Trouble With Harry (17 page)

Harry agreed and spent an enjoyable ten minutes catching up with all of his friend's doings, aware the whole while that Plum was distracted, nervously looking around herself. He took the opportunity of an acquaintance drawing Noble's attention away to ask her what was wrong. “You're not still worried, are you?”

Plum's gaze swept the room. “Not about myself, but where do you think Thom has disappeared to?”

“Probably dancing. She's a good girl, Plum. She won't do anything to shame you.”

“Shame me?” Plum gave him a disgruntled look. “I'm not worried about her shaming me, I'm concerned that she was so bored she left without telling me. I think I'll go look for her…”

Plum hurried off. Harry mingled with the gentlemen lounging inside the card room, pulling Noble aside when he was free.

“I like your wife,” Noble said to him as they strolled to the far end of the room. “And you look happy with her. I'm glad you remarried, Harry. It was time.”

“It was beyond time, but that's not what I want to talk to you about.”

“Aha!” Noble said, his gray eyes alight with humor. “I knew it. You didn't just come to town to introduce your lady, did you?”

“Hardly. You know I have no love for Society. I'm here because the new head of the HO wants my advice concerning the Stanford situation.”

“Stanford?” Noble frowned, shaking his head when Harry offered him a cigar. “Wasn't he responsible for bringing you up on charges of treason?”

“That's the man. Lord Briceland had heard some disturbing rumors that Stanford wasn't acting alone. He asked me to look into it. I've spent the last six weeks combing my records looking for a clue to the identity of the man who might be involved.”

“And now you're here to report in?”

“I'm here to find proof.” Harry lit a spill and waved it under the end of his cigar until it glowed red. “It shouldn't be too difficult.”

“Who is it you suspect?” Noble asked, his voice dropped so no one would overhear.

Harry smiled a wry smile. “The last person you'd imagine. I believe it's—”

“Harry!” Plum pushed her way through the room, oblivious to the curious glances she was receiving. She grabbed his arm and started tugging him toward the door. “Forgive me for interrupting you, Lord Weston, but this is a grave emergency. Harry, you have to help me find Thom. She's disappeared! No one has seen her for the longest time. You don't think something's happened to her, do you? She's never been to London before. I'll never forgive myself if someone said something cruel to her, and she ran away…”

Harry threw his cigar into the fireplace, casting an apologetic glance at his friend as Plum dragged him out in search of his errant niece-by-marriage.

Thom was bored. She was more than bored, she was nigh on moronic with the insipidness of the
ton
. She had heard much of them from her aunt, and although Plum seemed to recall her pre-Charles days of dancing and flirting with much fondness, Thom had no desire to waste her life in such frivolousness. It wasn't that she was serious, per se, nor a bluestocking, it's just that she felt there was more to be had out of life than talking about nothing but gowns, babies, the latest rake to hit town, and the hundreds of other meaningless things that caught the attention of the upper class.

She wandered around the big house, exploring those rooms that had been opened in honor of the ball (and a few rooms she suspected had not), smiling at people, but initiating no conversation. She finally settled on the dark, quiet library as the best place to pass time uninterrupted by the demands of her aunt that she dance with one foolish man after another. She'd suffered through dances with three such men, men so similar in their banalities and appearance, she couldn't distinguish one from another, let alone remember who they were.

“No one will notice if I spend a bit of time in the library,” she said to herself as she slipped into the room she had noted earlier in her wandering. “No one will bother me, and I won't be a bother to—oh! You there! Stop! What do you think you're doing?”

Thom closed the door behind herself and marched into the room, not the least bit intimidated by the fact that a young man with filthy hands and face had turned to scowl at her. She grasped a poker from the fireplace and pointed it at him, taking in his shabby, dirty clothing, a small cloth bag at his feet, and the window he was in the process of opening. It was obvious what was happening—the young man's hand was on the sill as if he was preparing to escape with his bag of no doubt ill-gotten goods.

“You're a thief!” Thom said, a secret thrill running through her. At last, something of interest to save her from the mundanity of the evening. A thief, a real thief. How
very
fascinating. What was the correct way to deal with one, she wondered as she eyed him. Polite but firm, that should do it. “I've never met a thief before. Especially not one so—” She stopped. There was no need to tell the villain that despite the dirt and grime, she thought he was a very handsome man.

“Especially not one so what?” he asked, his hands rising in surrender as she prodded his dirty waistcoat with the poker to make sure he wasn't armed.

“Bold. Only a bold person would think of burglarizing a house while a ball is going on. That or a very stupid one, and to be truthful, you don't look particularly stupid. Oh. I probably shouldn't have said that, should I? I should be convincing you as to the folly of your current path. It is foolish, you know. Sooner or later you're bound to be caught, especially if you insist on burglarizing houses where the occupants are holding entertainments such as a ball.”

The man smiled, and Thom found herself unable to keep from smiling in response before she realized what she was doing—smiling at a burglar! What was next, laughing with an arsonist? Swapping charades with a strangler?

“‘Bold,'” the burglar said, looking oddly pleased by her words. “I rather like the sound of that. What would you say if I told you I wasn't a burglar?”

She snorted. What did he take her for, one of those simpering, idiotic young ladies in the other room who knew nothing but how to look pretty and flirt and embroider nicely? She walked around him, keeping her poker handy in case he got any ideas. “Let me see, why would I think you were a burglar? Well, for one, there is the matter of your clothing. It is ill-kept and just the sort of thing that I imagine thugs and ruffians and men of bad repute wear when they engage in acts of a nefarious and illegal nature. It fairly reeks of burglary.”

The man looked down at his clothes, rubbing a bit of dirt off a grimy waistcoat so tattered, she wouldn't bed down one of her cats on it. “Ah. That. I can explain—”

“And then there is the fact that you have in your possession a bag of such dimensions as might be used to hide your swag.”

“Swag?” The man's lips twitched.

Thom felt a corresponding twitch in her own lips, but quickly regained control of them, schooling them into what she hoped was a stern, forbidding line. “That is, I believe, the correct slang? I read it in the
Flash
Dictionary
. It does mean stolen booty, does it not?”

“It does,” the young man said, giving in and grinning at her again. “I'm just surprised you should be familiar with such a word, let alone the
Flash
Dictionary
.”

“I have a very eclectic reading taste,” Thom told him, momentarily charmed by the amused light in his handsome gray eyes. Really, he was very agreeable for a burglar. He seemed well-spoken despite the obvious wicked nature of his employment. “In addition to the other items, there is the fact that you were attempting to escape via the window.”

He looked behind him to the window, his head tipped on the side as he studied it. “It seems to me that unless you actually caught me in the act, you can't be sure of whether or not I was opening or closing the window when you arrived.”

“Don't be ridiculous, your bag is positively bulging with swag and such. It's quite clear to me that you've allowed your lower nature to run amok, and now you are escaping with the fruits of this labor. Can you deny that the bag holds your swag?”

“I could,” the man said, leaning back against the wall, looking just as comfortable as if he had been born there. “But that would take all the enjoyment out of you attempting to sway me from my sinful path. You were going to try to sway me, weren't you?”

“Oh, yes,” Thom said guiltily, dragging her mind away from the pleasing contemplation of his eyes. “Of course I am. It is my duty. Er…I'm not quite sure how to begin. I've never had to sway a burglar before. How would you advise me to proceed?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “You might get further if you told me your name. It's the personal touch, you know.”

“It is? Very well, if you insist. I am Thom.”

“Tom?” He looked a little surprised.

“Thom. It has an
H
in it.”

“Ah.” He nodded wisely. “That makes a difference.”

“Yes, it does. What is your name?”

“Nick. No
H
s in it whatsoever. And your surname?”

“Is none of your concern. We can be personal without it. Now, Nick, it is my duty to lecture you about the sins of your chosen path.”

“You may proceed,” Nick said, his lips curving slightly as if he found something she said amusing. Thom had no idea what that could be, but admitted to herself that she found the young man in front of her a hundred times more pleasing than the dandified fops she had just left. At least this man was real. He had a goal in life, even if that goal was to steal items belonging to others. “Don't spare me. I am ready and willing to hear your thoughts on the despicable life I have chosen to lead.”

She pursed her lips and tried to think of something to say to him. “The problem is,” she said with a sigh a few moments later, “I don't really see what's wrong with your despicable life. Oh, the stealing part isn't good. You shouldn't steal something that doesn't belong to you, you really shouldn't, but as for the rest of your life, I can't imagine it's too despicable. You are free to do whatever you want with your life, are you not?”

“Within reason, yes.”

“And if you don't want to do something—”

“Then generally I don't do it.”

“Exactly. That seems to me to be the ideal life, really. Freedom and your own choice to guide you—the burglary aside, of course.”

“Of course,” he said, his eyes laughing.

“Are you a very good thief?” It didn't seem to be quite a correct thing to ask, but Thom was not so naive as to be blind to the fact that her entire conversation was not quite appropriate, so it didn't seem to her to matter if she compounded that by asking something she wanted to know.

“Not really, no. I haven't had much experience at it.”

He looked a bit distressed by that thought, and Thom hurried to reassure him. “You needn't worry that I will tell anyone that I saw you here. You will, of course, have to replace those items you took, but I can see that you aren't a terrible person.”

“Thank you,” he said gravely.

Thom gestured to the bag. “May I?”

He handed it to her. She set it on a nearby desk, opening it, extracting from within it a set of gentleman's evening wear and a pair of highly glossed shoes. She stared at the clothing for a moment, sympathy for him welling up inside her as she moved her gaze to his laughing gray eyes. “I have ten guineas.”

The laughter within them died as he watched her. “You do?”

“I do.” She nodded and put the clothing back into the bag, handing it to him. “My aunt's husband gave me a quarterly allowance of twenty guineas. I can only give you ten, though, because I promised the children to treat them to Astley's and the toy shop.”

“You did.” He still looked a bit surprised.

“Yes, I did, and I would hate to disappoint them. They get very inventive with their revenge if you disappoint them. When it rained two weeks ago and we couldn't go on a picnic, they filled my bed with slugs. If you give me your direction, you may have the ten guineas.”

Nick considered her for a long moment before replying. “Do you offer money to every burglar you meet?”

“No,” she said, smiling. She couldn't help herself, he was a very charming burglar, one who seemed to deserve smiles. “Only those who need it. Your direction?”

He looked confused as he slowly said, “A message to The Tart and Seaman will reach me.”

“The Tart and Seaman?”

“It's an inn near the docks, but, Thom, don't send me your money. I can't—” Nick's head snapped up at the sound of voices outside the hallway.

“Go,” she hissed, shoving the bag into his arms and pushing him toward the half-opened window. “I won't say anything about seeing you. Go now!”

Nick squawked something as she shoved him out the window, but she didn't wait to hear what it was before slamming the window shut, closing the curtains, and spinning around just as the door to the library opened and her aunt peeked in.

“There you are! We've been looking everywhere for you. Oh, Thom, you don't know how worried I was—never mind, it doesn't matter now, I've found you. Harry, I found her!”

Thom allowed herself to be bustled out of the library, casting a quick glance over her shoulder toward the window. What a very interesting evening it had turned out to be. She couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever see the handsome, disreputable burglar again.

She rather hoped she would.

***

“…and please, in the future, Thom, if you have to disappear, would you have the goodness to tell me first, so I won't worry?”

“Yes, Aunt Plum.” Thom's head was bowed. Plum felt a momentary pang of remorse for having to lecture her in this manner, but no one knew better than she just what sort of rakes and rogues lurked in the background, ready to pounce on an innocent young woman.

“You have no idea the pitfalls and traps that lie waiting for an unwary young woman to stumble into them.”

“Yes, Aunt Plum.”

“I don't wish to seem unreasonable, Thom, but truly, your disappearance worried me half to death.”

“Yes, Aunt Plum. I mean no, Aunt Plum.”

“Even Harry was worried, were you not, my lord?”

“Not in the least. Thom seems a sensible sort,” Harry said. Thom flashed him a grateful smile. Plum could have throttled them both. “Ah. A country dance. Shall we, Plum?”

“I'm sorry, but I have a good seven or eight minutes left of a lecture for Thom—”

“She'll have to hear it later,” Harry said with one of those persuasive twinkles in his eyes. Plum never could hold out against his twinkles. He added a devilish grin to his twinkling eyes, and she knew she was doomed.

“My spleen will become enlarged if I do not unburden myself of the entire lecture,” she protested gently, for she knew that her spleen could never win against both the grin and the eyes.

“I will personally guarantee that your spleen will not suffer,” Harry said, bowing low to her as the first figure of the dance began. Plum curtsied, casting a warning glance over her shoulder to her niece. Thom waved and sat down next to a large matron in a voluminous puce gown. Praying she would stay there out of trouble, Plum relaxed enough to enjoy the lively dance, something she hadn't done in twenty years.

“I'm surprised I remember the steps,” she told Harry as the dance brought them together. “It's been so very long.”

“You never looked lovelier,” Harry answered before they were separated to dance with their adjacent neighbors.

Plum glowed at his compliment, knowing that he was deliberately attempting to bolster her spirits in what he realized must be a trying night for her, but still pleased that he took the time to tell her how well she looked. The truth was that she was beginning to enjoy herself. Probably a good part of that had to do with the fact that there were so few people present whom she remembered from her two seasons.

A short, red-haired gentleman with a receding chin was her partner for this turn. As she danced forward to him, she realized with a start that she knew him—he had been one of her first beaus. What was his name? Sir Alan? Alec? Sir something-starting-with-an-
A
didn't seem to recognize her in the least. He smiled at her as she danced around him, returning to stand as he danced a circle around her.

“This is a very charming ball, is it not?” she asked as they came together.