The Trouble With Harry n-3

by Katie MacAlister

  “As you say, ma’am.”

  Plum thinned her lips at him. “You’re patronizing me, Mr. Harris. I dislike being patronized.”

  “That thought was the farthest from my mind, you can be assured. I simply wish to inform you that about this, I am well familiar with his lordship’s habits.”

  “Prove it.”

  His eyebrows rose in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Prove to me that Harry won’t want to know what’s going on out in the hall. Ask him.”

  Temple opened the door for her and waved her into the room. A second, less loud crash echoed from the hall. She cocked an eyebrow at Temple and marched into a dimly lit chamber so dusty her nose tickled. At the far end of the long room, with his back to a pair of filthy windows, her husband sat reading a letter.

  “Sir,” Temple said from the doorway when Harry didn’t acknowledge them.

  “Mmm?” He didn’t raise his eyes from the letter.

  Plum looked him over carefully, this man she had married and more or less thrown out of her bedchamber the evening before. His sandy hair was mussed and disordered, as if he had combed it with his fingers, the one rogue lock of hair having fallen over his brow. The planes of his long face were thrown into interesting shadows, the bright gold of his spectacles glinting in the sunlight that bullied its way through the grimy flyspecked windows. This was the man she had bound herself to for the rest of her life. The man who had neglected to tell her about his five children. The man about whom she had built up so many dreams and hopes — or as many dreams and hopes as one could arouse in just two days. This was the man with whom she wished to indulge in many, many connubial calisthenics, the man who would twine his heart and soul (not to mention legs and arms) around hers, the man who would complete her, make her whole, give her what she wanted more than anything in the world…

  “Your wife, sir.”

  “What about her?” Harry asked, still reading his letter, one long finger tapping on his lower lip as he read. At the sight of that finger stroking the curve of his lip, Plum remembered, with an unmaidenly flash of heat to her womanly parts, just how wonderful his mouth felt on hers.

  “She would like to know if you are curious about the specifics concerning the two”—another crash, this one followed by a hoarse shout and peals of childish laughter, interrupted Temple—“three indicators of an accident from the hall.”

  “Why would I be foolish enough to want to know that?” Harry asked, his gaze on the letter as he took a pen from the holder and flipped open the top to an inkwell.

  Temple glanced apologetically at her. “I believe your lady feels that you might wish to make sure that one of the children hasn’t injured himself or herself.”

  Plum nodded, wondering greatly whether or not returning to bed and starting the day over would help. She reckoned it wouldn’t.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Temple,” Harry said absently, making a notation on the letter. “If one of them was hurt, there would be screaming and blood and such.”

  Then again, it couldn’t hurt.

  “Harry.”

  He looked up, the adorable lock of hair hanging over his equally adorable brow, his eyes dark and shadowed behind the glass lenses. “Plum! You’re…er…up.”

  Temple quietly left the room, closing the door behind him as Plum walked toward the desk, glancing at the variety of objects lining the tables and bookcases. “Yes, I’ve found that if I really put my mind to it, I often manage to arise before the sun has set for the day. Good morning, Harry.”

  “Oh, er…” Harry stood up, more than a little bit flustered, Plum was delighted to see. He pushed back his spectacles, leaving a smear of blue ink on the bridge of his nose. Her fingers itched to push the lock of hair back from his brow as he tugged on his neckcloth (leaving blue smudges on it, too), greeting her with a hesitant (but needless to say, adorable) smile. “Good morning. How did you…er…sleep?”

  Plum sighed to herself. There was no avoiding the fact, Harry was just all-around adorable. “Quite well, the bed is very comfortable. I did, however, have a complaint concerning my bedchamber.”

  “Oh?” Harry came around the edge of the desk and pulled back a chair for her. Two apples, a number of crumpled neckcloths, and a small brown-and-black salamander tumbled from the mass of papers that sat on the chair. “What — just ignore the salamander, it’s one of McTavish’s pets, it’s harmless, I’m quite sure. Temple’s story about it biting off one of the footmen’s fingertips is nothing but the grossest sort of fi ction — what did you find lacking?”

  Plum took a deep breath, and reminded herself that she was neither a shy virgin nor a woman inexperienced with men and the intimate acts they did with their wives. She knew thirteen different standing positions alone for said intimate acts, and women who knew such things did not blush when they were mentioned in casual conversation. She was a mature, rational woman. Harry was her husband. She very much looked forward to investigating his person in a thorough and lengthy manner. She might even take notes about things he particularly enjoyed. She would not, under any circumstances, act maidenish.

  Harry’s eyes narrowed as he peered into her face. “Are you well? You look flushed, as if you have a fever.”

  “I’m quite fine,” she answered, ignoring the fact that her cheeks were so hot she could probably fry an egg or two on them. “What I found lacking in my bedchamber last night was your presence.”

  Harry looked confused. “You threw me out of the room.”

  Drat the man, he would have to remember that point. “Yes, I did, but I didn’t mean it.”

  One dark brown eyebrow rose over the top of the spectacles. “Ah. That would be why you said, and I believe I’m quoting you accurately, ‘You deceiving mongrel of a man! You have five children and you never told me? Five? F-I–V-E, five?’”

  Plum’s blush, to her everlasting mortification, deepened even more. She avoided looking into his lovely, changeable eyes and glared at the dirty window, instead. “I might have said that, but I was a bit upset at the time—”

  “Following which, you marched over to the door leading to my room, threw it open, and with a dramatic gesture that would have done Sarah Siddon proud, informed me that I might go to my own room, or to the devil, whichever I preferred so long as I removed myself from your presence.”

  She made face. “I have often found people with exceptionally good memories to be the worst sort of annoying—”

  “I might have been left in some doubt as to what, exactly, your thoughts were on the subject of our marriage, but the fact that you almost brained me with your hairbrushes—”

  “They were very small hairbrushes! They couldn’t possibly have done any damage more than perhaps a slight bruise or two, although I do concede that if you were not wearing your spectacles, and if the handle was to have lodged in your eye, it might have put it out.”

  “—as you swore to the Lord Almighty that you never, ever wanted to see me again.”

  She closed her eyes for a second. How could she have been so stupid? Why had she flown off the hook at him like that? She of all people had no right to be angry at him for having concealed from her something about his past. “ ‘Never, ever’ might have been a slight exaggeration—”

  “Plum.”

  Her gaze dropped to her hands clasped before her as she refused to look at him, too embarrassed to bear seeing the condemnation in his eyes. She truly was a coward. “I’m sorry, Harry. I thought I could do this, but I’m obviously too—”

  “Plum, look at me.”

  Slowly, with reluctance her gaze rose to meet his. Her throat tightened and several odd, butterfly-like things set up fluttering in her stomach. He was smiling at her, smiling a wonderful smile, not with just his lips, but with his eyes too. He took her hands, then bent to kiss the backs of each. Her hands glowed warm under the touch.

  “You had every right to be angry with me. I don’t blame you at all for ejecting me from your room. I just ho
pe that now that you know the worst, you’ll consent to remain my wife. I admit that it’s not a particularly good deal on your part, but I would like you to stay. Lord knows the servants could use a mistress — they never seem to know how to do their jobs, or even what their jobs are. And the children are wild, not bad-tempered, just wild. They need you as well.”

  Plum smiled at the earnest, hopeful look in his eyes and tightened her fingers around his. “And you, my lord? What do you need?”

  “A friend,” he said, his voice suddenly husky as he drew her closer to him. “A companion. A lover.” She was against his chest, her hands sliding up the fine green cloth of his jacket, his muscles bunching as he pulled her tight against him. His lips teased hers, nipping at her lower lip, tasting the corners of her mouth, pressing little butterfly kisses along the length of her lips until her head swam. Harry’s voice was rough, thick with desire as he said, just before he accepted the invitation offered by her parted lips, “A wife.”

  Plum, thinking wicked thoughts about using Harry’s desk in a manner she did not doubt would surprise him, prepared to surrender to his worshipful mouth when another, closer crash shook the windows behind Harry.

  “Damnation,” he snarled as he pulled his lips from hers. “Temple!”

  Reminding herself that she was now the children’s mother, and thus the likely person to investigate household accidents, she reluctantly pulled herself from Harry’s arms. “I should probably see what’s amiss.”

  “No, you stay. Temple, what’s going on out there? Why can’t I have a single moment of solitude? Is it too much to ask for a man to read his letters in peace and quiet?”

  “No, sir,” Temple replied, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. “It would appear that a bull, sadly lacking in the tail department, has made its way into the hall. I will see to it that it is removed immediately.”

  “Don’t bother, I’ll do it,” Plum said, giving him a smile. “After all, I’m mistress here now. If anyone is responsible for removing livestock from the house, I suppose it is me.” She turned back to Harry, suddenly shy despite the fact that a few moments before she was entertaining his tongue in a most intimate manner. “Will I see you later?”

  He gave her a heated look that left no confusion over just how much she’d see of him later, then kissed her hands again. “You’re an angel, Plum, the answer to my prayers. I leave the children in your capable hands, confident that you will restore peace and sanity to my house. You are exactly what we need. I will see you at luncheon…no, blast, I won’t either. I had a letter this morning that I must attend to…er…business. You will forgive me?”

  He cupped her jaw, pulling her closer. Plum knew if she got within kissing distance of him, she would wrestle him to the floor and have her way with him, so she slipped backward and gave him what she hoped was a dazzling smile (but feared was more a lustful leer). “Yes, certainly. Dinner, then. I will see you for dinner…and after.”

  His eyes blazed hot, hot enough to leave her whole body flushed and aching for him. He swallowed twice and nodded. She blew him a little kiss, then scampered from the room when he looked like he was going to lunge toward her. Temple, who had been politely gazing at a picture on the wall, held the door open for her. She whisked through his room, filled with hope and desire and happiness.

  “Temple — you don’t mind if I call you that? Thank you — Temple, I have a very good feeling.” Plum opened the door to the passage. A medium-sized bull thundered past the door, followed by two large dogs, a pheasant, and the twins. “Today marks the beginning of a new life for all of us.”

  McTavish raced by, dragging the carcass of a rat tied to a string.

  “I will deal with everything life throws my way, and I will conquer it.”

  “God help you, my lady,” Temple said. “I believe you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

  The salamander scampered over her foot, and ran out the door.

  Plum sighed. “I fear you’re right.”

  CHAPTER Six

  Harry fought a short battle with his body, which desperately wanted to scoop Plum up in his arms and carry her off to his bedroom, where he would apply himself to keeping her in a state of absolute pleasure for as long as his strength held out, but he reminded himself — particularly those errant parts of his body that were at that moment straining against his clothing — that he was not an animal, he was a gentleman, and gentlemen did not act as if they were stallions around a mare in heat.

  It was touch-and-go there for a few minutes as to whether he would throw his honor to the wind and go straight to stallionhood, but in the end, his better nature won out. He willed his arousal to think of something unpleasant like stagnant cesspools and bloated corpses, then sat back down to consider the letter he’d received an hour before.

  “Temple!”

  His secretary came before the echoes had died down.

  “You bellowed, sir?”

  “Yes, I did. I want your advice.”

  Temple allowed a surprised expression to dance across his face. “You want my advice?”

  “Yes. Sit down, this is going to take some explaining. Some time just before I married Beatrice I was brought up on charges of treason. I believe I mentioned it to you?”

  “Yes, sir, you did.” Temple’s lips thinned. “The charges were false, and you were released.”

  Harry leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the corner of his desk. “Of course they were false, I was working for the Home Office at the time, under direct command of the prime minister. I was the bait used to catch whoever was using the Home Office to stir up insurrection and anarchy.”

  Temple said nothing, but his eyes glowed with the light of admiration and excitement. “I assume that you found the person?”

  “Yes, I did. I was almost hung in the process, but all that got sorted out once I determined that the mastermind behind the plot to overthrow the government was none other than the head of the HO, Sir William Stanford.”

  “But…he was your employer, was he not?” Temple asked.

  Harry nodded. “He was. I worked for him for years, never guessing that he was using his own position to feed information to anarchists.”

  “Good Lord!” Temple’s face was a picture of captivation. “What happened to Sir William? Were the anarchists captured? And how did you end up in prison for treason?”

  Harry opened a small cedar box situated at the far edge of his desk and extracted a thin brown cigar. He waved his hand toward the box in invitation as he lit the cheroot, settling back with the air of one who has a riveting tale to tell. “Sir William took his own life as soon as I discovered his perfidy. The anarchists were caught, and the leaders hung. I was jailed for treason because Sir William had set me up as a scapegoat, manufacturing a convincing case against me with the help of the anarchists. He knew I was getting too close to the truth, you see, and it had come to his ears that the PM was aware that there was someone high up in the Home Office who was betraying the government, so Stanford decided I would be offered up as a sacrifice.”

  “Fascinating,” Temple said, carefully tapping his ash into the receptacle provided. “I take it the letter you received today has some bearing on that incident?”

  “Exactly.” Harry dropped his feet to the ground and leaned forward to frown at the letter. “This is from the Lord Briceland, the new head of the HO. He says some information has come to light recently to hint that Stanford might not have been working alone, and he’d like me to go over my documents and papers with an eye to finding proof of a second person’s involvement.”

  “That sounds as if it will involve quite a bit of work.”

  “It will.” Harry sighed, then picked up his pen. “I’ll want you to write to Crabtoes and have him dig out my records at Rosehill. Have him send them to me here, as fast as possible. Then I’ll need you to help me sort through the papers I have here. I don’t have much that is pertinent to that time, but I recall seeing a box of
my notes somewhere when we moved. Oh, and don’t forget to send in that announcement to the Times.”

  Temple put out his cigar, carried it over to the fireplace, and disposed of both ashes and cigar, wiping out the glass bowl with his handkerchief before returning it to Harry’s desk. “Your marriage announcement?”

  “Yes. It will save me from having to write to all my friends, and Plum will probably want her friends and family to know about it. Blast! Just when I wanted to spend some time reveling in my wife’s charms, I must spend my days pouring over fifteen-year-old notes…”

  “I should very much like to know exactly how the bull found itself in the house. Would one of you like to tell me?”

  Erk, erk, chirruped the pheasant. Plum gave it a look to let it know she didn’t appreciate its opinion, and honed her look to a glare. She sent it down the line of servants and children who stood before her.

  “Well? Doesn’t someone have something to say?”

  The ten pairs of eyes regarding her displayed nothing but innocence, innocence so great, it would make the cherubim themselves feel in the need of a good purging.

  Plum sighed. “Very well, if you wish to be difficult about this. Gertie?”

  An older woman with brown hair flecked with gray nodded her head.

  “You’re in charge of the children, are you not?”

  “Aye…well, I was until ‘is lordship married ye, and now yer in charge o’ the little buggers.”

  Plum fought down a feeling of panic at that thought. They were only children, and she had lots of experience with Cordelia’s children over the years — experience playing with them, that is, in situations which she knew full well Cordelia would never allow her to suggest romps that might prove to be unsuitable or dangerous. Now, however, she was in Cordelia’s position, and she felt sadly at a loss as to what she should and shouldn’t do with the children. After a morning’s concerted and uncomfortable thought on the subject, she had decided that she would be their friend, helping them, guiding them, mentoring them without being too strict or having to dole out punishment.