Trouble With Harry (27 page)

“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. “What 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.”

“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 Spenser. 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.”

“Right, that's it, tomorrow. Five Courts. We'll just see who's too old.”

Harry cracked his knuckles with delight. “I accept. Been a while since I boxed with you. I still owe you for the time you blackened my eye.”

Noble rubbed the bump that marred an otherwise flawless nose. “And I owe you for breaking my nose. Good luck…and Harry?”

Harry paused as he was about to get into his carriage. “Yes?”

Noble gave him a look filled with concern. “Have a care. With all the men you've got guarding the children and your wife, your mysterious assailant may think it's easier to attack you.”

“What a singularly charming thought. If only he would be so kind as to do that.” Harry shook his head as he waved his friend off. He was still dwelling on the number of tortures he'd like to inflict on the man who had tried to harm his children when the carriage pulled up outside his biscuit-colored stone town house. He frowned. There seemed to be a number of people outside on the street, and was that yelling he heard from inside the house?

Harry pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered at the steps leading to the doors, racing up them with a heart suddenly wrung painfully tight at the thought of trouble.

The sight that met his eyes as he dashed inside was so astounding he came to a halt. It was as if a tornado had set down right there in the hall, a tornado made up of several rings of people and children and a number of cats he recognized as belonging to Thom. The cats were running in a frenzied circle in the ring closest to him, around the perimeter of the hall, being chased by a small white-and-black calf that bore a short piece of rope tied around its neck and a wild look in its eyes. McTavish—who for some reason was nude except for a pair of too-large slippers that Harry recognized as being an old pair of his—chased after the animals. Two footmen and George chased after McTavish. Beyond the circling animals, a man he didn't know lay on the floor, evidently having been knocked unconscious, while another was on his hands and knees, his arms held protectively over his head as he yelled a number of curses at the twins, who were taking turns beating him with two chamber pots. Harry spent a moment in gratitude that the pots had not been in use before the twins decided to beat the stranger with them, then moved his gaze to the next group of people.

Thom was arguing violently with a man in the dark clothing of a watch officer, waving her hands and yelling above the sound of the children and animals. Beyond Thom a man of middle years was being accosted by Digger and India, both of whom were trying to pull him away from the door to the library. The man was obviously trying not to hurt the children as he pried their hands from his arms, but no sooner had he removed one hand than another latched onto him, the children yelling at the top of their lungs all the while. Plum stood in the doorway to the library, wringing her hands and pleading with Juan to remove himself from where he stood with outstretched arms, as if protecting her from harm.

Harry watched it all for a moment—animals, children, servants, strangers, and Plum—then put his fingers to his lips and blew a piercing whistle that sounded painfully loud in such a confined space.

Miraculously, it worked. For a moment. Then the animals, children, servants, strangers, and Plum all descended upon him. “Halt!” Harry bellowed, then took immediate charge. He pulled off his jacket and handed it to George. “You children, to the right, over there in the corner. George, put this on McTavish. Ben, Sam: you two and Juan to the left, near the door. You, the one on your knees, help your friend into that chair. I don't know who you are, sir, but I will thank you to stop glaring at my wife, she's in a delicate condition. Please move yourself over there, near the stairs. Plum—” He held open his arms. She ran to him, clinging to his shoulders as she glared back at the man.

“Harry, that man says Charles is dead. Is it true? Is he really dead? Did you—you didn't—you didn't arrange—”

“Yes, yes, and no to all the rest.” Harry dropped a little kiss on her head just because he felt like it. He gently removed her hands from his shoulders, turning her so her back was to him, wrapping his arms around her in a protective gesture that he assumed the man standing near the stairs could not mistake. “I gather you are with the police force?”

The man bowed. He was a few inches shorter than Harry and had black eyes that glittered brightly in the soft glow of the lamps. “I am Sir Paul Stanford, my lord. I have the honor of being in command of the police within the bounds of the city. If I might have a word with you and your lady, I believe we can clear up this situation.”

“You will not take my most very lady into custard!” Juan declared, tearing himself from where the footmen held him, throwing himself at Plum's feet, spreading his arms wide to protect her. “I will tear out your heart and eat it before your so black eyes if you try to take her, you worm the most pestilential, you!”

“Don't let them take Plum,” India cried, running forward. The remaining children erupted from behind her, swarming him and Plum. “We like her! We want her to stay! She takes us places and doesn't make us do our lessons and she lets me put my hair up. Don't let that man take her!”

“Want Mama!” McTavish said, holding up his arms.

“Oh, you darling children,” Plum said, gathering them together in a hug. “You all mean so much to me! I couldn't love you more if I had borne you myself. My sweet, adorable darlings.”

Harry had a very, very bad feeling. He looked over her head to where Sir Paul stood. “Would you care to explain why my family and servants are under the impression you mean to take my wife into custody?”

Sir Paul had the grace to look abashed. “If we might discuss the issue in private?”

Plum released the children and turned to him, her lovely velvety eyes hard with pain. “Sir Paul says he has proof that I killed Charles. He said he has a letter from Charles threatening me, and one of his men—”

“The one we hit on the head until he went to sleep,” Anne interrupted with no little amount of satisfaction, pointing to the still unconscious man now slumped in a chair.

“—one of his men found my scenarios when he searched the house. Harry, I didn't kill him.”

He took her face in his hands, and before everyone, kissed the protestations right off her lips. “I know you didn't, love. Don't worry, we'll get this straightened out.”

Plum trembled, but it wasn't with fear, it was with the soul-deep love for Harry that made her feel as if she were invincible. As long as she had him and Thom and the children, she could not be harmed.

She turned to the man who had apologetically informed her that he had reason to believe she was involved with Charles's death. “Would you please go into the library, Sir Paul? Thom, you and George and the footmen take the children to the park for their outing. Juan, I greatly appreciate your brave and very selfless attempt to save me, not to mention your offer to tear out Sir Paul's heart, fry it, and eat it before his eyes while it was still smoking, but do you think you could release my knees? Harry, shall we?”

“Most certainly we shall,” Harry said, giving Juan a meaningful look as Plum extricated her knees with some difficulty from Juan's fervent embrace.

With her head held high, Plum led the way into the library, seating herself in one of the two chairs before the large ebony table that Harry used as a desk. “Perhaps you would repeat to my husband what you told me?”

Sir Paul accepted her gesture toward the second chair, composing his face into one that reflected abject apology and no little distaste for the task at hand. Harry, to Plum's surprise, did not take his seat at the desk, but stood behind her, one hand on her shoulder as if to show his support. Joy swelled within her for a few precious seconds before Sir Paul's words deflated it, turning her insides cold and clammy as if they were made up of day-old gruel.