Trouble With Harry Page 17

  The man smiled, and Thom found herself unable to keep from smiling in response before she realized what she was doing—smiling at a burglar! What was next, laughing with an arsonist? Swapping charades with a strangler?

  “‘Bold,’” the burglar said, looking oddly pleased by her words. “I rather like the sound of that. What would you say if I told you I wasn’t a burglar?”

  She snorted. What did he take her for, one of those simpering, idiotic young ladies in the other room who knew nothing but how to look pretty and flirt and embroider nicely? She walked around him, keeping her poker handy in case he got any ideas. “Let me see, why would I think you were a burglar? Well, for one, there is the matter of your clothing. It is ill-kept and just the sort of thing that I imagine thugs and ruffians and men of bad repute wear when they engage in acts of a nefarious and illegal nature. It fairly reeks of burglary.”

  The man looked down at his clothes, rubbing a bit of dirt off a grimy waistcoat so tattered, she wouldn’t bed down one of her cats on it. “Ah. That. I can explain—”

  “And then there is the fact that you have in your possession a bag of such dimensions as might be used to hide your swag.”

  “Swag?” The man’s lips twitched.

  Thom felt a corresponding twitch in her own lips, but quickly regained control of them, schooling them into what she hoped was a stern, forbidding line. “That is, I believe, the correct slang? I read it in the Flash Dictionary. It does mean stolen booty, does it not?”

  “It does,” the young man said, giving in and grinning at her again. “I’m just surprised you should be familiar with such a word, let alone the Flash Dictionary.”

  “I have a very eclectic reading taste,” Thom told him, momentarily charmed by the amused light in his handsome gray eyes. Really, he was very agreeable for a burglar. He seemed well-spoken despite the obvious wicked nature of his employment. “In addition to the other items, there is the fact that you were attempting to escape via the window.”

  He looked behind him to the window, his head tipped on the side as he studied it. “It seems to me that unless you actually caught me in the act, you can’t be sure of whether or not I was opening or closing the window when you arrived.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, your bag is positively bulging with swag and such. It’s quite clear to me that you’ve allowed your lower nature to run amok, and now you are escaping with the fruits of this labor. Can you deny that the bag holds your swag?”

  “I could,” the man said, leaning back against the wall, looking just as comfortable as if he had been born there. “But that would take all the enjoyment out of you attempting to sway me from my sinful path. You were going to try to sway me, weren’t you?”

  “Oh, yes,” Thom said guiltily, dragging her mind away from the pleasing contemplation of his eyes. “Of course I am. It is my duty. Er…I’m not quite sure how to begin. I’ve never had to sway a burglar before. How would you advise me to proceed?”

  He looked thoughtful for a moment. “You might get further if you told me your name. It’s the personal touch, you know.”

  “It is? Very well, if you insist. I am Thom.”

  “Tom?” He looked a little surprised.

  “Thom. It has an H in it.”

  “Ah.” He nodded wisely. “That makes a difference.”

  “Yes, it does. What is your name?”

  “Nick. No Hs in it whatsoever. And your surname?”

  “Is none of your concern. We can be personal without it. Now, Nick, it is my duty to lecture you about the sins of your chosen path.”

  “You may proceed,” Nick said, his lips curving slightly as if he found something she said amusing. Thom had no idea what that could be, but admitted to herself that she found the young man in front of her a hundred times more pleasing than the dandified fops she had just left. At least this man was real. He had a goal in life, even if that goal was to steal items belonging to others. “Don’t spare me. I am ready and willing to hear your thoughts on the despicable life I have chosen to lead.”

  She pursed her lips and tried to think of something to say to him. “The problem is,” she said with a sigh a few moments later, “I don’t really see what’s wrong with your despicable life. Oh, the stealing part isn’t good. You shouldn’t steal something that doesn’t belong to you, you really shouldn’t, but as for the rest of your life, I can’t imagine it’s too despicable. You are free to do whatever you want with your life, are you not?”

  “Within reason, yes.”

  “And if you don’t want to do something—”

  “Then generally I don’t do it.”

  “Exactly. That seems to me to be the ideal life, really. Freedom and your own choice to guide you—the burglary aside, of course.”

  “Of course,” he said, his eyes laughing.

  “Are you a very good thief?” It didn’t seem to be quite a correct thing to ask, but Thom was not so naive as to be blind to the fact that her entire conversation was not quite appropriate, so it didn’t seem to her to matter if she compounded that by asking something she wanted to know.

  “Not really, no. I haven’t had much experience at it.”

  He looked a bit distressed by that thought, and Thom hurried to reassure him. “You needn’t worry that I will tell anyone that I saw you here. You will, of course, have to replace those items you took, but I can see that you aren’t a terrible person.”

  “Thank you,” he said gravely.

  Thom gestured to the bag. “May I?”

  He handed it to her. She set it on a nearby desk, opening it, extracting from within it a set of gentleman’s evening wear and a pair of highly glossed shoes. She stared at the clothing for a moment, sympathy for him welling up inside her as she moved her gaze to his laughing gray eyes. “I have ten guineas.”

  The laughter within them died as he watched her. “You do?”

  “I do.” She nodded and put the clothing back into the bag, handing it to him. “My aunt’s husband gave me a quarterly allowance of twenty guineas. I can only give you ten, though, because I promised the children to treat them to Astley’s and the toy shop.”

  “You did.” He still looked a bit surprised.

  “Yes, I did, and I would hate to disappoint them. They get very inventive with their revenge if you disappoint them. When it rained two weeks ago and we couldn’t go on a picnic, they filled my bed with slugs. If you give me your direction, you may have the ten guineas.”

  Nick considered her for a long moment before replying. “Do you offer money to every burglar you meet?”

  “No,” she said, smiling. She couldn’t help herself, he was a very charming burglar, one who seemed to deserve smiles. “Only those who need it. Your direction?”

  He looked confused as he slowly said, “A message to The Tart and Seaman will reach me.”

  “The Tart and Seaman?”

  “It’s an inn near the docks, but, Thom, don’t send me your money. I can’t—” Nick’s head snapped up at the sound of voices outside the hallway.

  “Go,” she hissed, shoving the bag into his arms and pushing him toward the half-opened window. “I won’t say anything about seeing you. Go now!”

  Nick squawked something as she shoved him out the window, but she didn’t wait to hear what it was before slamming the window shut, closing the curtains, and spinning around just as the door to the library opened and her aunt peeked in.

  “There you are! We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Oh, Thom, you don’t know how worried I was—never mind, it doesn’t matter now, I’ve found you. Harry, I found her!”

  Thom allowed herself to be bustled out of the library, casting a quick glance over her shoulder toward the window. What a very interesting evening it had turned out to be. She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever see the handsome, disreputable burglar again.

 
; She rather hoped she would.

  ***

  “…and please, in the future, Thom, if you have to disappear, would you have the goodness to tell me first, so I won’t worry?”

  “Yes, Aunt Plum.” Thom’s head was bowed. Plum felt a momentary pang of remorse for having to lecture her in this manner, but no one knew better than she just what sort of rakes and rogues lurked in the background, ready to pounce on an innocent young woman.

  “You have no idea the pitfalls and traps that lie waiting for an unwary young woman to stumble into them.”

  “Yes, Aunt Plum.”

  “I don’t wish to seem unreasonable, Thom, but truly, your disappearance worried me half to death.”

  “Yes, Aunt Plum. I mean no, Aunt Plum.”

  “Even Harry was worried, were you not, my lord?”

  “Not in the least. Thom seems a sensible sort,” Harry said. Thom flashed him a grateful smile. Plum could have throttled them both. “Ah. A country dance. Shall we, Plum?”

  “I’m sorry, but I have a good seven or eight minutes left of a lecture for Thom—”

  “She’ll have to hear it later,” Harry said with one of those persuasive twinkles in his eyes. Plum never could hold out against his twinkles. He added a devilish grin to his twinkling eyes, and she knew she was doomed.

  “My spleen will become enlarged if I do not unburden myself of the entire lecture,” she protested gently, for she knew that her spleen could never win against both the grin and the eyes.

  “I will personally guarantee that your spleen will not suffer,” Harry said, bowing low to her as the first figure of the dance began. Plum curtsied, casting a warning glance over her shoulder to her niece. Thom waved and sat down next to a large matron in a voluminous puce gown. Praying she would stay there out of trouble, Plum relaxed enough to enjoy the lively dance, something she hadn’t done in twenty years.

  “I’m surprised I remember the steps,” she told Harry as the dance brought them together. “It’s been so very long.”

  “You never looked lovelier,” Harry answered before they were separated to dance with their adjacent neighbors.

  Plum glowed at his compliment, knowing that he was deliberately attempting to bolster her spirits in what he realized must be a trying night for her, but still pleased that he took the time to tell her how well she looked. The truth was that she was beginning to enjoy herself. Probably a good part of that had to do with the fact that there were so few people present whom she remembered from her two seasons.

  A short, red-haired gentleman with a receding chin was her partner for this turn. As she danced forward to him, she realized with a start that she knew him—he had been one of her first beaus. What was his name? Sir Alan? Alec? Sir something-starting-with-an-A didn’t seem to recognize her in the least. He smiled at her as she danced around him, returning to stand as he danced a circle around her.

  “This is a very charming ball, is it not?” she asked as they came together.

  “It is indeed. Very charming.”

  “Are you here with your family?”

  “Yes, my eldest daughter is coming out. That’s her near the duchess—Mariah, her name is.”

  “She’s very pretty,” Plum answered, noting the resemblance between the short, red-haired girl and her partner. “Is your wife here as well?”

  “Yes indeed, Lady Davell is just beyond Mariah.”

  Davell—he was Sir Ben Davell, the first man ever to send her a bouquet following her coming-out. And here he was, a middle-aged balding man with a daughter almost as old as she had been when they first met.

  And he didn’t recognize her.

  “I am Lady Rosse,” she said as they clasped hands and made a bridge for others to pass under.

  “Yes, I know, you were pointed out to me.”

  “Really?” Plum stiffened, wondering why anyone would point her out unless it was to pinpoint her for rumor mongering.

  “My wife pointed you out to me. She said you are newly wed to Lord Rosse.”

  “Oh, yes, we are.” He was polite, respectful—everything a gentleman should be. There wasn’t even the faintest whiff of anything condescending or smug about him. Plum relaxed again and danced the rest of the figure in a thoughtful mood, returning to Harry even more grateful than before that she’d found him.

  “Happy?” he asked at one point in the dance.

  “Ecstatic,” she answered a few minutes later, when they were again brought together.

  And she was. Everything Harry had promised had come true—she had met nearly everyone present, from the duchess who was a cousin to the hostess to the Feehan sisters, two very old wrinkled ladies who were said to have been the late George II’s mistresses. The Feehan sisters of Plum’s memory had sharp eyes for scandal, and sharper tongues, and yet when she was introduced to them, they cackled over her newlywed status by making a rather questionable remark comparing Harry to a stallion and her to a mare, but not one eyelash did they bat over her. It was as if the last twenty years were nothing but an unpleasant dream, lingering in the back of her mind, but groundless, with no substance.

  The fiddles drew out the long last notes of the dance, and she sank into a deep curtsy, smiling at Harry as he took her hand to guide her off the floor. “Thank you.”

  “For the dance?”

  “For making my life wonderful. No one else could do it but you. No one else could give me such happi—”

  The words froze on her lips as the people before her parted, baring to her view the sight of a man bending over their hostess’s hand in greeting. The man straightened up, his eyes meeting hers, recognition dawning as she froze into a giant lump of solid horror.

  “Gack,” she gasped, her blood turning to ice.

  “What?” Harry asked, his voice concerned.

  In a panic, Plum’s first thought was to run. Since that was impossible, nor would it do any good, her second was to get rid of Harry. “Water. I need…water. Or punch. Could you please get me a cup, Harry?”

  “Yes, of course.” Harry guided her over to an empty chair. “I’ll be right back.”

  Plum cast a quick glance around the room, but no one seemed to have seen anything out of the norm. Thom was chatting with a pretty young woman, and didn’t in the least bit notice when Plum got to her feet to greet the man of middle height and nondescript brown hair who approached her.

  “Plum?” the man said, his nostrils flaring for a second, his mud-colored gaze sliding over her bodice. The boldness with which his gaze rested on her left her feeling dirty, as if she needed to bathe in order to remove the taint of his attention. “It is you, is it not? My dearest Plum, what a pleasure to see you again.”

  Plum closed her eyes for a moment, swaying a little as the room dipped beneath her feet. “Yes, it is me, Charles. What a horribly unpleasant surprise. They told me you were dead.”

  “They were wrong. I was insensible for several months, having received a blow to my head in a boating accident, but as you can see, I am now quite well.” He took her hand and made a show of kissing the back of it.

  Plum snatched it back. “Go away.”

  “My dear, wild horses could not drag me from your side. Can it be you hold some animosity toward me regarding that regrettable experience so many years past?”

  “Regrettable experience? You ruined me, deliberately and willfully.” Plum’s hand itched to strike the smug smile off his face.

  He shrugged, still wearing the abominable smile. “A young man’s folly. My family told me you had gone into seclusion, and yet here I return to my native shores to find you as delightful as ever—and quite in the thick of Society. You have done very well for yourself, Plum, very well indeed. Might I ask who your protector is?”

  “Protector?” Plum’s eyes widened as she realized just what he implied. “Harry is not my protector, he is my husba
nd.”

  “Really?” Charles drawled, looking about himself with his quizzing glass. “You managed to marry? How very droll. I had assumed no man would wish to burden himself with another man’s leavings, but then, I have been away for many years. Evidently not all is as I remembered.”

  “Not every man has as crass and disgustingly low a nature as you possess, Charles,” Plum said, noting that Harry had returned to the room and was starting around the dancers with a cup of punch in his hands. She had to get rid of Charles, and fast, and at the same time squelch any notions he had of discussing her past. If she could just get through the evening, then she could think how best to deal with him. “Some men have honor. My husband is well aware of the sad trial I have lived through, and doesn’t give a fig for it. As you can see I am received by all, so nothing you can possibly say about the past will have any effect.”

  “No?” Charles said, raising his hand in acknowledgment when an acquaintance beckoned to him. “Indeed, you have done well for yourself, Plum. My congratulations on your success…both in your happy marriage and your literary endeavors.”

  Plum froze again, this time into a glacier of fear and horror and every last one of her worst nightmares.

  Charles leaned close, his breath hissing in her ear as he whispered, “How very satisfying it is to be the man who taught the infamous Vyvyan La Blue everything she knows.”

  For an awful moment, Plum was sure she was going to vomit, but as the seconds passed and Charles took himself off, she managed to push down the bile that rose within her enough to give Harry a feeble smile when he made it to her side.

  “Your punch, my lady… Plum? Are you unwell?”

  Harry’s voice was warm with concern, breaking through the wall of ice that had enclosed Plum. She turned to him, desperately needing his strength, needing him to comfort her, but the look of concern in his eyes was her undoing. How could she repay him with cruelty for all the kindnesses he had shown her?

  She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Harry had done everything he said he would do—he had effectively erased her past. It was up to her to deal with Charles…somehow.