“Shall we have a large brood of children?” His tongue did something exquisite to a nipple.
A moan of ecstasy slipped from her lips. “Five or six seems a respectable number.”
He groaned, and she couldn’t be sure if this was a comment on the number of children to fill his nursery or… She sighed as his mouth on hers took her words and thoughts away with a deep kiss as his clever hands produced the most delightful feelings.
She arched to meet his feather-like strokes. She was losing herself as a need built within her. Then with a cry, she tumbled into a wave of delicious sensations. She lay there heavy-limbed in the afterglow and yet wanting more.
Harry rolled her beneath him, his rampant need for her nudging her belly, his eyes dark and smoldering with desire. “Shall we begin now?” he asked, his voice strained.
“Oh, Harry. I adore you. Yes, my darling. Now!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
On reaching London,Jack visited Bascombe and filled him in on what had occurred in Manchester and the information gleaned from Renard. “When the marquess returned to our shores with the intention of informing the French ambassador about the men behind the assassination plot, he signed his own death warrant.”
Jack explained how Lord Caindale, realizing his brother-in-law had been in danger, had hoped that by helping the Frenchman gain access to the information he sought, the matter would be at an end.
“Naïve of him,” Bascombe said. “His lordship is culpable and should be in prison, but we’d be hard-pressed to bring charges against a lord of the realm. It would only draw attention to the matter. Let’s put the affair to rest. It shall remain between us. As we have no real evidence, there’s no sense in upsetting our Gallic neighbors. Let them deal with the matter of Bonaparte’s demise if they wish to pursue it. Our involvement died with Butterstone. After all, the success of any venture can only be measured by its results. The murderer is dead and neatly dispensed with.” He indicated his approval with a nod. “Well done. I’ll have the guard removed from Caindale’s house.”
“The Marquis de Montholon still lives,” Jack said with a trace of bitterness. He disliked leaving a stone unturned. “No doubt enjoying his handsome legacy from Bonaparte.”
A smile touched Bascombe’s lips. He shook his head. “Diplomacyis like a racehorse, Jack. A good jockey must know how to fall with the least possible damage.”
At home, Jack’s butler informed him that a Mr. Welby had called and wished to see him. Jack sent a servant with a note toThe London Gazetteto inform Welby that he’d found nothing of interest. And, as he was about to leave London and would be away for months, he would be of no help to them should they wish to pursue what seemed likely to be a waste of their time.
Jack spent the next few days in his library reading documents about how to turn flax into linseed oil and how glass was manufactured. He was now confident he could ask pertinent questions when he visited his businesses.
Harry wrote to tell Jack of their return to London. They were putting up at Sir Ambrose’s mansion in Berkeley Square and would sail for France on the tide tomorrow. Lady Erina had asked if Jack might take a package to County Kildare, which held a gown that would suit her cousin Miss Cathleen Sullivan better than Lady Erina, should he intend to include Ireland in his travels.
That evening, Jack went to White’s with Harry to celebrate his marriage along with their friends Grant, Tim, and Miles. Amid the laughter, chatter, and clink of glassware, they dined together in the club dining room, enjoying an excellent meal of seafood soup and a tasty roast leg of lamb minted in a pastry crust, washed down with an admirable vintage.
Jack sat back, amused, as did Grant, while Tim, always up for a lark, roasted Harry, and Miles joined in. Later in the games room, they played hazard.
Harry glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s been splendid seeing you fellows again.” He tossed down his cards. “Can’t seem to concentrate. How much do I owe?” He drew out his wallet. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t make a long night of it. Erina is alone in a strange house, and we leave for France in the morning.”
Tim raised an auburn eyebrow. “Still time left to bed your wife, Harry.”
Harry chuckled and shook his head.
“The least you can do is stay for a round or two more.” Miles’s blue eyes turned devilish as he called for another bottle. “We wish to raise our glasses to you and your bride.”
“You have already toasted me many times and with several glasses too many,” Harry protested.
“Nonsense. One or two more. Then we shall let you go,” Miles said silkily.
An hour later, Harry was fast getting foxed, as were Miles and Tim. There followed a good deal of laughter and ribald jokes. Jack considered it wise for someone to keep a clear head, as Grant, who seldom over-imbibed, had left them.
Finally, Harry pushed back his chair. “I’m off, fellows. It’s been fun,” he said with a foolish grin. He made his way unsteadily to the door.
They all followed him out onto the street.
“Allow us to escort you home,” Tim offered as they stood on the pavement.
“What?” Harry’s eyes widened. “No need. I know the way.”
The fresh night air made Harry stagger. “Don’t leave me with these two,” he pleaded to Jack. “Don’t trust ’em.”
Jack chuckled. “Here’s a hackney. I’ll ride home with you.”
