Gallant Scoundrel (14 page)

Mr. Gold smiled indulgently. “His, er, the gentleman in question gave me his word, so you need have no worries on that head. He also expressed a wish to discuss the collection with you in person when his press of business allows it. Surely, with so much money at stake, you can see your way clear to extend your stay? I should be happy to do more business with you as well.”

Xena thought hard. It was true that the total amount would cover every conceivable repair at home and ensure Theo’s future as well, but did she dare wait for it all? If she were very discreet and stayed well away from the West End, perhaps the risk would not be so
very
great, as Harry would believe her already gone…

“I will see whether I can adjust my plans, Mr. Gold, though I would prefer to have that meeting as soon as can be arranged. You will send me word the moment it is possible, will you not?”

“Of course. Now, about those Turkish figurines you mentioned earlier…”
 

After another ten minutes discussion, Xena left the shop two hundred pounds richer than she had arrived, and with the promise of much, much more in the near future. She’d intended to stop by the modiste’s to cancel the other two gowns she’d ordered but now decided against it. If she were to remain in London another week, there would be time for them to be made up and delivered, and she was now well able to afford them.

But who will I wear them for?
a small voice whispered, introducing a note of disquiet to her otherwise improved outlook. Resolutely refusing to think about the one man she might
wish
to see her wearing them, she returned to Rundel Street. Only as she approached the entrance to Mrs. Henderson’s house did she perceive the smartly dressed gentleman standing just outside—a gentleman she recognized with a start from last night.

“Give you good day, Miss Maxwell.” Lord Peter Northrup stepped toward her with a broad smile. “Just the woman I was hoping to see. Might I have a word?”

*
       
*
       
*

Xena froze for an instant but it was too late to turn tail. “How did you find me?” she demanded.

Lord Peter’s brows rose. “Not quite the cordial greeting I’d hoped for, but an understandable question, given that it did indeed entail a bit of difficulty. Fortunately for me, Wellington’s secretary remembered where he had sent your invitation and was obliging enough to share your direction.”

Belatedly recalling her manners, Xena dipped a grudging curtsey. “I give you good day, Lord Peter, and apologize for my initial rudeness. Might I also inquire as to your reason for seeking me out?”

“Of course. Perhaps you might invite me in so we may speak in rather more privacy?”

“I fear that would be most improper, my lord, for my abigail is out on an errand, which would leave us unchaperoned.” Luckily Gretchen was not present to give her the lie, as Xena had not insisted the girl accompany her. “Surely we are private enough here, given how few people are about.”

Lord Peter twirled his hat in his hands for a moment before nodding. “Very well, Miss Maxwell—or, I should say, Mrs. Thatcher. I come on behalf of your husband to ask that you not give up on your marriage so easily when there is a chance it might yet be source of happiness for you both.”

Xena stared. “
Harry
sent you? He actually told you about—”
 

“No, no, you misunderstand. While it’s true that Harry informed me last night about how things stand between the two of you, he has no idea that I am here.”

“But you said—”

“That I was here on his behalf. I am. For it is primarily for Harry’s sake that I am making this request of you. I am convinced you are the very thing he needs in his life just now. And who knows? You may discover he is just what you need in yours, as well.”

A mirthless laugh escaped her. “I take leave to doubt both of those suppositions, sir. Harry made it quite clear last night that the last thing he wants is a wife hanging about. As for myself, after believing myself a widow all these years, I’ve grown quite set in my ways. I should imagine the same is true of Harry.”

“Rather too set in his ways, I should say. It is my hope you might be able to change that.”

“Then you do not deny that Harry enjoys a rather…unsavory lifestyle?” Xena held his gaze with her own, more than half expecting him to prevaricate.

He did not. “No, I don’t deny it—except for the enjoyment part. It is my belief he does
not
particularly enjoy that lifestyle, but needs assistance in breaking out of a routine that is otherwise like to send him to an early grave.”
 

Xena flinched, but strove to hide it. “Surely a wife’s scolding is unlikely to convince him to give up his wilder pursuits for a dull, domestic existence. I should think the reverse would be true.”

“I do not ask you to nag or scold—unless you wish to, of course.” Lord Peter grinned. “But the, er, companionship of a woman such as yourself, a woman he once cared for enough to marry and then to mourn, might be the very thing to begin his transformation into a better—and happier—man.”

Mourn? Harry had mourned her? She resisted a strong urge to ask for details. “I am afraid this sounds like wishful thinking to me, Lord Peter. Nor will I let you persuade me that it is somehow my
duty
to save Harry from himself. I have a home and a life in Yorkshire and I mean to return to it forthwith.”
 

That life now struck her as depressingly empty and boring, after her brief taste of the bustle and variety of London.
 

“I had hoped to appeal to your sense of compassion, if not of duty,” Lord Peter confessed. “I heard so many tales last night of your skill and dedication in nursing the wounded during wartime, it seemed likely to me that once you knew the dangers of Harry’s current lifestyle you would seek to save him from it, just as you would seek to prevent a heedless child from drowning.”

Xena swallowed. While it was true she had no wish for Harry to beggar or injure himself—or worse—she could not believe, after last night’s conversation, that he would at all welcome her interference.
 

“Harry is no heedless child, but a grown man responsible for his own decisions, however unwise. I’m sorry, Lord Peter. I simply—”

Just then, a small form came barreling around the corner of the house, his dirty face alight with excitement. “Mother! You’re back! I not only got to feed two of the horses, the groom let me help curry one of them as well.”
 

Theo’s effusions stopped abruptly on noticing Lord Peter standing there, but the damage was done. Xena’s heart sank as she looked from her son’s curious expression to Lord Peter’s thunderstruck one.

P
ETER
STARED
down at the lad now clinging to his mother’s skirts, feeling as though the earth had suddenly shifted on its axis. That hair, those eyes…there was no possible doubt. He was looking at Harry Thatcher’s
son.
 

With a Herculean effort, he tried to cover his shock with a smile. “Hello, young sir,” he said, leaning down slightly. “I am Peter. What might your name be?”

The boy glanced questioningly up at his mother, but she was apparently too stricken to give him guidance. Squaring his shoulders, he let go her skirt and tilted his face—a childlike version of Harry’s—up to Peter’s.

“Pleased to meet you, sir. I am Theo. I mean, Theodore Maxwell.”

Maxwell?
He’d never even been told who his father was?
 

At that point, Miss Maxwell—no, Mrs. Thatcher, Peter reminded himself—recovered her capacity for speech. “Theo, dear, your face is dirty. Run upstairs and wash it, please. I will be up in a few moments.”
 

She waited until the lad, with a last curious look over his shoulder, went into the house and closed the door behind him before turning back to Peter, her chin now lifting defiantly.

“Now you know my primary reason for wishing to leave London. For…various reasons, I am persuaded my son will be far better off back in Yorkshire.”

“I take it one of those reasons is to keep him in ignorance of his father’s identity, as you have clearly done thus far?” Peter could not quite keep the implied accusation from his tone.

Glancing back toward the house, she lowered her voice. “I had intended to tell him as soon as we returned to Yorkshire—but that was before I learned that his father is still living, and had become, well,
you
know.”

“And now you mean to continue keeping the truth from both Harry and young Theo? For how long?”
 

“I, ah, hadn’t decided. Though now I suppose my decision is moot.” Her eyes both challenged and pleaded with him. “Unless I can somehow persuade you not to mention him to Harry?”

Peter frowned. “I don’t see how I can in conscience keep something so important from him. Nor does it seem right that you would do so.”

She flushed visibly. “I am thinking only of my son’s welfare. Would you have me cede authority over him to a man that you yourself have admitted is bent on drinking and gambling himself into poverty and an early grave?”

That gave Peter momentary pause, for he could not deny she had a point. She had also just given him the leverage he needed to achieve his original purpose in seeking her out. Though it went against the grain to make such a promise, if all went well he wouldn’t need to keep it for long.
 

In fact, if his plan achieved the result he hoped for, he’d finally be able to tell Harry the truth about the state of his finances without fearing the money would merely fund more dissipation.

“I might be persuaded to keep my council, at least for a time,” he said after a moment. “On one condition.”

“And what condition might that be?” Wariness warred with the sudden hope in her eyes.

Quelling his misgivings, Peter smiled. “Why, the very thing I came here to suggest. I wish you to give your marriage to Harry a fighting chance for success by living together as husband and wife until, let us say, the first of the year. If, after that time, you both still prefer to go your separate ways, I will not seek to prevent it.”

*
       
*
       
*

Appalled, Xena realized she’d fallen neatly into Lord Peter’s trap, ambushed by her own carelessness in not more forcefully impressing upon her son the necessity of staying out of sight. Her first instinct was to refuse. If she could spirit Theo out of London immediately…

But that would be no permanent solution. Once Harry learned he had a son, he might well come after them despite his professed desire to avoid entanglements. Which pointed up a serious weakness in her enemy’s position.
 

“Suppose I agree. How do you intend to convince
Harry
to go along with this ridiculous plan?”
 

A shadow of doubt appeared in his eyes, confirming her guess, but then it was gone. “I have my ways. Leave Harry to me.”

Surely he was expressing more confidence than he felt. “If he should refuse, will you still abide by your promise to keep Theo’s existence a secret?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “You have my word—but only if you will agree to the attempt.”

Only partially reassured, Xena strove to further shore up her position. “Supposing you
do
somehow induce Harry to agree to your experiment, yet we still elect never to see each other again after the first of the year. What then?”

“I would still consider myself bound by my word. But surely the fact that you and Harry have a son gives you an added incentive to work toward a reconciliation—if that is the proper word, considering your long separation was due to misinformation rather than intent. If you will not make this attempt for Harry’s sake or your own, perhaps you will do so for Theo’s.”

For a long moment she stared at him, various emotions warring for ascendancy—guilt, apprehension and, yes, a degree of longing that surprised her. Surely she did not
want
Harry to agree to his friend’s plan—to be obliged to live intimately with him for a month and more? Of course she did not.

As she could see no other option, however, she gave a single nod. “Very well, my lord. I accede to your blackmail. It is very little else,” she snapped when he started at the word. “When do you wish this foolish experiment to commence, and how am I to proceed?”

“I will send word when I’ve secured Harry’s cooperation and will make all arrangements forthwith. It is my hope you can begin living as a married couple within the next few days. In the meantime, might you consider staying as our guest in Curzon Street? Sarah—Lady Peter—would like that very much.”

Still hopeful that Harry would summarily refuse, Xena shook her head. “I can hardly leave Theo at a moment’s notice, my lord, nor do I expect it will prove necessary. I will, however, agree to delay our departure from London for a week while you attempt to persuade Harry.”
 

That should give her time to meet with Mr. Gold’s client about her other Grecian items and perhaps receive some portion of the princely sum he promised. With such substantial funds at her disposal she could take Theo abroad, where they would be safe from pursuit should Lord Peter renege on his promises.

“Very well. But do not count on Harry’s refusal. I’m known to be most persuasive when I believe myself in the right. I advise you to make whatever preparations will be necessary for the care of your son and your removal from these lodgings within the next few days. And now, Mrs. Thatcher, I give you good day.”
 

With a smart bow, Lord Peter turned and headed up the street, whistling merrily.

Xena stared after him, shaken anew by his confidence. Though she could not at all believe Harry would agree to any such arrangement as his friend suggested, she supposed she had better speak privately with Yamini and Mrs. Henderson.
 

Just in case.
 

“Mother!” Theo greeted her when she returned to their apartments. “I was telling Yamini and Gretchen about the man you were talking to just now. He was dressed like a lord and so tall! And he spoke very nicely to me.” Then, face still alight, he asked, “Is he…my father?”