The Trouble With Harry n-3, Page 5

  “A wife who doesn’t deserve to offer any advice or help,” Plum said sadly to herself.

  “You think not? I’m of another mind. I’ve always felt that a home needed a woman’s touch to keep it from being too utilitarian.” Harry strolled into the room through the connecting door, clad in a heavy gold brocade dressing gown that reached to his feet. He stopped next to her and looked out the window, sighing as he did. “There’s so much to do here, I would appreciate your help, but if you’d prefer not to take the house in hand—”

  “Oh, no, I’d be happy to…my lord.”

  Harry smiled as he turned to face her, a smile that would seem to be made up of mundane things like lips and eyes and adorable little crinkle laugh lines, but the sum result of it was so astoundingly wondrous, it melted all of Plum’s internal organs. Or that’s what it felt like happened. She couldn’t believe that simply by standing beside her he had whipped her traitorous, not-in-the-least-bit-sorry-she-had-married-him-despite-the-fact-that-she-hadn’t-told-him-the-truth-about-her-past body into a frenzy of want, need, and unbridled anticipation.

  She had been far, far too long without a man in her bed.

  “Are you still having difficulty with the marchioness idea? I am very sorry I didn’t tell you before we married, Plum. It wasn’t well done of me at all, but you see, I thought it might scare you off, and”—he took her hand, his thumb stroking over the backs of her fingers in a way that set alight all of the previously melted internal bits—“I wanted very much to have you legally mine before I bared my breast of all my secrets.”

  A warm puddle of happiness did much to soothe her guilt. If he wanted her so much, perhaps the incident in her past would mean nothing to him? She hoped so. She prayed so. She also prayed she would survive the look of mingled desire and admiration that glowed from behind his spectacles. Plum had seen just such a look in the eyes of her first husband, and although it pleased her then, now she found herself responding to it with so great an enthusiasm, she thought her legs were going to give out. “It was a bit of a surprise, my lord—”

  “Harry, please.”

  “—Harry, but I can assure you it wouldn’t have sent me screaming into the night had you told me before we were wed. Indeed, the fact that you were baring your secrets to me might have induced me to bare a few of my own.”

  “Would it?” Harry said, his gaze dropping to the thin lawn of her night rail where it covered her breasts, breasts that were brazenly pushing themselves forward and clamoring for her to walk them into his hands. “And what secrets could a woman such as you have to bare?”

  It was the word bare in combination with the avid way he eyed her breasts that sent the few wits remaining her flying straight out of her head. “Oh…I’m sure I have some…”

  “Yes, yes you do have some. You have lovely some.” Harry’s eyes glittered brightly as he looked at her breasts.

  Plum frowned down at them, unsure whether she should affect maidenly mortification about the fact that her nipples were hard little pebbles against the soft linen, clearly outlined, right there for anyone to see, or to indulge in the wanton thrill of knowing Harry could stir such a reaction in her as to set her ablaze with the need to rub herself all over him. She decided that although the maidenly route was probably for the best, wanton was closer to her true nature. At least she could be an honest wanton. She took a step closer to him. “I assure you I have secrets, Harry. In particular, I have one secret. I was married—”

  The words dried up on her lips as he — still staring at her breasts much in the manner of a starving man deposited at a feast — spread the fingers of his left hand and gently cupped her right breast.

  “Yes, you told me you were married, and if you will recall, I told you that your past was of no concern to me.”

  A tremor of heat rippled through Plum starting at her breast and ending at her womanly parts, which were now tingling for all they were worth. She closed her eyes and shuddered with pleasure, her back arching of its own accord, pressing her breast hard against his hand.

  “Are you cold?” Harry asked hoarsely.

  She opened her eyes as he rubbed his thumb across her aching nipple. “No. Not cold. Hot. Very hot.”

  “Hot, yes, so hot, I can feel your heat. I wonder if your other—” Plum moaned as he placed his right hand on her other breast. “You are very hot. Feverish, almost. I believe the best thing for you would to be freed of the restriction of clothing.”

  “Do you think so? Do you think that might help my…fever?” Plum ignored the fact that she was babbling like an idiot, too overwhelmed with desire and lust and a variety of other emotions all related somehow to the wonderful tingling going on in her breasts and nether parts.

  “I do, I do indeed believe it will help. As your husband, it is my duty to see to your welfare, thus I must demand that for the purpose of your continued good health, you remove your night rail.”

  What a wonderful man! How thoughtful he was! How concerned he was for her health. “Oh,” she breathed, thoroughly enjoying how her breasts moved against the palms of his hands.

  Harry’s eyes widened behind his spectacles. “NOW!”

  “Oh!”

  His hands still warm on her breasts, he leaned forward, his hair brushing her jaw as he kissed a hot trail along her collarbone, down to the top of the night rail where the pretty rose ribbon held the garment up. She breathed in the scent of him, part lemon shaving soap, part something earthy and arousing, and entirely male that was solely Harry.

  “I will be happy to assist you if you are unable to disrobe by yourself.”

  Plum looked down to where Harry was pulling away from her, one end of the ribbon clenched firmly in his teeth. “This is wicked, you know, utterly and wholly wicked. We have only known each other for two days, and we’re about to…you want to…and I would dearly love to…in bed. Together. With all our bare skin showing!”

  The ribbon fell from his mouth as he looked up, a grin so endearing on his face, she wanted to grab his ears and kiss him until his spectacles fogged up. “Yes, I know, it is wicked, isn’t it? Delightfully so.” The bright glint in his eye slowly darkened with a shadow of doubt as he took a step backward. “You do want to do this, don’t you? I’m not rushing you? I meant to tell you that I wanted a wife who desired a physical relationship, but at the time…er…I…eh…and today, when you said you had been married, I assumed that you’d want to…uh…”

  Plum smiled a wry little smile as her breasts, heavy and hard and greatly missing his touch, pushed themselves with eagerness back into his hands. “Yes, I very much want to be a wife to you in all ways. It’s just that I have only been with my first husband, you see, and we were together only for six weeks—”

  Harry gently kissed the words from her lips. “You don’t have much experience, I understand completely. You need not be worried on that account — we will discover this new territory together.”

  Plum was about to object to the ridiculous idea he had about her sexual naivety when his mouth closed upon hers, driving all thoughts but those of a carnal nature from her mind. His mouth was sweet and hot and fi lled her with the need to taste him. Without waiting for an invitation or even permission, she slid her tongue into his mouth, capturing his delighted moan, pressing herself against him in an attempt to get closer. His hands slid from her breasts to her back, one tangling itself in her hair, the other grasping her behind, pulling her hips tight against him. Even through the heavy brocade of his dressing gown she could feel how aroused he was. His tongue twined around hers in a motion remarkably similar to the sinuous grind of his hips. She slipped both hands around his neck, pressing herself tighter against him, clutching his hair as she mapped out the terrain of his mouth, wanting to burn up with the heat he generated deep within her, needing to burn bright, unable to stop until she had merged with him, joined with him, his heat feeding her flames—

  “Papa, Ratty is asleep and won’t wake up.”

  Plum thought
she was hallucinating for a moment, but the way Harry stiffened against her alerted her to the fact that she hadn’t imagined the childish voice behind her. With much regret, she separated from him, turning to face the small child who stood in the doorway to Harry’s room, a limp brown object held carefully in his hands. He eyed her with bright curiosity. “Who’s she? Is she going to be my new mama?”

  Mama? As in…mama? Plum blinked in surprise.

  “Er…yes. My dear, this is McTavish, my son.”

  He had a son? And he hadn’t told her? Plum shook the cobwebs of astonishment from her mind, and smiled at the tow-headed boy. “Hello, McTavish, I’m very pleased to meet you. Yes, I am going to be your mama. What’s that you have?”

  The boy pushed the brown object into her hands. “It’s Ratty. He’s asleep. He won’t wake up.”

  Plum, no stranger to rodents after having lived with an animal-obsessed Thom for the past few years, did not shriek or object to the obviously dead rat she found herself holding. In fact, she was rather proud of how quickly she had assimilated the information that Harry had a child he had forgotten to mention during his secret baring. She moved quickly to step into the role of mama to his sweet, motherless child. “I’m afraid Ratty has been called to heaven by the angels, McTavish. Do you see how his chest isn’t moving? That means he’s not breathing. I’m very sorry. Ratty looks like he was a good companion.”

  McTavish’s lower lip emerged, and his eyes clouded for a moment, then just as quickly the tears were gone and the lip was retracted. “Can I have a kitten now, Papa? You said I couldn’t have one because it would eat Ratty, but now Ratty’s gone to heaven, so can I have a kitten? Can I? You said I could! Can I?”

  Harry sent Plum an apologetic look that begged her forgiveness for his lapse in not mentioning he already had a child. She returned it with one that said although she would have preferred being told earlier, she understood, and was more than happy to be mother to his adorable son. His responding look offered fervent and profound thanks for her complete acceptance of his hitherto unmentioned son, along with general admiration for her maternal nature, and the promise that he would give her many other children of her own. At least that’s what she thought he was trying to convey; truthfully, he looked more concerned than anything else, but she was sure she had read the emotions so plainly visible in his lovely, changeable eyes. What man didn’t want his new wife to love and adore his child?

  “We’ll talk about it later, son. Here, you take Ratty and put him in a box. We’ll have a funeral for him in the morning. Give it to Gertie on your way back to bed.” Harry pushed the small child toward the door, giving Plum another apologetic look over his shoulder.

  “I want a kitten! You said I could have a kitten, and I want one. I want one now!”

  “Later,” Harry hissed, and tried to shove the boy through the opened door.

  McTavish grabbed the door frame with the hand that was not holding the rat. His hazel eyes, so very much like his father’s that it tugged on Plum’s heartstrings, pleaded with her from across the room as Harry tried to pry the five pudgy little fingers off the door. “Mama, I want a kitten. Papa said I could have one.”

  He called her Mama! She melted into a big puddle of maternal goo. “And so you shall have one, my sweet little lamby-cake. The first thing in the morning I will take you to find a kitten all your very own. It will be our special time together.”

  “Later,” Harry snarled, prying the last finger off the door frame.

  He yelped as McTavish kicked him smartly on the shin before spinning around to run through the doorway, yelling to someone named Gertie that his new mama was going to get him a kitten.

  Harry shook his fist after the boy. “You little bas”—he glanced back at Plum—“blighter! I’ll remember that, see if I don’t!”

  Plum smiled a shy little smile that went straight to Harry’s groin as he closed the door and turned to face her. She was a wonder! Not only was she the most delectable morsel of womanhood he had seen in a very long while; she had lovely breasts; an amiable temper; seductive hips; an intelligent wit; long, lush legs; various other good nonphysical qualities that couldn’t at that exact moment be called to mind; nipples that cried out for his touch; a mouth that begged to be kissed; a body that felt like heaven against his…Unable to bear the distance between them, Harry lunged forward, intent on possessing himself of that warm, wonderful woman he had had the extremely good sense to marry.

  Plum stopped him with one hand on his chest. He almost whimpered, but he recalled that he was a gentleman, and gentlemen do not whimper, or grovel, or plead, or even get down on their knees and beg when their wives wish to talk rather than make love. No, gentlemen like him drag their minds from the contemplation of just what they’d like to do to the temptresses who stand before them in almost completely transparent bits of cloth, cloth so thin the shadows of her lovely nipples were visible, nipples that called to him, nipples that pleaded with him to take them into his mouth and suckle them with every ounce of desire he possessed, and he possessed an ocean’s worth of desire.

  “Harry, dear Harry, how silly you are.” Silly? She thought he was silly? Was that good? She was smiling at him, it must be good. Hurrah! “How could you possibly think I wouldn’t want to know about your son?”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to ask which son she meant, but he remembered in time the grand scheme he had concocted just that morning for easing Plum into the knowledge that she was now stepmother to five hellions, a plan necessitated by the fact that said children had set the vicar’s carriage alight while the vicar was examining the special license Harry had presented him. She seemed to be pleased with McTavish — then again, it wasn’t her shin the little monster had assaulted — which boded well for the future. If he spread out introductions to the children over the next few weeks, relying upon Gertie and George and the rest of the staff to keep the children out of sight, perhaps she wouldn’t be too upset with them. And him. He particularly wanted her to be happy with him, because a happy wife was a wife who allowed her husband to do all sorts of wonderful things to her delicious, desirable person.

  “He’s adorable, he really is. How old is he?”

  Harry looked down at the hand that was now softly caressing the middle of his chest, and was struck with a sudden desire to take each dainty fingertip into his mouth. “How old is who?”

  She giggled. It was such a delightful, joyous sound, Harry wanted to giggle with her. He probably would have, except he’d never giggled before, and wasn’t sure if he knew how.

  “McTavish. How old is he?”

  “He’ll be six in December.”

  “He’s sweet, and he looks just like you. You must be very proud of him.”

  Proud? Of McTavish? Harry dragged his mind back from the vision of what else Plum possessed that he’d like to taste, and thought about what she said. He owed her that much. Gentlemen did not feel lust for their wives. A gentleman might desire his lady, but he also appreciated her keen intellect. Lust was for lesser people, men who thought solely of their own base needs, and never those of the enticing woman before them. “The lad likes animals. Doesn’t care if they’re alive or dead, he likes them all. I suppose that’s an admirable trait. Yes, I’m proud of him. Underneath the surface clay, there’s good soil in him.” Harry gave her a curious look. “You’re not angry that I didn’t tell you about him?”

  “Angry?” She smiled again, one of those lovely, charming smiles that captured his heart and filled him with utter and complete lust…desire. And joy. There was lots and lots of joy, too. Much more joy than base physical desire. “No, I’m not angry. After all, you didn’t know that Thom came with me when you offered to wed me.”

  “But I knew about her before we were married. Temple told me what you’d told him about your niece. You had the decency to tell me everything about you, whereas I—”

  A sudden frown diminished the lust…joy running amok inside him. She nibbled her strawberry-ripe
lower lip. “About that—”

  He couldn’t resist. He had to taste her lips just one more time. Her breath caught and held as he plunged into her sweet mouth, feeling himself harden even more as she moved against him, sliding her fingers into his hair, tasting him as he tasted her. She was heaven, she was bliss, she was—

  “There you are. What are you doing in here? Gertie says I can’t wear my hair up until I’m fifteen, but I think — oh.”

  Harry could have cried, he could have sat right down on the floor and cried. He tore his lips from Plum’s, smugly satisfied by the misted passion in her eyes, then released her so he could glare at his daughter. She wasn’t supposed to be here. He had her down for an introduction to Plum tomorrow at tea.

  India was examining his new wife, her brows drawn together, her hands on her hips in a pose that was very much like Beatrice’s whenever she had been displeased with him. “Is that her, then?”

  He frowned. McTavish might not know better, but India certainly did. “Plum, this young woman who has apparently lost her manners is India, my daughter.”

  “A daughter.” Plum blinked a couple of times, but didn’t demand an immediate annulment, something Harry was profoundly thankful for. “You have a daughter. Named India. What an unusual name. Good evening, India. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  He could have kissed Plum, he was so grateful. She didn’t rail at him, she didn’t accuse him of not being truthful about the children, she just cast him a curious glance, and went forward to give India one of those polite little hugs that women who don’t know one another well give each other. Yes, she deserved to be kissed, and he was just the man to see the job done.

  “You’re Plum?” India asked, her eyes meeting Harry’s in surprised horror as Plum hugged her.

  Kissing his wife was his duty, after all.