by Brenda Hiatt
Xena took up the story. “Aye, and I persuaded Harry to let me come along in case his suspicion was well-founded—as it clearly was. Mr. Biddle will no doubt be most grateful we happened by to interrupt your larcenous scheme, Phillips.”
“What? You can’t— That’s a load of horse dung and you know it!” Phillips sputtered. “It was on my orders my men here let that boy, your helper, hear them talking about this place standing empty, pretending they meant to rob it, just so as to draw the Saint out.”
“Boy? What boy might that be?” Harry asked mildly, keeping a foot planted on the downed man’s chest, as a precaution. The silence from the plate closet suggested the third man was either listening or had managed to knock himself senseless.
“I don’t know his name, blast it! But they heard him boasting of helping the Saint of Seven Dials a few days since, so—”
Harry raised his brows. “You’re saying your so-called evidence consists of something these fellows—whom I can personally attest are thieves—overheard from some nameless street urchin? If necessary, I can bring numerous highly-placed witnesses forward to affirm my whereabouts during the Saint’s various capers. Can you do the same?”
Now Phillips blanched. “I… You… I’ve never stolen anything in my life!”
“How upstanding of you.” Xena’s voice dripped sarcasm. “It’s a shame your friends here can’t claim the same. I’ll wager they’re already known to the Bow Street Runners—in which case the Runners are likely keeping an eye on you as well, Phillips. London may no longer be the, ah, healthiest place for any of you.”
Phillips and his still-standing accomplice exchanged worried glances.
“‘Ere, we won’t say nothin’ if you’ll just let us go,” the one on the floor grunted. “What’s it to us if yer the Saint?”
“Let you go? I don’t see how we can in conscience do that,” Harry drawled, thoroughly enjoying Phillips’s growing panic. “I suggest instead that you three join your companion in crime in the plate closet while we fetch the Runners. Shouldn’t take us more than an hour or so.”
With some grumbling but an air of general relief, the three men went docilely into the closet, clearly confident they could contrive to escape before the Runners arrived. Whether they escaped or not mattered little to Harry, as he had no plans to notify Bow Street in any case. His only concern was to get Xena safely away.
Once the closet was again locked from the outside, Harry extended his arm to her. “Shall we go?”
Lips twitching, she took his arm. “Let’s.”
Not until they were back outside did they start laughing.
“You were magnificent, Harry,” Xena gasped, hugging him.
“I was about to say the same. I can’t even be angry at you for directly disobeying my orders, as you likely saved my life by doing so.”
She grinned up at him. “I never was very good at following orders.”
“Don’t I know it!” He began laughing again. “Can’t imagine what I was thinking to expect it.”
Sobering then, she leaned her head against his chest. “You wished to protect me—just as I felt compelled to protect you. Together we make quite a good team, do we not?”
“We do indeed. Even so, given Phillips’s suspicions, I believe it would be wisest for this Saint to retire for good.”
Xena sighed. “I fear you are right, much as I hate to say so. At least I was able to enjoy one real adventure first!”
“Far more adventure than I’d bargained for,” he agreed.
In fact, he’d never been more frightened in his life than when Phillips threatened her with that pistol. He hoped never to feel that way again. Though, knowing Xena, he suspected it was a vain hope.
* * *
Xena strove to keep various other emotions at bay by reliving their triumph as they continued on toward Oxford Street. “I wonder if Phillips and his footpad friends will manage to escape from that plate closet?” she mused.
“Though there’s scarcely one brain between the four of them, there’s easily brawn enough to break down a door. Not that I’ll be stricken with guilt should they starve in there.”
“Nor I. Especially after—” She broke off to look up at him. “Oh, Harry, I’m so terribly sorry I insisted we go there tonight. Had they succeeded, it would have been entirely my fault. When I think how close I came to losing you yet again, I—”
He silenced her with a kiss, then said, “It was thanks to you they did not. Pray don’t forget that. I won’t.”
She managed a grudging smile in return but could not so easily ignore the fact that her stubbornness had nearly cost her all—again. Tonight’s near-disaster finally forced her to admit what she’d attempted to deny for days…nay, years. She was totally and utterly in love with this man.
And he deserved to know it.
“Harry, do you recall what my views on matrimony were when we first met?”
Warily, he nodded. “You had extremely strong opinions on that…and other things. Such as love.”
“Yes. I claimed it did not exist. As it happens, I was very much in error. I love you, Harry. I believe I loved you even back then, though I refused to admit it even to myself.”
Incredulous joy spread over his face and then he pulled her to him for a long, passionate kiss. “I’ve wished to tell you the same for two days and more,” he said after a moment, “but feared it was too soon. That you were not yet ready to hear it.”
“More than ready, I think,” she murmured against his lips before he again captured hers with his own.
After a few blissful moments, Xena drew back to smile up at him. “Er, perhaps we should get back? It will scarcely do for us to be seen embracing while I am clad thus.”
Harry threw back his head and laughed. “An excellent point. Though, as you were in breeches the day we first met, it seems rather fitting, somehow. Come, I’ll hail us a hackney.”
Xena was eagerly looking forward to more intimacies once they reached Grosvenor Street until an unwelcome thought intruded. “Do you suppose we would be wise to arrange an alibi for this evening, lest Phillips is foolish enough to speak out after all?”
“Doubt he will, but perhaps you’re right. What do you suggest?”
“Lady Norville’s ball is tonight. We may not arrive in time for supper, but can still put in an appearance. After changing into more appropriate attire, that is.”
Harry laughed. “Yes, I imagine you’d create quite a stir appearing as you are now. Very well, let’s pop home, change as quickly as we can and head back out. I’ll even dance with you, to celebrate our narrow escape.”
When they entered Lord and Lady Norville’s ballroom some forty-five minutes later, the supper dance was just ending. At Harry’s request, Xena was clad in the same midnight blue gown she’d worn at Apsley House—and feeling far, far happier than she had then.
Their plan was to slip in quietly and then be seen by as many people as possible, to give the illusion of having been there longer, but Lord Foxhaven spotted them almost immediately upon their arrival.
“Harry! Peter said you likely wouldn’t be here tonight. Give you good evening, Mrs. Thatcher.” He bowed to Xena, who curtsied in return.
“It is such a crush, I was beginning to despair of finding anyone we knew,” she replied, smiling at Nessa, by his side.
“Believe it or not, this would be considered quite a thin crowd in the height of the Season.” Nessa grimaced. “While I enjoyed my first well enough, since then I confess I’ve come to greatly prefer the country.”
Lord Foxhaven turned and raised a hand, gesturing. “There’s Peter now. Let’s see if we can all find a table together for supper, shall we?”
Soon the three couples were seated around a table in an out-of-the-way corner that allowed for conversation without shouting.
“Rather surprised to see you here tonight,” Lord Peter said to Harry as they served their wives lobster patties from a passing tray. “Know you’re not much for d
ancing, especially given—” He broke off, apparently remembering in time that Lord and Lady Foxhaven knew nothing of Harry’s recent bullet wound.
Harry shrugged, grinning. “Felt a need to get out and about. We both did.” He winked at Xena, who grinned back.
Lord Foxhaven, noticing, raised his eyebrows. “I sense a new understanding has been reached. Could it be that you took my advice, Harry?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“What advice was that?” Xena asked, curious.
“I’ll, ah, tell you later,” Harry replied enigmatically, with a quick glance at the others.
Lord Foxhaven quickly stood to flag down a footman serving champagne. When everyone’s glass was filled, Foxhaven held his aloft, his eyes fairly dancing with amusement. “To domesticity.”
Harry hesitated, blinking, then lifted his glass as well. “Very well. To domesticity.” he echoed. “I confess, I’m finally discovering its myriad benefits. In fact, I would like to invite you all to stop by this week to make the acquaintance of…my son.”
Nessa and Sarah exclaimed aloud, Lord Peter’s face broke into a broad smile, and Lord Foxhaven choked, spraying the table with champagne.
“You— Your— What?” he sputtered as Nessa gently thumped him on the back. “How—? When—?”
Xena took pity on the poor man. “Theo was born a few months after I reached Yorkshire. As I was not yet aware of my condition when I left Spain, Harry had no idea. In fact, he did not learn of Theo’s existence until today…a circumstance for which I take full blame.”
Because these were friends, she went on to explain how she’d been misled by pride to allow Harry and her father to believe her dead for so long, then by misplaced fears to keep Theo a secret after discovering Harry still alive after all.
“You were right,” she told Lord Peter ruefully. “I should have made them known to each other at the outset.”
Sarah stared at her husband in mild outrage. “You knew? And never said a word to me?”
He shrugged. “I made a promise. I did hope I’d not to have to keep it long, and am beyond delighted that was indeed the case.” He lifted his own glass. “To the newly reunited Thatcher family!”
Everyone drank to that—Harry sparingly, Xena was pleased to note.
As they rose from the supper table a short time later, Lord Foxhaven whispered something to his wife, who nodded. He then turned to the group with a smile.
“Nessa and I have agreed that we would be delighted to invite you all to Fox Manor for Christmas, if your own schedules permit. And yes,” he replied in answer to Xena’s sudden frown, “your son is most welcome, as I should like him to meet Julius. Our boy may be rather younger than yours, but it is my hope they will grow up as friends.”
Seeing Harry’s delighted grin, Xena felt confident in accepting the invitation, as did Lord Peter and Sarah.
When the dancing resumed, Harry partnered Xena for the first three, after which they mutually decided they’d stayed long enough to provide the necessary alibi. Both were having difficulty stifling yawns by then, after such a long, eventful day and evening.
* * *
By the time they reached Grosvenor Street, Harry was weary to the bone. Judging by Xena’s dragging steps as they climbed the stairs together, she felt much the same.
“I feel I could sleep for a week,” she said with a yawn when they reached the hallway outside their bedchambers. “But first I’d like to check your bandages once more. I’ll come in after a few minutes, if you can keep awake that long.”
Tired as he was, Harry felt his pulse quicken. “I’ll do my best.”
Brewster made quick work of divesting his master of his evening wear before discreetly disappearing. Not five minutes later, a tap came at the dressing room door.
“You needn’t knock, you know,” Harry said, greeting her with a kiss. “Not now. Not ever.”
She smiled sleepily up at him. “I thank you, though I wouldn’t wish to surprise you on the chamber pot. Is your wound still bleeding at all?”
“It hasn’t soaked through your wrappings, if so.”
Without prompting, Harry shed his banyan so that she could unwind the bandages, no longer self-conscious at allowing Xena to see him completely unclothed. If he weren’t so blasted tired…
“Hm. The spot that reopened during your melee with Phillips’s men is still oozing a bit. One moment.”
Fetching warm water from his ewer, she dabbed it, then applied another layer of her special salve before rewrapping the long strips of cloth.
“There. I doubt your healing has been set back more than a day. I’ll let you get to sleep now.” Going up on her toes, she kissed his cheek. “Earlier, I’d thought to demand another lesson tonight but we’ll both enjoy it more once we’ve rested.”
At the genuine regret in her voice, Harry pulled her against him. “Not to worry. We have a lifetime for more lessons.” The thought made his heart expand with joy. “For now, I should be most pleased if you would consent to share my bed.”
Xena had no objections whatsoever and a few minutes later lay curled beside him under the covers. “Mmm. This is nice,” she murmured—and almost instantly fell asleep.
Gazing down at her peaceful face, it occurred to Harry that he’d never before slept with a woman without first taking his pleasure, yet he was perfectly content. More than content. In fact, he knew beyond doubt as he drifted off to sleep that he was happier than he’d ever been in his life.
The next morning, Harry discovered that Xena woke nearly as prettily as she slept—something he happened to know few women could claim.
“Mmmm.” Stretching luxuriously, she blinked at the light filtering between the drawn draperies. “What time is it?”
“Time for your next lesson, Mrs. Thatcher, unless you have other plans,” he replied with a smile.
Her gray eyes turned smoky. “No other plans whatsoever, Mr. Thatcher.”
CHAPTER 22
FOX MANOR, Kent—Christmas Eve, 1816
Xena had discovered Lord Foxhaven’s country seat to be every bit as beautiful—and far grander—than Harry had described it. They’d arrived from London in time to join the Foxhavens and Northrups for a late luncheon that afternoon, after which Lord Peter insisted Harry accompany him to Lord Foxhaven’s study to discuss some matter or other.
While the men were thus occupied, Xena and Sarah had eagerly accompanied Nessa on a tour of the house, exclaiming with delight over each exquisitely appointed room and prospect. Later, however, as she dressed for dinner in the sumptuous chamber provided for the duration of their stay at Fox Manor, Xena found herself missing London. The past three weeks in that house on Grosvenor Street had easily been the happiest of her life. Because of Harry.
He had suggested Theo join them the very day after their adventure with Phillips and Mrs. Walsh, with her customary efficiency, had the third story nursery and adjoining rooms ready to receive him and Yamini that very night. Needless to say, their son was overjoyed—as was Xena, watching the growing rapport between Harry and Theo with each passing day.
Lord Peter, ever the well-meaning meddler, had crafted a story for public consumption to account for Theo’s sudden appearance on the scene, which warded off any awkward questions that might otherwise have arisen.
Mr. Gold had soon found other buyers for the remainder of her father’s Grecian collection, sparing Xena any further obligation to the Duke of Wellington—who’d written a charming letter expressing his congratulations that, by all accounts, she and her husband had indeed achieved a true love match.
Now, watching Flute amuse Theo and little Julius with sleight-of-hand tricks on the hearthrug in the elegant parlor where the ladies had withdrawn after dinner, Xena sighed with contentment, despite her still-unappeased curiosity.
Harry and Lord Peter had been closeted together all afternoon. She was already dressing for dinner when Harry finally joined her, whereupon he’d greeted her with an ebullient kiss.
>
“What is it?” she’d asked when Harry released her, for he’d seemed unusually happy—but also a bit dazed. “Did Lord Peter have good news to impart? Oh! Is Sarah perhaps increasing?”
Smiling, he’d shaken his head. “If so, he didn’t tell me. No, the matter he wanted to discuss was quite different. I haven’t time to explain it all right now but I promise to share it with you later.”
With that she’d had to be content, for no amount of cajoling as they finished dressing would induce him to say more. She was still trying to imagine what Harry’s news could possibly be when the gentlemen joined them in the parlor, presumably having finished their cigars and brandy.
“What a pleasant picture of domesticity this is,” Harry commented jovially as he entered just behind his two friends.
“Father, look!” Theo exclaimed from his place by the fire. “Flute—I mean, William—is pretending to pull pennies from our ears but I’ve figured out how it’s done, haven’t I?” He looked to the older boy for verification.
“Aye, he’s a quick one, he is,” Flute agreed. “Here, I’ll show you something a bit trickier, shall I?”
As Harry watched the three boys, Xena in turn watched Harry with a loving, though still-puzzled, smile.
“I was just saying to Sarah and Xena how lovely it would be if we could spend every Yuletide like this one,” Nessa said as her husband bent down to kiss her. “Don’t you agree?”
“I do indeed. What is Christmas without friends?” Moving to the sideboard, Lord Foxhaven poured six glasses of sherry and began handing them around. “I propose we do exactly as Nessa suggests and make this an annual gathering. Can’t think of anyone I’d rather have about me at this time of year.”
“That’s a handsome thought, Jack,” Lord Peter said, accepting his glass. “I’d far rather be here than in Town or at Marland. Though should Sarah and I eventually purchase an estate of our own, we’ll want to reciprocate, of course.”
