Gallant Scoundrel (15 page)

Xena only just managed to keep her mouth from dropping open with shock. “Your—? Of course not, Theo! Why on earth would you think such a thing? I only met him for the first time last night, at the Duke’s reception. He, ah, simply stopped to pay his respects.”

Yamini, who knew Xena better than anyone alive, frowned but Gretchen clapped her hands.

“Oh, mum! He must have been quite smitten with you to seek you out the very next day! He’ll be sending you flowers next, mark my words!”

“Don’t be absurd, Gretchen.” Despite her alarm at realizing Theo was far more curious about his father than she’d guessed, Xena almost laughed. “Lord Peter is married, and to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. He was…good friends with a few of the soldiers I knew on the Peninsula and wished to give me further news of some of them. That is all.”

Gretchen’s freckled face fell, but Yamini’s dark eyes sharpened. “Mum, if I might have a word?” She nodded toward Xena’s bedroom. “We should discuss Theo’s request of visiting the stables again.”

It was clearly a pretext, but Xena followed Yamini from the room as Theo exclaimed to Gretchen, “He
was
a lord! I was right. The first lord I ever met!”

Softly closing the door behind them, Yamini turned a worried face to her mistress. “My dear, I could tell at breakfast that something is terribly wrong. Can you tell me what it is?”
 

Yamini had come to the Maxwell’s grand house in India as a girl of eighteen to be nursemaid to the recently orphaned five-year-old Xena. Over the twenty-odd years since she had become far more than a servant, filling the roles of mother, friend and confidant. In desperate need of advice, Xena did not hesitate to unburden herself .
 

“I never have been able to keep a secret from you, Yamini, and you’re quite right. I discovered last night at the Duke’s reception that, after all these years of believing him dead, Theo’s father is still alive.”

The other woman stared. “Mr. Thatcher? But the newspaper—?”

“He was wounded at Salamanca and apparently believed dead for some weeks, but a Spanish family nursed him back to health. Yamini, he was
there.
I was never more shocked in my life than when we suddenly came face to face. He appeared equally stunned, for he had no idea I had survived, either. The Duke had saved that news as a surprise for his guests.”

Yamini blinked several times, clearly trying to absorb the startling revelation. “So you and Mr. Thatcher spoke? What did he say? What do you plan to do?”

“At first we were both too startled to say much,” Xena admitted, “but we did speak privately later and agreed we should simply go on as we’d been with no one else the wiser. Unfortunately, the Duke of Wellington knows the truth. So does Lord Peter Northrup, for he is apparently one of Harry’s closest friends.”
 

If Yamini felt surprise at hearing Xena’s use of Harry’s Christian name for the first time in many years, she did not betray it. “Then it was about your husband that Lord Peter came to speak with you?”

Xena nodded. “He, ah, feels that Harry and I owe it to ourselves, and to Theo, to give our long-ago unplanned marriage a chance to become a real one. He wishes us to live as husband and wife until the first of the year.”

“And did you agree?”
 

“Not willingly. But Theo unexpectedly ran up to greet me, and when Lord Peter saw him he guessed the truth at once. When I asked him to keep Theo’s existence a secret, he promised to do so only if I agreed to his suggestion.”
 

Yamini’s brows drew down. “Do you believe keeping Theo from his father is wise?”

“You sound like Lord Peter!” Xena exclaimed. “But last night I learned that Harry has become not only a drunkard but a gamester since last I knew him. How can I trust Theo’s future to such a man?”
 

“I understand your fear of ceding any portion of control over your son’s life—or your own life—to any man.” Yamini regarded her shrewdly. “But Theo
must
learn who his father is at some point, if he is not to believe himself a bastard.”

“Yamini!”

“Forgive my plain speaking, mum, but he’ll be old enough to understand what the word means all too soon. Already he gives more thought to the question than you may realize. Out of your hearing, he has asked me countless times whether I have any idea who his father might be. Knowing your wishes, I’ve said nothing, but he grows more persistent by the week. Nor does it seem quite…right that his father be unaware.”

Setting her jaw stubbornly, Xena shook her head. “I suppose in time they must both be told but that time is not yet come. Not unless I discover the tales I have heard about Harry are untrue.”

“Your opinion is based on mere gossip? I thought better of your sense than that.”

“It’s not just gossip,” Xena protested. “Harry himself implied as much. At least, he did not deny it.” Even as she spoke the words, she recalled a certain softness she’d seen in his eyes last night…and the way being near him had made her feel.
 

“In any event, Lord Peter has yet to persuade Harry to go along with this mad scheme, something I consider highly unlikely.”

Yamini gave her a knowing smile. “For myself, I hope Lord Peter will be successful, for there is no way better to learn what a man really is than by living with him for a time. Perhaps he will surprise you.”

Did Yamini mean that he would surprise her by agreeing, or by proving himself to be a better man than Xena so far had reason to believe? She decided not to ask.

*
       
*
       
*

Harry rolled over in bed, then immediately regretted it. The sliver of sunshine making its way through a narrow gap in the thick curtains lanced directly into his eyes, exacerbating the pounding in his head. He groaned.

“Ah, you’re awake, guv,” came Flute’s voice from the doorway of Harry’s bedchamber. “Good. Couldn’t figure which was worse—to wake you after such a night or leave Lord Peter waiting.”

“What?” Wincing, Harry forced himself higher on the pillows to regard his young henchman and mentor blearily. “Peter’s here? How the devil did he find the place?”

“Nay, guv, he just sent Renny with a message for you. Wants you at his house quick as you can get there, he said. Must be important?”

Harry groaned again, for he had a good idea what Peter wanted to talk to him about. The same thing that had driven him to over-celebrate after last night’s successful housebreaking. Xena.

When purloining valuables from two different houses—both belonging to men who needed taking down a pin or two—failed to push Xena to the back of his mind, Harry had turned to his old friend, the bottle. That had eventually worked, but only by sending him to sleep after a maudlin period of alcohol-enhanced longing. Indeed, at three-thirty in the morning he’d nearly gone back out to find her. Luckily he’d passed out across his bed first.

The last thing he needed was more haranguing from Peter about “giving his marriage a chance.” In the cruel light of day, he recalled only too clearly how relieved Xena had seemed when he’d told her he had no more desire to make their long-ago marriage public than she did. The sooner he could forget her again, the better—something he’d have to convey forcefully to Pete.

“I’ll call on him after I’ve cleaned up a bit. And breakfasted.” He didn’t have much of an appetite after last night’s excesses, and by the angle of that sunbeam it was well past noon, but no matter. Pretending to eat would delay the inevitable a bit longer.

It was nearly two hours later when, shaved, brushed and respectably clad, Harry presented himself at Peter’s town house on Curzon Street. Given his tardiness in answering the summons, he was surprised by how affably his friend greeted him.

“Ah, Harry. I began to think my message missent. Take it you put in a rather late night after leaving us?” Though he smiled, Peter’s eyes raked Harry’s face, missing no detail—which meant he must know full well exactly how wretched he felt, and why.

“The job you persuaded me to tends to make for late nights,” Harry replied shortly, in no mood for niceties. “What’s so important it required rousting me from my well-earned bed?”

Peter’s brows rose, though he appeared more amused than censorious. “It’s past three, old chap. But come. We can discuss it in the library.”
 

He led the way to the same room Harry had quitted in a temper last night. Harry flung himself into the best chair, his mood not improved in the least by the reminder. Before taking a seat himself, Peter went to the sideboard.
 

“Would you care for a glass of something first?”

Harry scowled, sure now that Pete was trying to soften him up for another assault. “Thanks, but no. Stomach’s a bit tetchy just now.”
 

He was still in that post-binge state of swearing off drink forever. The resolve never seemed to last much past dinner time, but at the moment it was still in force.

Though Peter was undoubtedly well aware of Harry’s reason for refusing, he made no comment before taking the chair opposite. “I’ll get right to my proposition, then.”
 

Harry regarded him suspiciously. “Another proposition? Your last landed me squarely on the wrong side of the law—though I won’t claim I’m not enjoying it. What’s this one?”

“That you do what I suggested last night: give your newly-discovered marriage a chance of success. No, let me finish,” Peter added quickly when Harry made an impatient motion to get to his feet. “I’ve already spoken with your wife, and she is willing to give it a trial if you are.”

Slumping back into his chair, Harry stared at his friend in disbelief. “You’ve done
what?
Why—? How—? You had no right!”

“Concern for the welfare of a good friend gave me the right. After some discussion, she agreed it would be foolish to leave London without at least attempting to discover whether the two of you might rub along comfortably together. If nothing else, it may spare her the speculation and gossip that will inevitably arise once word gets out that the two of you were married.”

“And why should word get out?” It was obvious from Peter’s very nonchalance that he was not revealing all.

“Did you ask Wellington not to bruit it about?”

Damn. “Of course not. There were others by, and such a request would have required too much in the way of awkward explanation.”

“By your account, he seems to believe being married will prove an asset, leaving you that much freer to pursue your usual, ah, variety of women. Given that, I believe it’s fair to assume he won’t hesitate to mention it, should occasion arise.”

Didn’t Peter ever tire of being right? Still, Harry attempted to mimic his unconcern.
 

“No matter if he does. Once back in Yorkshire, Xena will be safe enough from Town gossip. Doubt many of the locals there read the London rags. Can’t believe she’d worry about such things, in any case.” Certainly the Xena of seven years ago wouldn’t have.

Peter regarded him from under furrowed brows. “And what of you? Can you honestly say it would not bother you to hear your wife’s name bandied about? Have her caricaturized on storefronts?”
 

The thought made Harry’s bile rise, but he strove to conceal it. “She’s been guilty of nothing but wishing to live her own life. No fault to her for not wanting her name linked with mine. Who would?”

“Did you not hear what I said at the outset?” Peter’s tone was irritatingly patient. “She told me she is willing to give your marriage a chance if you are. Given that, it would be ungallant in the extreme for you to refuse. Or perhaps the vaunted Miss Maxwell has a greater measure of courage than you do?” Peter leaned back in his chair while his words penetrated.

Though he could scarce believe Xena had agreed to any such thing, Harry couldn’t see what Pete might gain by making such a claim if it were untrue. Was it conceivable she was as beset by old memories as he, after their first encounter in more than seven years? Or…
 

He now recalled her final encounter with Wellington last night, during which it had appeared the Duke was trying to persuade her to something. If they’d reached some sort of arrangement, that might account for her new willingness to remain in London.
 

Harry shook his head, striving to banish the unpalatable thought. “Impossible. How would we even manage such a thing? Have her come to live with me in Seven Dials? My flat on Swallow Street has already been let—not that it was much better.”
 

If Harry expected that detail to be a stumper for Peter, he was disappointed.
 

“Of course not. That neighborhood is rather too rough for a lady, even one rumored to have shooting and fencing skills. As it happens, Marcus and his wife left Town two days since for their estate in Hertfordshire and that new school they’re establishing, leaving the Northrup Town house empty. I make you and your bride free of it.”
 

There were other difficulties, however, and Pete had to know it.

“How do you suggest I account for my sudden acquisition of a wife? Will that not cause as much gossip as Xena returning to Yorkshire?”

Peter smiled. “I’ve given that some thought, as well. We’ll simply tell the truth, or a slightly censored version of it. Claim you were both too overcome by surprise and confusion last night at Wellington’s do to mention it to anyone. Once you’re seen amicably attending functions together, any early speculations will no doubt fade away.”

Harry took leave to doubt that, but he was rapidly running out of arguments. Nor could he deny that the idea of living for a time in close quarters with Xena, who was even more bewitching than he remembered, held an insidious appeal. Not that he could allow Peter to guess that.

“Still sounds a mad scheme to me, and one more of your making than Xena’s. What did you have to offer to get her to agree?”
 

“Offer? I promised no money, I assure you.” He noticed Peter did not quite meet his eye, however, instead carefully adjusting the lace edging on one sleeve. “I won’t claim she leapt at the idea when I first put it to her, but I eventually convinced her it was worth a trial.”