Juan was at her side in an instant, his jaw set at in an aggressive manner as he glared after Charles.
"That one is the stink most foul. He did not bother you again, beauteous lady?"
"Not in the way you mean, no."
"Are we to go after the diablitos?" he asked, nodding in the direction Thom and the children had disappeared.
Plum hesitated between following them and returning home to be sick into the nearest receptacle-a result of her discussion with Charles, not of the babe she carried beneath her heart.
"No, I think not," she said slowly. "Thom will have no difficulty managing the children-heaven knows they seem to mind her better than me. I think instead I will go home...."
An idea flared to life within her brain. "No," she corrected as Juan turned toward home. She pointed to the right, toward Piccadilly Street. "I've changed my mind-I wish to go to Old Bond Street. Would you see if a hack is available for hire? It's a bit of a walk, and I want to visit Hookham's Library and be home before the children return. I have a great deal of thinking to do, a very great deal, and most of it is unpleasant."
Juan said nothing, but set off to find her a hired carriage.
Charles was going to have to be disposed of, that's all there was to it. She shied away from the actual word murder but that was the path her thoughts were leading. If she had just herself to think of, she wouldn't even contemplate such a thing, but there was Harry and the children now. Charles would have to be eliminated.
"I just hope Hookham's has a book on how to murder someone without being caught," she sighed as she walked after Juan.
"Good Lord, they're drowning! Save them! SAVE THEM!"
Nicholas Britton, the eldest son-albeit illegitimately-of the Earl of Wessex, paused in the act of handing a prostitute two shiny new guineas, glancing over toward the artificial lake known as the Serpentine. The prostitute, worried that she wouldn't get her money, snatched the coins from his hand before scurrying off. Nick paid her no attention as he started toward the lake, his gray eyes narrowing as he watched a familiar young woman with short, curly dark hair rip her shoes from her feet and prepare to dive into the water. Beyond her, floundering around a few feet from shore were a handful of children, shrieking and thrashing in the water. Without a thought to anything but the need to save the children, Nick raced toward the water, throwing himself into it without even pausing to remove his boots.
"Save them!" Thom yelled, pointing at the children. Hampered by her skirts, she was having a hard time reaching where the children, surrounded by a variety of toy boats, were obviously floundering.
"Stay calm," he yelled, long powerful strokes bringing him to the children. "I have you, don't worry. Just stay calm, and I'll get you out." He grasped the nearest child around the waist, only to have the child-a boy of some eight or nine years- kick him in the shin and bite his hand.
"Save them, they're drowning!" Thom yelled again.
"I'm trying," Nick snarled, wrestling with the boy as he reached out to a girl who splashed by him. "Stop struggling, I have you! You're safe!"
"Not the children," Thom yelled, swooping down on one of the boats that floated toward her. "They can swim. The mice, save the mice! They're drowning!"
"Mice?" Nick asked, looking at a blue-and-green painted boat that bobbed up and down near him. Sure enough, clinging desperately to the mast was a little white mouse. The child in his arms kicked him in the kidneys, squirming out of his grasp. It was at that point that Nick realized two important things- first, the water was only waist deep; second, that he had risked life and limb to save a mouse.
Well, to be truthful, the life and limb part was an exaggeration, but it was an exaggeration that Nick felt allowed given the circumstances.
"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 wo
rst 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 confined 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 Ann, 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.
"Stay here," Nick shouted, getting to his feet and running after the carriage.
"Nick!" Thom yelled after him, but he didn't stop. If those horses continued down the street, someone else would be in danger. He ran out the end of the alleyway, skidding to a stop at the street. The coachman was sitting up, the reins firmly in his hands as he shot a look over his shoulder toward the alley. At the sight of Nick he whipped up the horses, barreling down the street without regard for anyone else.
Chapter Thirteen
"Oh, this is ridiculous," Plum said to herself, standing behind a bust of Shakespeare, a ribbon draped around its neck. She consulted an open book. "Slip the noose over the forefinger of the right hand ... yes, I've done that. Pick up the remainder of your garroting cord with the left hand while silently approaching your victim. Silently, that is the key, isn't it? Where was I? ... Use your left hand to throw the noose over the head of your victim... mmm ... twist it tightly ... victim at arm's length, yes, yes, I've done that. . . strangling should be instantaneous ... well, pooh."
Plum frowned at Shakespeare. She couldn't imagine that it would be easier to throttle Charles, and yet here she was unable to successfully manipulate a ribbon around a statue. She held little hope that she would do better with a sturdier cord and a live person.
"I'm just not applying myself," she said, taking her ribbon from the statue. "It can't be that difficult. The book says the element of surprise is the most important part. Very well, I will practice until I am sure of myself."
Plum made a loop with her right hand, and whistling a sprightly air, casually strolled toward the bust of Shakespeare as if she was taking an innocent walk in a garden, the thought of garroting a man to death the farthest thing from her mind. As she approached the bust, she threw the ribbon over Shakespeare's head, jerking back quickly as the book said, only she had forgotten that the bust was not fixed to anything.
"Eek!" she shrieked as the bust flew backward past her directly toward the door, which opened at that moment to admit Thom.
The bust crashed into the wall beyond, fracturing into a dozen plaster pieces as it struck the hardwood floor.
"What on earth are you doing, Aunt Plum?"
Plum allowed herself a heartfelt sigh as she fluttered the ribbon toward the broken bust. "Trying to garrote Shakespeare, but it's no use, I am simply no good at all at strangulation. It will have to be something else, and I just don't think I'm up to shooting him."
"Shooting who?" Thom asked as she stepped over the remains of Shakespeare, closing the door behind her.
"Charles," Plum answered, then noticed her niece's gown was sopping wet. She put her hands on her hips, and gave Thom her best scowl. "Didn't I tell you not to let the children swim in the lake?"
Thom waved that away, her cheeks bright with excitement. "It was the mice, the little devils smuggled the mice onboard the boats and didn't tell me until it was too late. You'll never guess what happened on our way home!"
"You received a good number of indecent proposals from gentlemen who thought you were practicing the dubious art of dampening your muslin?"
"No, the children were almost run over by runaway horses! It was very exciting, and I'm sure we would have all been killed if it had not been for Nick. Why are you trying to kill Shakespeare?"
Plum's knees gave out. She sank bonelessly to the chair, her heart beating widely. "It's not good for me to be excited or startled. I must be calm, for the babe's sake, I must be calm."
"Are you carrying?" Thom asked, kneeling beside her aunt. "You must be thrilled. Have you told Harry?"
Visions of little coffins danced before her eyes. "The children-they're all right? All of them?"
"Oh, yes, didn't I say that? Nick saved them. He's very brave, even if he is a burglar. He walked us home, as a matter of fact. He wanted to see Harry, no doubt for a reward, but Harry's not home yet so I told him to come back later. Aunt Plum? Are you all right? You look a bit pale."
"A burglar saved you?" Plum asked in a weak voice. Her head was spinning in such a way that she was sure she was going to swoon, but she was not the swooning type, and made an effort to get a hold of her tumultuous emotions.
"Yes, he was walking us home. He really does have nice manners, especially for a ruffian."
Then again, there was something to be said for a good swoon. "Thom?"
"Yes?"
"Why were you allowing a burglar to escort you home?"
"He's a very nice burglar," Thom said, twisting her damp skirt between her fingers. "I'm sure if you were to meet him, you'd see that right away."
Plum tried to think of something to say to that, but she was having a little difficulty putting her thoughts into words. "The children are all right?" she asked again, not being able to think of much
else.
Thom nodded, smiling as she patted Plum's hands. "Yes, they're fine, a little wet, but no harm done. I sent them up to Gertie and George to change into dry clothing. Who is the Charles you want to kill?"
"Charles, my Charles, or the Charles who used to be mine, not that he really ever was, a fact I find myself profoundly grateful for now that I have Harry." Plum's mind, a bit dazed, was beginning to return to her normal state of lucidity. She would have to tell Harry about the latest accident concerning the children. Perhaps if he thought they were too headstrong in town, he would send them all home, and then Charles wouldn't have the opportunity ... oh, but that wouldn't work. Even if Harry did send them home, he would stay, and Charles would simply avoid him while spreading the news about Plum far and wide. No, she'd have to stay where she was and deal with him.
Thom sucked in her breath. "I thought he was dead."
"So did I. He isn't. He's very much alive, and blackmailing me."
Thom's jaw sagged. Knowing her secrets were safe with Thom, Plum filled her in on the morning's conversation with Charles, ending with her solution to the problem.
"You're going to kill him?" Thom asked, her eyes wide.
"I don't see any other way around it, do you?"
"Hmm." Thom thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No, I think you're right, the only way you'll ever truly be free of him is if you silence him forever. How are you going to do it?"
"I have no idea," Plum answered, somewhat pettishly she knew, but if anyone had a right to be pettish, surely she had. "The book I borrowed from Hookham's is about methods of execution, not how to eliminate a blackmailer. I don't suppose Charles would willingly put his head in a noose or allow himself to be drawn and quartered. There's shooting, but I don't own a pistol, let alone know how to shoot one."
Thom rose to her feet, and paced the length of the room. "How about setting his house on fire?"
Plum waved that offering away. "No, that would harm others, and no one else should suffer for Charles's sins."