Trouble With Harry (28 page)

“It is with the greatest reluctance that I inform you I am ordered to take Lady Rosse into charge until such time as the magistrate can review the case against her regarding the mysterious death of the Honorable Charles de Spenser, youngest brother of the Earl of St. Mead.”

“What case?” Harry asked, his voice even and apparently unconcerned, but Plum knew better. His tight grip on her shoulder belied his placid facade. “What reason, what proof can you possibly have that would make you think my wife, a gentle lady, a marchioness, would dirty her hands with the murder of a man so wholly unconnected to her?”

Plum smiled a sad little smile to herself. Harry was using what she had privately dubbed his marquis voice, the voice he used whenever he wanted to intimidate someone with his title and consequence. Unfortunately, she had no belief it would hold sway with Sir Paul.

“There are three reasons we believe that Lady Rosse is involved with the death of Mr. de Spenser. The first is this letter, recovered from his body.”

Harry looked startled for a moment as Sir Paul handed him a somewhat battered and grubby letter. Plum flinched a little at the sight of it. She'd read it earlier when Sir Paul had come to take her into charge. She could not deny the letter was from Charles, addressed to her.

“Hmm…vague innuendo, vaguer threat…”

“Keep reading,” Sir Paul said, his eyes black and impossible to read.

“‘
If
you
do
not
pay
me
the
sum
we
discussed
Monday
past, I will be forced to reveal all I know, thereby regrettably causing the ruin of yourself and your noble husband. I have not yet spoken to anyone of our past, but do not fool yourself into thinking the price for my silence is gratitude. I do not fear bringing my own good name into speculation. Our relationship was of a nature such that censure cannot fall upon me, but you will, I fear, feel it most heavily once the truth is known about your literary accomplishment. Lest you imagine I am not serious in my intention to make all known, I would be happy to forward you a copy of a letter which is but awaiting word from me to be delivered to
the Times.
They
will, I have no fear, print it immediately upon receipt. I remain, yours
…' I fail to see how de Spenser's threats of blackmail lead you to believe that my wife—a woman in a delicate condition—would murder the man. It's outrageous! Entirely unlikely! You could just as soon say my children were responsible for his death as Plum.”

Plum tried to rally a smile at Harry's outraged attempt to shield her. The truth was much less amusing.

“My lord, you will forgive me, this is no slight upon the characters of your children, but as they did bring down one of my men armed with nothing but two chamber pots, and were quite likely to bring down the second—”

Harry cleared his throat. “Regardless of that, this letter is no proof of Plum's guilt.”

“There are also these.”

Plum licked her lips nervously. She had no trouble recognizing the sheets of foolscap she had used to write out her scenarios.

Harry glanced at them, not even bothering to take them. “I know about those. My wife has literary ambitions. She was no doubt simply putting to pen a few scenes for a novel.”

“A novel featuring a variety of detailed methods of ruining a man named Charles?”

“I have always detested the name Charles,” Plum said without the slightest conviction that Sir Paul would believe her. “It just came to me.”

His black eyes considered her for a moment. Harry's fingers tightened on her shoulders until the grip hurt.

“My lady, I do not doubt that you have the greatest literary skills—anyone who could write so imaginative and detail-rich a book as the
Guide
to
Connubial
Calisthenics
could not help but write creative methods to destroy the man who threatened her future—but I do not for one moment believe you wrote these descriptions as a piece of fiction.”

“You mentioned three items,” Harry drawled in a bored voice before Plum could dispute Sir Paul's statement—not that she could without lying, and she hated to lie outright, although she would if it meant saving Harry or the children from grief. “What is the third?”

“A description given by a man who saw Mr. de Spenser walking last night with a very agitated woman of Lady Rosse's coloring, a lady who was wearing a blue-and-gold dress remarkably similar to the one we found in Lady Rosse's wardrobe.”

“That's ridiculous,” Plum snorted, nervously aware that if Sir Paul found out she'd left the Davells' home early, her goose would really be plucked. “My niece and I were out last evening at a private dinner party at the home of Sir Ben and Lady Davell. They will tell you we were there.”

“I have already spoken to Lady Davell,” the police head answered, his eyes filled with a light of speculation that had all hope within her plummeting to her boots. Her goose wasn't just plucked, it was roasted and carved. “She informs me that you left early, leaving your niece behind. No one seems to have seen you leave. I find that extremely…curious.”

Plum glanced at Harry, unsure of what to say about their assignation.

“My wife was with me after she left the Davell home,” Harry said quickly. “I can vouch for her whereabouts from nine o'clock on. Your witness is mistaken.”

“No doubt you can vouch for her,” Sir Paul said smoothly. “Alas, sometimes gentlemen are mistaken about such matters as time, especially when it concerns their wives.”

“Dammit, man, are you accusing me of lying?”

Plum got to her feet, holding Harry back as he lunged forward.

Sir Paul also rose to his feet, slowly, as if he was savoring a pleasure. “I would not be so foolish, my lord. I suggest simply that you might be mistaken. And now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my offices…with Lady Rosse. I'm sure you understand that it is with the greatest regret that I must ask her to accompany me, but as you have no explanations for the proofs I have submitted—” He shrugged a delicate shrug.

Plum decided she loathed him, but realized that if she did not agree to be taken into custody, Harry would fight to the death to keep her free. She couldn't allow that; she couldn't bring even more trouble onto his head than she'd already caused. She had to go with the odious Sir Paul even though every fiber of her body protested against leaving Harry.

“Your proofs are nothing but cobwebs, insubstantial and unbelievable. I will not tolerate you slandering my wife in this manner. You will take her from this house over my cold, lifeless body!”

“Harry,” she said, turning her back to Sir Paul, facing her husband. She took one of his hands, rubbing his knuckles gently against her cheek, smiling into the fury that darkened his eyes from their normal hazel to almost pure forest green. “It's all right. We both know I'm innocent, and the innocent have nothing to fear. I will go with Sir Paul now, and you will contact your solicitor and see about having me remanded to your custody.”

“No. It's unthinkable that my wife should be taken away like a common criminal—”

“I know, my darling. I don't like it any more than you, but I will not have anyone suffer any more for my folly and Charles's cruelty. You have the children to protect. Once the scandal about Vyvyan La Blue is made public, they will need to be reassured and comforted.”

“Plum, you can't do this,” Harry said softly, pulling her to him, his breath brushing her face, his eyes bleak with pain. “You can't leave me. I need you.”

“And I need you,” she whispered, annoyed that such an intimate scene be witnessed by Sir Paul. She swallowed back the tears that wanted to form, knowing she must put a good light on the situation to keep Harry from forcibly ejecting the head of police from the house. She smiled and took his hand, placing it on her still flat belly. “We both need you, but you can't help me if you're arrested for assault or worse. You have to let me go with him. You have to stay here and protect the children from the scandal. I love you. I need you. But right now I need you at home more than with me.” She softened her words with a kiss, her lips clinging to his as if they hated parting.

Harry's jaw tightened as he looked over her shoulder. “The least you can do is not say anything to anyone about Plum being Vyvyan La Blue. If that's made public, it will ruin her reputation.”

“And no doubt yours, my lord,” Sir Paul said with an inclination of his head that didn't quite hide the slight smile that left Plum with an even greater loathing of him. “I will of course endeavor to do all that I can for Lady Rosse, but the papers have ways of finding out such dirty little secrets.”

Harry's fingers tightened around hers. She tugged his hands until he looked at her. “It will be all right, Harry, I promise. We won't be parted for long. You must stay here. I count on you to…count on you…” She frowned, a sudden thought claiming her attention. She turned to Sir Paul. “How did you know I was Vyvyan La Blue?”

“Eh? Oh, it was mentioned in de Spenser's letter.”

Harry's quick intake of breath confirmed her dawning suspicion. “Is it? I don't remember that he specified which book I had written.”

“That's because it wasn't there,” Harry said, stepping in front of her at the same time he shoved her behind him. Plum made a mental note to take issue with him regarding that action at a later date.

“You're wrong. I distinctly remember de Spenser referring to Lady Rosse as being the author of a book that would cause no little grief should it be made public.”

“A fact that appears to give you great enjoyment,” Harry growled.

Plum moved to his side, putting a restraining hand on his arm. “Where did Charles mention that? It wasn't in the letter you showed me.”

“Nor the one you showed me. Could it be that the letters are a forgery?”

“Your lady herself confirmed that the handwriting was that of Charles de Spenser,” Sir Paul said, but Plum interrupted him before he could go further.

“I said I thought it was Charles's writing, but I couldn't be certain.”

“It doesn't matter if de Spenser did write the letter,” Harry said softly. Plum was aware that Harry's muscles were tense, as if he was coiled, ready to spring. “He mentioned nothing about Vyvyan La Blue in the letter. Which brings us back to my wife's question—how did you know about it?”

Sir Paul's head came up, his face filled with scorn and condemnation. “Does it matter? The fact is that your wife is a pornographer. That alone would be grounds for her arrest.”

“I think not,” Harry said smoothly. Plum eyed him warily, worried about the lack of emotion on his face. The sense of an animal about ready to spring was heightened by the way Harry moved toward Sir Paul, every movement filled with masculine grace and strength. “Plum? Who are the only people who know the identity of Vyvyan La Blue?”

“You, Thom, my friend Cordelia, who would never reveal it, Mr. Belltoad the publisher, and Charles.”

Sir Paul started to protest, but Harry's voice cut across it like a lash. “And of those five people, who do you imagine to be the most likely to tell Sir Paul who you were?”

She looked at the older man, noticing the line of perspiration across his brow. “I would imagine Charles would be the most likely.”

“That is ridiculous—”

“SILENCE!” Harry roared. His voice dropped to its normal volume, although he still spoke in that controlled manner that warned Plum he was incredibly angry. If he was suspecting the same thing she was, he had every right to be furious. “I concur with your reasoning, Plum. If we follow that idea to its logical conclusion, we must assume that in order to have heard from de Spenser the truth about Vyvyan La Blue, he must also have met Charles. Perhaps he met him last night. In the evening. As de Spenser left our home, driven out by the children, fleeing into the night like the coward he was.”

Sir Paul made an inarticulate choking sound, but said nothing.

“But how would he know Charles came to the house?” Plum asked, keeping one eye on the head of police. “How could he have seen Charles leave unless he was—oh!”

“Yes.” Harry nodded, slowly approaching Sir Paul. “He would have seen de Spenser leave only if he was passing at that moment—a coincidence so unlikely I won't even entertain it—or if he was watching the house.”

“The children,” Plum breathed, her hands fisting as anger rose inside her. “He's the man who kidnapped the children! He's the one who threatened them, who tried to hurt them.”

Sir Paul stumbled backward as she lunged toward him, but Harry caught her and pulled her back before she could do more than inflict a few scratches.

“Everything you said has been the merest speculation,” Sir Paul said heavily. With a swift move he pulled a pistol from inside his coat, pulling back the hammer as he pointed it at Plum. “You have no proof, and as long as I am in charge of the police, you will not be able to buy justice with your wealth or title. Your wife will be found guilty of murder based on the evidence I supply the magistrate. She will be hanged, and you, my Lord Rosse, will be left to go on, to suffer long after justice has been carried out.”

“But why?” Plum asked Harry, her eyes on the man who stood before them. Harry looked completely bored, but she could feel the tension in the arm he slid around her.

“Sir William Stanford was Sir Paul's brother. Why was the letter your brother sent you delayed? Or did it arrive fifteen years ago, but you took the time to make your fortune in Canada before seeking revenge?”

“So that self-righteous bastard of a valet turned it over to you after all? I should have taken care of him when I had the chance. William gave the letter to some damn fool servant who forgot about it. When he died earlier this year, the letter was found in his effects and sent on to me.” Sir Paul's lip curled as he hurled curses at Harry. “I swore that I would have vengeance on you and your family for taking my brother's life. You could have kept the manner of his death hidden, given him a hero's burial, but you didn't. You made sure that bit of scandal was on everyone's lips, laughing at him, mocking him, mocking
me
for being brother to a coward. The fire in your house, the accidents I so cunningly arranged for your children—they are all on
your
head. I swore your family would suffer the same as I did when it became known that William took his own life. As for your wife, it was by the merest coincidence that I found out about her secret, but I fully intend to use it to bring about your destruction just as you destroyed my brother.”