Gallant Scoundrel (35 page)

“Why?” she asked breathlessly, leaning in for another kiss as she reached for the buttons of his breeches.

“Trust me,” he repeated with a wink.

She sat and he knelt before her to unlace and remove one sturdy little boot, then the other, after which he one-handedly rolled down her stockings with sensuous slowness. As he bared her feet, he caressed each one, reveling in their dainty femininity. Finally, gliding his hand up her left leg from ankle to knee to thigh, he rose to his feet.

Xena regarded him with half-lidded eyes, her lips slightly parted with pleasure. When she fumbled again with the fastening of his breeches, he did not stop her but lifted the hem of her chemise further until it was up to her waist. The moment she’d freed him from his confining nether garments, she tugged him down onto the bed beside her.

“Now?” she whispered as he kicked his feet free of shoes and breeches.

“Soon.” Again he covered her mouth with his own, now sliding his hand over her hip to her waist, then up to her breast, which he took the time to massage thoroughly.

Nearly panting with need now, Xena yanked her chemise the rest of the way off, over her head, then reached down to grasp his straining arousal, tugging him gently closer. Her touch nearly sent him over the edge but Harry sternly held himself back, determined to show her a little something new first. He lay back on the bed, pulling her down atop him. “Now you’re the one in control.”

Her eyes widened slightly, then she smiled. “Mm. Surely what every woman wants to hear?” Shifting until she straddled him, she pressed her mound against his shaft as she ran both hands over his chest. Then, frowning, she tugged at his shirt, trying to pull it off over his head.

Harry took one of her hands. “That’s not necessary, is it?”
 

Yesterday they’d been in such a frenzy of passion he’d removed his shirt without thinking, something he’d never done for any other woman since losing his arm—not that any had ever insisted. Xena, however, had a most stubborn gleam in her eye.
 

“Did you not just say I am the one in control here? I shall decide what is necessary.” She continued to tug and, after a brief struggle with self-consciousness, Harry raised up enough to allow her to wrestle his shirt up and off until he was as naked as she.
 

Her eyes now softening, she smiled, her ardor clearly not dampened in the least at the sight. “There now. That is more equitable, is it not?” She leaned forward until her breasts brushed his bare chest.

“Who am I to argue with the woman who holds all the cards?” He massaged her bottom for a moment, then slid his hand up her back to pull her down for a kiss.
 

Her full length now pressed against him, she maneuvered herself slightly so that the very tip of his shaft nudged at her moist cleft. Then, deepening their kiss, she slowly impaled herself upon him, causing him to gasp into her mouth.

Joined, they began rocking together in that rhythm as old as time, their breaths coming shorter and shorter. When his release was imminent, Harry slipped his hand between them to bring her to her peak simultaneously with his own and an instant later they both cried aloud in ecstasy.
 

Spiraling slowly down from the heavens, Harry decided his two best friends had the right of it about the advantages of a love match.

Not that the word
love
had actually been uttered by either of them…yet.

*
       
*
       
*

Xena was tired but happy by the time she and Harry made their way downstairs for an early dinner, which they elected to have in relative privacy in the smaller breakfast parlor. She’d found their afternoon of lovemaking as eye-opening as it was enjoyable. Who could have guessed at so many different ways a man and woman might pleasure each other? And Harry had promised yet more lessons to come.

Over the meal, he resumed the questions their passionate interlude had interrupted, clearly curious to learn all he could about those portions of her story she had previously omitted.
 

“When did you discover… That is, were you aware of your, er, condition when you left Spain? When we last—”

“No, I didn’t learn I was pregnant until I’d been a week and more in England—and it came as quite a shock.” She related how she’d planned to enlist in the 66th before that discovery forced her to retreat to Yorkshire after all.
 

“And that is why you never left. Because of Theo.”

She nodded. “For the first year and more I was exceedingly resentful toward both you and my father—though eventually I was forced to admit that becoming pregnant would have prevented me continuing as I had even without what I perceived as your betrayal.”

His gaze was sympathetic. “How hard that must have been for you. I wish more than ever word had reached me in Spain. Perhaps then—” He broke off, staring down at his plate.

A lump formed in Xena’s throat, forcing her to set down her fork. “I’m so sorry, Harry. My stubborn, foolish pride is what prevented me writing to my father again, or to you. Because of it, I very nearly ruined both our lives. Perhaps not permanently, but… I have no one to blame but myself for cheating us both of what could have been years of happiness.” A tear of regret slipped down her cheek.

Harry glanced up before she could dash it away and was instantly at her side. “Pray don’t, Xena. While I wish I’d learned you were alive all those years ago—and about Theo—you did what you felt was best at the time.”

Fiercely, she shook her head. “Best for whom? Surely not for Theo. I see now how selfish I’ve been all along. After discovering you alive here in London it was terribly wrong of me to keep you ignorant not only of your son but about the true state of my finances. Moorside is no grand estate, to be sure, but it is not quite so impoverished as I led you to believe.”

“For fear I might stake a claim, drink and gamble it away from you—and Theo?”

She nodded, shamefaced.

“Given the tales you heard about me that first evening—none of them precisely false, alas—it is scarcely surprising your first instinct was to protect both your home and Theo from a scoundrel like me. Much as he tried to protect you from me in the park.”
 

He grinned at the memory and Xena grudgingly smiled back, though her heart still ached for what might have been.
 

“I cannot believe you nearly so depraved as the gossips claim, Harry, not now that I know you better. Maintaining such a reputation was your way of thumbing your nose at the absurd expectations of Society—much like my own refusal to go along with most of their strictures.”

Abruptly, he sobered. “Don’t try to gild my past, Xena. While I plan to be a far better man going forward, I can’t deny the gossips mostly had the right of it. Not only have I no lands or fortune of my own, I’ve been anything but a saint these past years, believe me.”
 

Now it was Xena who grinned. “You did
become
one, however. The Saint of Seven Dials, in fact.”

Acknowledging her hit with a wry smile, he resumed his chair. “Yes, about that. Given what I now know, I’ve come to believe you were right that I should give it up—pass the torch on to someone with less to lose.”
 

Though she’d originally demanded he do just that, now Xena felt a stab of disappointment. “Oh. I, ah, suppose that
would
be the wisest course, but…”

“But you were quite looking forward to playing a role in my next foray?”

Feeling a bit sheepish, she nodded. “You can’t know how very much I’ve missed excitement these past few years. The challenges of maintaining an estate with insufficient funds are poor substitutes for escaping an elephant stampede, scaling a Tibetan mountain or fending off French soldiers in camp.”
 

“I’m sorry, Xena. Remembering your love for adventure, I
was
resigned to allowing you to assist me at least once. But now—” A tap came at the parlor door, interrupting him. “The next course, I presume.”
 

Knowing they might be discussing sensitive matters, they’d instructed the footmen to knock.

“Enter,” Harry called out.

Instead of a tray-bearing footman, however, Flute entered the room. “Beggin’ pardon, sir, ma’am. Polly didn’t mention as how you were at dinner, just that I’d find you here. I c’n come back later if—”
 

“No, it is quite all right,” Xena assured the boy with a smile, wondering at Harry’s sudden frown. “You have a message from Lord Peter or Sarah?”

“Er, not exactly, mum. Mr. Thatcher here said as how I should keep my ear to the ground for a sure thing and I just heard tell of a nice, plump pigeon that should be safe enough for the plucking.”

Harry’s frown intensified. “Yes, well, that was before— That is—”

Before he could send the lad away, Xena quickly intervened. “That was very enterprising of you, Flute. What target have you in mind?”

Twisting his cap between his hands, he darted a glance at the still-frowning Harry, then shrugged. “Tig heard a couple ruffians talking earlier today, saying as how some rich wine merchant’s gone abroad, leaving his Town house empty. No servants there, even. They was planning how they could rob it themselves, maybe tomorrow, so I though the Saint might should beat them to it?”

“Who is this merchant, Flute, do you know?” Xena asked. “As I’m sure you’re aware, the Saint tries to limit his targets to those who most seem to deserve his attention.”

Flute nodded, grinning now. “No worries there, mum. He’s a skinflint of a codger, name of Biddle. Has a hard time keeping servants, he pays so poorly. It’s why the place ain’t guarded now. Married a few months back and turned off those he had so he could spend the blunt saved on their wages to take his bride on a Grand Tour.”

“Biddle?” Harry echoed. “Biddle. Hm. That name is familiar… Ah, I have it! Phillips was complaining about him a month or two ago—his new stepfather. Rich as Midas, he claimed, but too nip-farthing to help with Phillips’s gambling debts.”

“Sir Barney Phillips, you mean?” Xena pursed her lips in distaste. “I suppose it’s a point in this Biddle’s favor if he’s not overfond of him.”

Harry chuckled. “Too true. I won’t deny it’s a tempting target, Flute, but—”

“No, don’t you see, Harry, it’s perfect!” Xena exclaimed, growing excited. “Tonight, while Theo is still safe with Yamini, is the perfect time for the Saint to pull off one last caper. Can’t we? Please?”

For a long moment he regarded her, clearly wishing to refuse. But then his hazel eyes softened and a smile touched his lips. “Very well, as it means so very much to you, my dear. But you are to serve as lookout only, mind! I’ll not have you in harm’s way.” Then, turning to Flute, “Tell us more of this Biddle’s house. Where is it, precisely?”

*
       
*
       
*

Three hours later, Harry still had strong misgivings about allowing Xena to come along as they approached the house near Tottenham Court Road that Flute had described.
 

From a distance and in the dark, she did look remarkably like a boy in her breeches and overcoat, her hair bundled up under a cap much like Flute’s. But anyone seeing her face under any sort of light would guess the truth at once. She was well armed with a pair of pistols and a short-sword, however, so if she were threatened in any way she should be well able to defend herself—or so he repeatedly told himself.

“Remember,” he whispered, “under no circumstances are you to venture inside. That way, in the unlikely event I should be captured and arrested, no blame can attach to you. I’m sure you’ve no wish to deprive Theo of both his parents in one evening.”

“Of course not,” she said, though the stubborn set of her jaw rather worried him. “You’ve been exceedingly clear as to how limited my role must be.”

“Good.” She’d likely pout for a day or two, but he would far rather that than risk her safety tonight. He had no doubt he could cajole her out of any sullens in short order.

Biddle’s Town house was a goodly-sized one, lending credence to Flute’s—and Sir Barney’s—assertion that the man did a good business as a wine merchant. And it did indeed look vacant, with nary a light showing. Even so, two houses away he bade Xena stop.

“You can watch the back of the house well enough from here. I recall you used to be capable of rather a piercing whistle. Is that still the case?”

She nodded. “So if I see anything suspicious—?”

“Yes, whistle as loudly as you can, then head back the way we came. When you reach Oxford Street, you’ll be able to flag down a hackney to take you back to Grosvenor Street. On no account are you to linger, even if I appear to be in difficulties. I’ve burgled far trickier targets than this and escaped unscathed, so I’ve no doubt I can do the same tonight, especially with a bit of warning.”

“I understand.” She sounded far too docile for his liking, but he could scarcely take her to task for that.
 

“Very well. Mostly likely I’ll be able to rejoin you here inside half an hour without incident and we can return together to Grosvenor Street. Then tomorrow…we’ll send for Theo?”

She smiled up at him in the dimness of the alleyway. “He’ll like that very much. Do be careful, Harry.” Rising up on her toes, she gave him a swift but very sweet kiss. “Now go.”

Though sorely tempted to pull her to him again, he desisted, mindful of her disguise—not that anyone was in evidence at the moment. Still, there were windows. Turning quickly away, he continued on, through the tiny garden behind Biddle’s house.

On reaching the back door, he peered down the well beside it to the kitchen window. No, no lights there, either. The place truly must be as deserted as Flute claimed. He’d considered asking the lad to come along to keep an eye on Xena but there’d clearly been no need. Just as well, as she would surely have taken issue with such a precaution.

The back door was locked but he’d come equipped with his picks this time and made short work of it. In ten seconds he was inside, the door closed behind him. He paused again to listen and utter silence met his ears. Though certain now the house was empty, he moved down the central hallway with extra caution for fear that if he knocked something over, Xena might hear, worry—and perhaps react.