seeing the body, because he trusted them. He hesitated to speak about the threat to his children, but in the end, he decided Nick learning about the other situation couldn’t hurt. “It’s not coming along at all. The few leads we had—men known to be friends with the anarchist group Sir William led—are either dead or in prison. He had few close family members, and fewer friends. No one from the anarchist group is left. We can’t find proof that anyone who worked under him at the HO has an ulterior motive. If Briceland didn’t have the damned letter, I’d say it was all a mare’s nest, built on nothing but a foundation of tissue.”

  “That’s understandable. What will you do next?”

  Harry sat back against the soft cushions of the carriage, closing his eyes for a few moments while he tried to order his thoughts. “First I will hire a few more men to look into de Spenser’s activities since he arrived in England. Then I will meet with the men looking into this business of William Stanford’s letter and see if anything has turned up. Later I’ll talk with Sir Paul Stanford and ask him myself about his brother, as well as de Sp
enser. Following that”—Harry opened his eyes and grinned at his childhood friend—“I intend on introducing my wife to one or two calisthenics she has not yet tried.”

  The day passed quickly, much to Harry’s surprise. He rallied his men, gave assignments to those who were conducting desultory investigations into a man who had died fifteen years before, received a report from the man in charge of his family’s safety, met with Lord Briceland to discuss the possibility that a junior secretary who had absconded with some funds could be the person they were searching for, lunched with Noble at his club while both of them sent out feelers as to what the feelings of the ton were regarding de Spenser’s death (a sort of shocked diffidence was the most common reaction, de Spenser having been out of the country for so long that few people remembered him), sent a note to Plum that he would be home for dinner, and received an answer to his request for an appointment with Sir Paul Stanford.

  “I’ll see Sir Paul tomorrow,” he told Noble later as the two men were parting for the evening. “By then I hope the Runners will have gleaned a few kernels of information about de Spenser’s comings and goings, not that I particularly care who killed the man. Still, Plum will want to know, so it won’t hurt to take a closer look at his life.”

  “Can’t hurt at all,” Noble agreed, punching Harry in the arm as they parted. “Enjoy your calisthenics. Er…you think you could get me a copy of the book? I have a feeling Gillian would like it, not that she’s not very inventive on her own, but you looked positively haggard this morning. Anything that can result in the sort of satiated look you’ve had plastered on your homely face all day is something I want to know about.”

  Harry punched him back, not hard, but not gently either. Just hard enough to let him know he appreciated the quality of the insult. “Do you think you’re up to it, old man? You are five years older than me. Gillian would never forgive me if you found the calisthenics were too strenuous for your aged body.”