“Mice?” he bellowed to Thom, who had corralled a second boat and was rescuing its rodent inhabitant. “I jumped into the water fully clothed to rescue mice?”
“No one asked you to,” Thom said indignantly. Nick tried very hard not to notice the effect of water on light gauze, but it would have taken a saint not to appreciate the lovely lines of Thom’s body, and Nick was no saint.
“I distinctly heard you say, ‘Save them, they’re drowning.’ If that isn’t asking me to save them—”
“Them being the mice,” Thom interrupted, reaching for a third boat. The children, having had their dip, scrambled to shore where they called out advice and suggestions for gathering up the remaining boats.
Nick fished a sodden mouse out of the nearest boat, tossing the boat to shore where it was pounced on by two wet children who argued over its ownership. “I didn’t know you were screaming about the mice, I thought you meant the children were drowning. It was a logical mistake, considering the evidence.”
“Well?” Thom asked, three drenched mice sitting on her shoulder. She pointed to one last boat, which had floated well out into the middle of the lake.
“Well what?” he asked, knowing exactly what she wanted.
“Aren’t you going to get it? The boat could sink at any time.”
“I am not a mouse rescuer,” Nick said with great dignity, or as great a dignity as one could have when one was wet to the neck while clutching a squirming white mouse.
“No, you’re a burglar, but even burglars can have high morals — at least about some things. You’re not going to be responsible for that poor innocent mouse’s death, are you?”
“Why not? I don’t see it doing anything to save my life.”
Thom gave him a look that would have blistered a lesser man.
Nick splashed his way over to her, admiring against his will how delightfully the damp gown clung to the curve of her hip and the high roundness of her breasts. He thrust the mouse at her, gave her a look that he hoped was stern and unyielding and didn’t in the least show the fact that he was fast becoming utterly besotted by her, and swam out to return the remaining boat and its passenger safely to shore.
“There, you see? You do have some good in you after all,” Thom greeted him as he sloshed his way to the grassy banks, taking the mouse and boat from him. “I knew you couldn’t be all bad. Digger! Just look at Rupert! He almost drowned!”
“He almost drowned,” Nick muttered, shaking the water from his boots.
“Rupert can’t swim,” Thom said, kissing the mouse on its little wet head. “I assumed since you jumped into the lake that you could. I think, however, they have suffered as much as anyone could expect from mice. I shall have to let them go.”
“That would probably be best for all concerned,” Nick said, somewhat sourly as he attempted to wring the water from his jacket.
She released the mice to the freedom of a nearby shrub, then looked up and gave him a smile so dazzling, he promptly forgot his grievances against her. “That was very brave of you jumping into the lake. Quite dashing, in fact. I was very impressed.”
“You were?” he beamed at her.
“Very much so. Burglars, after all, usually operate on dry land. You did splendidly in the water. I’m sorry you got wet,” she said, eying his chest, “but I doubt if it will do anything but benefit your clothing.”
Nick looked down at his grubby outfit he wore when he was incognito, and thought briefly of telling her just who he was and why he had been sneaking into the house the previous evening, but decided that silence on the subject was probably the wisest course. He bowed and plucked a weed from his shoulder, offering it as if it was the rarest hothouse rose. “I endeavor always to be of service.”
She accepted the weed with a giggle, quickly rounding up the children and dismissing the footman after a glance at Nick.
“Your brothers and sisters are a little…lively, aren’t they?” Nick asked, falling in beside Thom as she herded the chattering children away from the lake. The oldest boy looked familiar, but Nick couldn’t quite place his freckled face.
“Oh, they’re not my brothers and sisters. I don’t have any. These are my aunt’s new children. They belong to her husband.”
“Ah,” Nick said. “And who would that be?”
Thom pursed her lips as she thought about his question. He had the worst desire to kiss her, an urge he knew that he had no right to act on, certainly not while she thought him a burglar. “I shouldn’t tell you, but if I don’t, you might burgle Harry’s house by mistake, so I suppose it would be smarter to tell you.”
“Harry?”
“Harry, my aunt’s new husband. Lord Rosse. He’s a marquis, and I don’t think he’d take kindly at all to being robbed, so I would appreciate it if you’d strike his house from your list of possible sources of revenue.”
Nick almost choked, pushing his wet hair back from his head to glance at the children running ahead of them. These unrecognizable monsters were Harry’s children? True he’d been away at Oxford having an education pounded into him the last few years, but had it really been so long since he had seen them? He counted and found it had been almost five years since he had accompanied his father and stepmother to Rosehill.
Thom was looking at him with a worried frown. He hastened to reassure her. “I think I can swear without any difficulty to never robbing Lord Rosse.”
“Oh, good,” she said with obvious relief, pausing before they crossed a busy street. “I was hoping you’d see reason. Harry isn’t as big as you are, but my aunt says he’s fought duels. Of course, he wouldn’t challenge you to a duel since you aren’t a gentleman, but still, I imagine he’d thrash you soundly if you were to rob him.”
“Undoubtedly so,” Nick answered, about to explain to her that he might not be a nobleman, but he was a gentleman. When they stepped into a narrow alley between two houses, down which the children had run, he assumed it was a shortcut to Harry’s town house. But before he could say anything, Thom gasped and darted forward.
Ahead of them, about twenty yards away, the children were yelling in horror as they ran toward them, looking over their shoulders at a carriage that bore down on them, the coachman slumped sideways in the seat as if he had fainted, the horses foaming as they thundered unchecked down the confi ned passage.
Nick took in the children, horses, and distance to safety in one quick glance as he raced after Thom. There was no way he could get the children out of the alley, and not enough room to hope the carriage would pass cleanly by. The horses were wild and obviously heavily panicked, and there was no guarantee they wouldn’t plow down anyone who stood in their path. The only solution was the miniscule rubbish area for the house on the left. If he could get the children into that area, they would be safe.
He passed Thom, who had evidently had the same thought since she was waving her hand to the left and yelling at the children to run to the rubbish area. He ran past an oncoming India and Anne, snatching the youngest boy out of Digger’s arms.
“Run,” he yelled at Digger, lunging awkwardly after him. Thom had reached the girls and was shoving them into the area, Andrew following. The horses screamed behind him, the clatter of their hooves deafening in the confined space, drowning out even the pounding of blood in his ears. The horses were almost on him, flecks of equine saliva splattering his back. With one last desperate burst of strength, Nick threw himself out of harm’s way, curling himself to protect McTavish from slamming up against the wall. The horses charged past just as he hit the brick wall, the carriage ripping by them with such force that the boxes of rubbish were knocked to the ground behind it.