Trouble With Harry by Katie MacAlister Page A

be injured!”
    Temple pursed his lips and listened for a moment, then shook his head and went over to the door leading to Harry’s room. “No, no one is hurt. We’d hear screaming by now if one of his lordship’s little darlings were injured. They’re very vocal.”
    â€œWell, surely someone should inquire as to what happened? Surely someone would like to ascertain just what caused such a horrifying sound?”
    Temple eyed her curiously. “I wouldn’t advise it, ma’am. His lordship has found that a strict policy of unenlightenment is the best for all concerned.”
    Plum snorted. She hated to do so in front of Temple after so short an acquaintance, but she felt such an extreme action was called for. “You cannot make me believe that a man as fond of his children as Harry is would not wish to investigate the noise we just heard.”
    â€œAs you say, ma’am.”
    Plum thinned her lips at him. “You’re patronizing me, Mr. Harris. I dislike being patronized.”
    â€œThat thought was the farthest from my mind, you can be assured. I simply wish to inform you that about this, I am well familiar with his lordship’s habits.”
    â€œProve it.”
    His eyebrows rose in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
    â€œProve to me that Harry won’t want to know what’s going on out in the hall. Ask him.”
    Temple opened the door for her and waved her into the room. A second, less loud crash echoed from the hall. She cocked an eyebrow at Temple and marched into a dimly lit chamber so dusty her nose tickled. At the far end of the long room, with his back to a pair of filthy windows, her husband sat reading a letter.
    â€œSir,” Temple said from the doorway when Harry didn’t acknowledge them.
    â€œMmm?” He didn’t raise his eyes from the letter.
    Plum looked him over carefully, this man she had married and more or less thrown out of her bedchamber the evening before. His sandy hair was mussed and disordered, as if he had combed it with his fingers, the one rogue lock of hair having fallen over his brow. The planes of his long face were thrown into interesting shadows, the bright gold of his spectacles glinting in the sunlight that bullied its way through the grimy flyspecked windows. This was the man she had bound herself to for the rest of her life. The man who had neglected to tell her about his five children. The man about whom she had built up so many dreams and hopes—or as many dreams and hopes as one could arouse in just two days. This was the man with whom she wished to indulge in many, many connubial calisthenics, the man who would twine his heart and soul (not to mention legs and arms) around hers, the man who would complete her, make her whole, give her what she wanted more than anything in the world…
    â€œYour wife, sir.”
    â€œWhat about her?” Harry asked, still reading his letter, one long finger tapping on his lower lip as he read. At the sight of that finger stroking the curve of his lip, Plum remembered, with an unmaidenly flash of heat to her womanly parts, just how wonderful his mouth felt on hers.
    â€œShe would like to know if you are curious about the specifics concerning the two”—another crash, this one followed by a hoarse shout and peals of childish laughter, interrupted Temple—“three indicators of an accident from the hall.”
    â€œWhy would I be foolish enough to want to know that?” Harry asked, his gaze on the letter as he took a pen from the holder and flipped open the top to an inkwell.
    Temple glanced apologetically at her. “I believe your lady feels that you might wish to make sure that one of the children hasn’t injured himself or herself.”
    Plum nodded, wondering greatly whether or not returning to bed and starting the day over would help. She reckoned it wouldn’t.
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous, Temple,” Harry