Katie MacAlister - The Trouble With Harry

Sir Paul made an inarticulate choking sound, but said nothing.

“But how would he know Charles came to the house?” Plum asked, keeping one eye on the head of police. “How could he have seen Charles leave unless he was — oh!”

“Yes,” Harry nodded, slowly approaching Sir Paul. “He would have seen de Spenser leave only if he was passing at that moment — a coincidence so unlikely I won’t even entertain it — or if he was watching the house.”

“The children,” Plum breathed, her hands fisting as anger rose inside her. “He’s the man who kidnapped the children! He’s the one who threatened them, who tried to hurt them.”

Sir Paul stumbled backward as she lunged toward him, but Harry caught her and pulled her back before she could do more than inflict a few scratches.

“Everything you said has been the merest speculation,” Sir Paul said heavily. With a swift move he pulled a pistol from inside his coat, pulling back the hammer as he pointed it at Plum. “You have no proof, and as long as I am in charge of the police, you will not be able to buy justice with your wealth or title. Your wife will be found guilty of murder based on the evidence I supply the magistrate. She will be hanged, and you, my Lord Rosse, will be left to go on, to suffer long after justice has been carried out.”

“But why?” Plum asked Harry, her eyes on the man who stood before them. Harry looked completely bored, but she could feel the tension in the arm he slid around her.

“Sir William Stanford was Sir Paul’s brother. Why was the letter your brother sent you delayed? Or did it arrive fifteen years ago, but you took the time to make your fortune in Canada before seeking revenge?”

“So that self-righteous bastard of a valet turned it over to you after all? I should have taken care of him when I had the chance. William gave the letter to some damn fool servant who forgot about it. When he died earlier this year, the letter was found in his effects and sent on to me.” Sir Paul’s lip curled as he hurled curses at Harry. “I swore that I would have vengeance on you and your family for taking my brother’s life. You could have kept the manner of his death hidden, given him a hero’s burial, but you didn’t. You made sure that bit of scandal was on everyone’s lips, laughing at him, mocking him, mocking me for being brother to a coward. The fire in your house, the accidents I so cunningly arranged for your children — they are all on your head. I swore your family would suffer the same as I did when it became known that William took his own life. As for your wife, it was by the merest coincidence that I found out about her secret, but I fully intend to use it to bring about your destruction just as you destroyed my brother.”

“And what about me?” Harry asked calmly, as if the pistol weren’t pointed at Plum’s breast. Plum became aware that Harry’s hand against her waist was exerting pressure to pull her backward. No doubt the foolish man believed that if he shoved her behind him when he disarmed Sir Paul, he would not be shot because she was his target. That wasn’t true, of course. It was Harry he wanted to destroy. Dear Harry, normally so smart about these things, but this time, so obtuse.

Sir Paul smiled, a nasty, oily smile of pure malice that sent shivers of horror down Plum’s back. “If you do not allow me to take your wife into lawful custody, you will regrettably be shot and killed while attempting to keep me from the course of my duty. A tragedy, but alas, an unavoidable one.”

Plum knew Harry was going to strike even before he moved. His fingers tightened on her, jerking her backward as he lunged forward. She was ready for that move, however, and knowing that Sir Paul needed her alive in order to torment Harry, she threw herself between the two men shrieking, “No!” just as Harry grabbed her.

The blast from the pistol deafened her ears; the smell of gunpowder burned her eyes. Time froze as she stood in front of Harry, watching as surprise dawned in Sir Paul’s eyes. She looked down at herself, amazed to see a bloom of red on her side, quickly soaking her gown in an expanding circle.

“I was wrong,” she said somewhat bemusedly as Harry snarled an oath, jumping forward to knock the pistol from Sir Paul before grabbing him and slamming him against the wall of the library repeatedly until he hung limply in Harry’s hands. Harry threw the man down, rushing back to where Plum was gently prodding the red stain on her gown.

“I was wrong. He did shoot me. I don’t understand. I had it all figured out, but he shot me anyway. He wasn’t supposed to. Harry, I’ve been shot. Do you think I should swoon?”

“Plum, Plum, my beautiful, brave, ridiculously wonderful Plum, you may swoon if you like. I have it on the highest authority that all the best ladies who have been shot do so.” Harry swept her up in his arms, cradling her as if she was made of the costliest porcelain. The strain in his voice warmed her, driving out some of the icy pain that started to throb in her side.

“Will it harm the babe, do you think?” she asked, suddenly feeling as if Harry was a very long way from her. His voice was distant and hard to make out, and his face seemed to be dimming.

“No, the babe won’t be harmed. And neither will you. You’ll be fit as ever in just a day or two, you’ll see.”

“Oh, good. I think I’ll swoon now if you don’t mind. If all the ladies do it, I feel I should, too.” Now her voice sounded distant and strange, as if it belonged to another. She tried to cling to Harry, but couldn’t make her arms work. She relaxed against him, giving up the struggle, sinking silently into the oblivion that claimed her.

“You are solely to blame for being in this situation, Plum.”

“Push, madam.”

“Oh! I am not! What a thing to say to me!”

“The blame lies completely on your head,” Harry said, scowling down at her. “I declaim all responsibility. You insisted, if you recall. I said no, I won’t risk your health, but you insisted.”

“And another one, madam.”

“Ha! I like that! I never insisted, and you are responsible. If your seed was so potent that it could impregnate me after just a few incidences of spillage, it’s most certainly your fault, not mine.”

“Perhaps you might put a bit more effort into the next push?” the gentleman lurking at the end of the bed asked her.

“I’m trying,” Plum snarled to the physician. She had a difficult time seeing him because of the bedclothes heaped on her massive belly. She struggled to sit up so she could give the man a really good glare, a quality glare, one that he would remember for the rest of his life. Harry, supporting her from behind, immediately came to her assistance, adjusting himself so that she could lean against his chest and level her glare at the physician. “It’s not easy, you know!”

“I am aware of that fact, Lady Rosse. I am also aware that the babe’s head is about to crown, and in order for it to do so, you need to push. Now, if you have gathered your strength, I believe another contraction is coming. Please oblige me by pushing at the peak.”

“No one ever told me about this,” Plum gasped, her gasp turning to a shriek as she bore down. Behind her, Harry murmured soft words of love and encouragement as she struggled to keep from shredding the skin on the arms he wrapped around her in support. She thought she was going to be sick from the pain, or swoon, or start shrieking and never be able to stop, but just as the pain grew so great she knew she was going to die from it, she pushed again, bearing down with every last bit of strength she had to rid her body of the invader, as she had taken to thinking of it. She pushed and pushed and pushed until there was nothing but a red well of allconsuming pain.