“Safer?” Plum gaped at him, positively gaped, and she was not a woman who took gaping lightly. “But…but…the children could be injured!”
Temple pursed his lips and listened for a moment, then shook his head and went over to the door leading to Harry’s room. “No, no one is hurt. We’d hear screaming by now if one of his lordship’s little darlings were injured. They’re very vocal.”
“Well, surely someone should inquire as to what happened? Surely someone would like to ascertain just what caused such a horrifying sound?”
Temple eyed her curiously. “I wouldn’t advise it, ma’am. His lordship has found that a strict policy of unenlightenment is the best for all concerned.”
Plum snorted. She hated to do so in front of Temple after so short an acquaintance, but she felt such an extreme action was called for. “You cannot make me believe that a man as fond of his children as Harry is would not wish to investigate the noise we just heard.”
“As you say, ma’am.”
Plum thinned her lips at him. “You’re patronizing me, Mr. Harris. I dislike being patronized.”
“That thought was the farthest from my mind, you can be assured. I simply wish to inform you that about this, I am well familiar with his lordship’s habits.”
“Prove it.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“Prove to me that Harry won’t want to know what’s going on out in the hall. Ask him.”
Temple opened the door for her and waved her into the room. A second, less loud crash echoed from the hall. She cocked an eyebrow at Temple and marched into a dimly lit chamber so dusty her nose tickled. At the far end of the long room, with his back to a pair of filthy windows, her husband sat reading a letter.
“Sir,” Temple said from the doorway when Harry didn’t acknowledge them.
“Mmm?” He didn’t raise his eyes from the letter.
Plum looked him over carefully, this man she had married and more or less thrown out of her bedchamber the evening before. His sandy hair was mussed and disordered, as if he had combed it with his fingers, the one rogue lock of hair having fallen over his brow. The planes of his long face were thrown into interesting shadows, the bright gold of his spectacles glinting in the sunlight that bullied its way through the grimy flyspecked windows. This was the man she had bound herself to for the rest of her life. The man who had neglected to tell her about his five children. The man about whom she had built up so many dreams and hopes — or as many dreams and hopes as one could arouse in just two days. This was the man with whom she wished to indulge in many, many connubial calisthenics, the man who would twine his heart and soul (not to mention legs and arms) around hers, the man who would complete her, make her whole, give her what she wanted more than anything in the world…
“Your wife, sir.”
“What about her?” Harry asked, still reading his letter, one long finger tapping on his lower lip as he read. At the sight of that finger stroking the curve of his lip, Plum remembered, with an unmaidenly flash of heat to her womanly parts, just how wonderful his mouth felt on hers.
“She would like to know if you are curious about the specifics concerning the two”—another crash, this one followed by a hoarse shout and peals of childish laughter, interrupted Temple—“three indicators of an accident from the hall.”
“Why would I be foolish enough to want to know that?” Harry asked, his gaze on the letter as he took a pen from the holder and flipped open the top to an inkwell.
Temple glanced apologetically at her. “I believe your lady feels that you might wish to make sure that one of the children hasn’t injured himself or herself.”
Plum nodded, wondering greatly whether or not returning to bed and starting the day over would help. She reckoned it wouldn’t.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Temple,” Harry said absently, making a notation on the letter. “If one of them was hurt, there would be screaming and blood and such.”
Then again, it couldn’t hurt.
“Harry.”
He looked up, the adorable lock of hair hanging over his equally adorable brow, his eyes dark and shadowed behind the glass lenses. “Plum! You’re…er…up.”
Temple quietly left the room, closing the door behind him as Plum walked toward the desk, glancing at the variety of objects lining the tables and bookcases. “Yes, I’ve found that if I really put my mind to it, I often manage to arise before the sun has set for the day. Good morning, Harry.”
“Oh, er…” Harry stood up, more than a little bit flustered, Plum was delighted to see. He pushed back his spectacles, leaving a smear of blue ink on the bridge of his nose. Her fingers itched to push the lock of hair back from his brow as he tugged on his neckcloth (leaving blue smudges on it, too), greeting her with a hesitant (but needless to say, adorable) smile. “Good morning. How did you…er…sleep?”
Plum sighed to herself. There was no avoiding the fact, Harry was just all-around adorable. “Quite well, the bed is very comfortable. I did, however, have a complaint concerning my bedchamber.”
“Oh?” Harry came around the edge of the desk and pulled back a chair for her. Two apples, a number of crumpled neckcloths, and a small brown-and-black salamander tumbled from the mass of papers that sat on the chair. “What — just ignore the salamander, it’s one of McTavish’s pets, it’s harmless, I’m quite sure. Temple’s story about it biting off one of the footmen’s fingertips is nothing but the grossest sort of fi ction — what did you find lacking?”
Plum took a deep breath, and reminded herself that she was neither a shy virgin nor a woman inexperienced with men and the intimate acts they did with their wives. She knew thirteen different standing positions alone for said intimate acts, and women who knew such things did not blush when they were mentioned in casual conversation. She was a mature, rational woman. Harry was her husband. She very much looked forward to investigating his person in a thorough and lengthy manner. She might even take notes about things he particularly enjoyed. She would not, under any circumstances, act maidenish.
Harry’s eyes narrowed as he peered into her face. “Are you well? You look flushed, as if you have a fever.”
“I’m quite fine,” she answered, ignoring the fact that her cheeks were so hot she could probably fry an egg or two on them. “What I found lacking in my bedchamber last night was your presence.”
Harry looked confused. “You threw me out of the room.”
Drat the man, he would have to remember that point. “Yes, I did, but I didn’t mean it.”
One dark brown eyebrow rose over the top of the spectacles. “Ah. That would be why you said, and I believe I’m quoting you accurately, ‘You deceiving mongrel of a man! You have five children and you never told me? Five? F-I–V-E, five?’”
Plum’s blush, to her everlasting mortification, deepened even more. She avoided looking into his lovely, changeable eyes and glared at the dirty window, instead. “I might have said that, but I was a bit upset at the time—”
“Following which, you marched over to the door leading to my room, threw it open, and with a dramatic gesture that would have done Sarah Siddon proud, informed me that I might go to my own room, or to the devil, whichever I preferred so long as I removed myself from your presence.”
She made face. “I have often found people with exceptionally good memories to be the worst sort of annoying—”
“I might have been left in some doubt as to what, exactly, your thoughts were on the subject of our marriage, but the fact that you almost brained me with your hairbrushes—”