by Brenda Hiatt
* * *
Unfortunately, Sarah was delighted at the prospect of bringing Xena into the entire secret when he broached the subject. An hour after breakfast she stopped by, ostensibly to borrow Xena’s translation of a particular Greek manuscript they’d discussed on a previous occasion. But the moment Xena went upstairs to fetch the translation, she turned to Harry.
“In truth, Harry, I came to see you, on Peter’s behalf as well as my own, for we were both frightened to death when we read of the Saint’s supposed demise in last night’s paper. I can’t tell you how relieved I am—and how relieved Peter will be—to know it was not you who was shot after all!”
Harry gave her a wry smile. “It was me, as it happens, but I luckily received little more than a scratch. Xena saw me arrive home wet and wounded, however, so when she heard the story yesterday evening, she drew the obvious conclusion.”
“Then she knows?”
He nodded. “And has been peppering me with questions ever since. I made the mistake of mentioning Flute and now she wants to meet him, as well. I put her off, of course, saying I’d have to ask the previous Saint—but without mentioning any other names.”
“Oh, but of course she must know all, Harry, she is your wife!” Sarah exclaimed. “Indeed, I’ve felt almost underhanded becoming her friend while keeping something so very important from her. Surely you don’t believe she would betray you? Or any of us?”
“No, no, of course not. It’s just—” He broke off at the sound of Xena’s light step on the stairs, with a warning frown at Sarah.
Which she blithely ignored.
“Xena!” Sarah exclaimed the moment she re-entered the drawing room. “Harry tells me you have discovered his big secret. How wonderful!”
Xena stared at her in blank astonishment. “His…you knew? That is—” She sent a questioning glance at Harry, who grimaced and shrugged.
Sarah laughed gaily. “Of course I knew! ’Twas Peter who suggested Harry take over as Saint, as I only took on the role long enough to prevent my young brother—I believe Harry mentioned him to you as Flute?—from doing so.”
Harry watched with a sinking heart as Xena’s expression changed from shock to perplexity to pleased comprehension.
“You were the last Saint of Seven Dials, Sarah? Truly?” At Sarah’s nod, Xena turned an accusatory glance on Harry. “So much for your protestations that a woman cannot so much as assist the Saint in his pursuits!”
“I, ah, never said that precisely,” he protested, with a wary look at Sarah. “I simply said I’d prefer you not do so.”
Xena raised one dark eyebrow. “Because I am uniquely less capable than the average woman?”
His huff of exasperation disguised a hint of a laugh. “Of course not. You know very well the reverse is true, particularly if you’ve kept up your wartime skills. It’s just—”
“That you don’t wish to share the glory?” she suggested.
“Don’t be absurd. That’s not it.”
“Then—?”
“Blast it, Xena, it’s bloody dangerous and I won’t risk losing you again so soon after getting you back!”
The words were out before he could stop them—and as great a revelation to himself as to Xena, who looked every bit as astonished as she had upon learning Sarah had played the Saint.
“Harry.” Her voice quavered slightly on his name. “I…I didn’t think…that is, I didn’t realize—”
Abruptly, Sarah stood. “Thank you so much for this translation, Xena. I’ve just recalled that I’m expected elsewhere, so if you two don’t mind, I’ll show myself out.” With a barely-suppressed grin, she disappeared.
* * *
Xena barely noticed Sarah’s departure. She was still staring at Harry, wondering if she had perhaps misheard him. His expression, half sheepish, half startled, told her she had not.
She took a step toward him, for his admission required one of her own. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you again either, Harry. That’s the real reason I want so badly to help you, to make certain you are not caught or killed. Two nights ago you nearly were and knowing how very close I came to never… I’m not willing to risk that. I won’t.”
“Truly, Xena?” His eyes were beseeching but wary, as though he wanted to believe her but didn’t quite dare.
Suddenly shy—a feeling totally alien to her—she nodded. “Truly, Harry.”
Swiftly he stood, closing the distance between them to place a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Then…why have we both been so stubborn about admitting it?”
Unable to break away from his mesmerizing gaze, she gave an embarrassed little shrug. “Both too fearful of looking foolish, perhaps?”
“Perhaps.” His mouth quirked up in a smile, drawing her gaze from his eyes to his lips.
She put out her tongue to moisten her own, which had gone suddenly dry. With a groan, Harry slid his hand from her shoulder to her back and pulled her against him for a fierce—and achingly welcome—kiss.
Xena did not hesitate this time but returned it wholeheartedly, memories of all the passion they’d once shared flooding back as though it had been only yesterday. As he deepened the kiss, her blood heated, her pulse quickening. She had missed this—missed him!—so much more than she’d allowed herself to acknowledge.
“Harry, I—” she murmured against his lips, but he shook his head slightly.
“No words. No apologies or second thoughts. Not now.” And he was kissing her again, as though he were drowning and her lips were his only chance of survival.
Her arms went around him almost of their own volition and she pressed her body tight against his, heedless of the open drawing room door or any servants that might be passing. His hand slid up her back to tangle in the hairs at the nape of her neck, inflaming her senses further.
Suddenly her clothes felt far too confining and his far too bulky between them, separating her from the insistent evidence that he wanted her as desperately as she wanted him. She began tugging at the lapel of Harry’s coat, only to have her senses return just far enough to realize she could scarcely disrobe him here in the drawing room.
A low chuckle escaped Harry’s throat and he tilted his head to regard her quizzically. “Perhaps not the best venue, eh? I find I could use a nap to aid in my healing. Would you care to join me?”
Silently, she nodded. There were surely a multitude of reasons she should demur, but her body was clamoring too loudly for her to hear them. With a sultry smile that promised all manner of delights, Harry moved his hand from her nape to her waist and guided her out of the drawing room and up the stairs to his bedchamber.
Once there, they could scarcely remove each other’s clothing quickly enough. It was as though neither wished for time to reconsider. Harry made short work of the tiny hooks down the front of Xena’s day dress while she fumblingly unbuttoned his coat and pushed it from his shoulders. He then went to work on the laces of her light half-corset while she undid the front of his breeches. In moments they were separated only by the thin fabric of his shirt and her chemise.
Seven years ago, in Spain, their clandestine couplings had been by necessity both hurried and mostly clothed. Now, however…
Harry shrugged his shirt off over his head in one fluid motion and Xena untied the top of her chemise so that it slipped down to pool around her feet. Then, bare skin to bare skin, they resumed where they had left off. His mouth again covered hers and now he was able to trace his fingers directly over her curves while she similarly explored his body, so much harder than she remembered, with her hands.
Pressing herself against him with increasing urgency, Xena was dimly aware that she still had another, bigger confession to make, but she was far too aroused to risk spoiling this moment by blurting out that she and Harry had a son. That revelation could surely wait until…after.
Taking two quick steps backward, Harry pulled her onto the bed—another luxury they’d never experienced on the Peninsula. By now Xena was nearly pan
ting with her need for him, but despite his quite-evident eagerness, he took the time to pleasure her almost to the point of release so that when he finally entered her, she climaxed at once.
“Oh, Harry,” she breathed as she crested her peak. “I—”
Again, he silenced her with a deep kiss that intensified as he reached his own zenith.
A long, blissful moment later, as her breathing and heartbeat finally began to slow, he tilted his head back to smile at her. “You were saying?”
“I…I’ve missed this.” It was not what she’d nearly said in the heat of passion, but true, nevertheless. “So much more than I realized.”
His smile broadened. “As have I. A shame that our mutual pride—or stubbornness, if you will—denied us both a week and more of such pleasure. If you’d care to join me in a real nap now, we can begin making up for lost time afterward.”
Now? Should she tell him now? How would he react?
To put off the moment of reckoning a bit longer, she made a show of examining his bandages to make certain their activities had not reopened his wound. Then, still groping for the right words, she glanced up at the small elephant-shaped clock on the mantel—and gasped.
“Why, it’s nearly three! Nessa—that is, Lady Foxhaven—will be here for tea in half an hour and I’m hardly in a state to receive her. Oh! Does she also know about—?”
He shook his head, disappointment evident in his eyes—which she took as a compliment. “Not to the best of my knowledge, as Pete and I have had no occasion to bring Jack into the secret.”
“I’ll certainly not mention it, then.”
Reluctantly disentangling herself from him, she scrambled off the bed and scooped up her hastily-discarded gown and underthings. Her confession could wait another hour. “Have your nap and I’ll make your excuses.”
Dropping a last, quick kiss on his lips, she exited through the dressing room to make herself presentable for callers.
* * *
Harry drowsily watched her go, a smile—half pleased, half puzzled—lingering on his lips. His Xena had proved every bit as passionate as he remembered but not at all like a woman in the habit of taking lovers. In fact, if she hadn’t all but admitted otherwise, he’d think she’d never been with another man since leaving Spain more than seven years since.
That fantasy pleased him, which was odd in itself. For in his own amorous exploits over those intervening years he’d never fancied despoiling innocents, instead limiting his pursuits to those women with more experience. He’d dallied with his share of lightskirts of the demimonde, of course. But his preference had tended more toward married women prone to straying, as they generally made few demands outside the bedchamber.
Many had been skilled in the arts of love—some exceedingly so—but none had ever affected him as profoundly as Xena. Once he’d rested a bit—for the combined effects of his recent loss of blood and his exertions just now left him surprisingly tired—he very much looked forward to resuming what they’d so pleasantly begun.
And if she did have some lover tucked away somewhere in Town, he felt confident he could soon make her forget him. No matter who he was.
CHAPTER 19
AFTER A quick wash to remove the lingering traces of lovemaking, Xena hastily rang for Gretchen to help her dress. Though her maid commented on the becoming glow of Xena’s complexion, she was apparently too innocent to divine the cause of it.
“It’s clear living here agrees with you, mum,” was all she said. “While I won’t say I don’t miss Moorside, I hope you’ll be able to stay a good while.”
“I rather hope so, too.”
Xena smiled at her reflection, feeling an optimism for the future beyond anything she’d experienced since her teens. Not only were she and Harry finally coming to terms, she had new adventures to look forward to in assisting him as the Saint of Seven Dials. All that remained was determining how, exactly, to tell him about Theo. And when.
She reached the drawing room with barely enough time to ring for a tea tray before Lady Foxhaven was announced, along with Mrs. Orrin, a pretty, slightly overblown blonde Xena had not yet met.
“Dear Lady Foxhaven did not think you would mind if I joined her,” Mrs. Orrin gushed, her brilliant smile at odds with the calculating way in which she took in every detail of Xena’s appearance. “I only just arrived in Town and when I heard that dear Harry’s, er, Major Thatcher’s long-lost bride had been resurrected, I simply had to meet her at once.”
Over Mrs. Orrin’s shoulder, Nessa gave Xena an apologetic shrug and mouthed the word, “Sorry,” implying that if there had been a polite way for her to avoid bringing the other woman along, she would have done so.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Orrin. I take it you’ve known my husband for some time?”
“Oh, my, yes. One might say we’ve been rather intimate friends, in fact.” There was no mistaking her meaning, particularly given the spiteful smile that accompanied her words. “I can’t help but wonder how one so very averse to matrimony is managing this discovery that he’s had a wife tucked away in the country all these years. One hopes it may make him more discreet, if nothing else.”
The tea tray arrived then, sparing Xena the necessity of responding before she could compose herself. Fuming inwardly, she requested a third cup and invited both ladies to sit down. Then, trying to ignore poor Nessa’s horrified expression, she calmly seated herself opposite them at the tea table and began pouring out for her guests. Never let an enemy know your weaknesses.
“Rest assured, Mrs. Orrin, I’ve already been made well aware of my husband’s past poor choices.” Xena kept her voice pleasant and detached, as though discussing the weather, despite her anger and humiliation. It helped that by now she’d had a fair bit of practice fending off mean-spirited gossips.
Her unwelcome guest produced a tinkling laugh that grated on Xena’s ears. “Past? Our Harry has indeed become more discreet if you believe that, Mrs. Thatcher, given the tales I’ve already heard since returning to Town.”
Nessa, reaching for a tea cake, jogged Xena’s elbow just as she was in the act of pouring Mrs. Orrin’s tea, causing the hot, brown liquid to cascade over the other woman’s bright yellow skirts.
“Oh dear, how clumsy of me,” Nessa and Xena exclaimed simultaneously and with matching insincerity.
Springing to her feet, Mrs. Orrin let out a shriek and snatched up a napkin to dab at the spreading stains. “How…how dare you!”
It was Nessa who responded, drawing herself up until she looked every inch the marchioness she was. “I might ask the same of you, Mrs. Orrin, persuading me to bring you along with a false story of a family connection, then going out of your way to insult our hostess. You will not wish to stay, of course, now you’ve so foolishly sullied your gown. The butler can show you out.”
At the chill in Nessa’s voice, Mrs. Orrin seemed to realize she had crossed an invisible line, offending someone in a position to severely damage her social standing. Her face now an unattractive shade of puce, she moved quickly to the doorway, then turned, her pale blue eyes slits of fury.
“I do earnestly pity you, my dear,” she spat at Xena. “For everyone knows the best lovers invariably make the worst husbands.” With that, she flounced out.
Nessa quickly moved to sit next to Xena. “Oh, my dear, I am so terribly, terribly sorry I allowed that awful woman to deceive me! I should have been more on my guard, for when I first married Jack I was frequently subjected to similar attacks—though few quite so brazen. Pray pay her no mind, for it is clear she was motivated by nothing but spite and jealousy.”
Xena managed a faint smile, though Mrs. Orrin’s parting words had shaken her. Had she not just discovered firsthand how very skilled a lover Harry had become? Though passionate, he’d not yet acquired such skills when last they’d been intimate together. How many women—?
She broke off that thought in order to reassure Nessa, who was clearly still upset and concerned on her behalf
.
“I spoke the truth when I said I was well aware of what Harry’s reputation has been. I can scarcely reproach him with it, as he had every reason to believe himself unmarried these seven years and more.”
Nessa grimaced. “Even so, he needn’t have been quite so— But no, you are right, of course. He has known the truth less than two weeks and I’ve certainly heard no tales implying he is still carrying on…flirtations…with anyone else.”
As Nessa was highly unlikely to have heard such gossip even if true, her words were less comforting than she no doubt intended them. Though Xena had no direct evidence Harry had continued his adulterous activities in recent days, she also had none to the contrary…nor had he promised fidelity, even when challenged to do.
“Thank you, Nessa. I admit I was rather taken aback, but more by Mrs. Orrin’s vulgarity than by any new revelations. Now, shall we talk of something else? Your hopes for a daughter, perhaps. Have you begun to consider possible names yet?”
That successfully diverted Nessa from the previous uncomfortable topic and for the remainder of her visit they discussed how her current pregnancy differed from her first thus far. Once or twice Xena was on the point of mentioning her own, making her wish even more strongly that she had never kept Theo’s existence a secret from everyone—particularly Harry.
After Nessa had gone, however, she couldn’t help recalling Mrs. Orrin’s insinuations. Perhaps she should attempt to discover whether or not the odious woman’s claims were true before making such an important confession?
Or…was that merely an excuse, to put off a while longer what was sure to be an exceedingly awkward conversation? She honestly wasn’t sure.
* * *
When Harry awoke, he was startled to discover it was past time to change for dinner. Though Xena had implied they would be eating in tonight, he had no wish to keep her waiting. Especially after…
He smiled at the memory—which affected other portions of his anatomy, as well. Now that they’d broken down the barriers between them, the night ahead—nay, all the nights ahead!—promised to be exceptionally enjoyable. Spurred by that idea, he rose with alacrity and rang for Brewster to help him dress.
