“I am Juan Immanuel Savage Tortugula Diaz de Arasanto, and you are my oh, so very, very lady.”
“Very, very lady?” Plum extracted her hand from where the handsome Spaniard was bending over it.
“Yes, you are so very.” Juan the butler waggled his eyebrows at her in what she assumed was meant to be a seductive manner.
She fought back the desire to giggle at him, and instead asked, “Yes, well, Arasanto, have you seen his lordship this morning?”
“One.”
“You saw him at one this morning?”
He gave her a very polished leer. “No, Juan. It is my name. You may call me Juan rather than Arasanto. It is preferred, yes?”
Plum took a deep breath and reminded herself that no matter how much she might like to either burst into hysterical laughter, or scream, neither were actions suitable to a new marchioness. “I see. Very well, Juan, do you know where my husband is?”
He shrugged and pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward a narrow, dark passage. “Harry is probably hiding in his office.”
“Harry?” Plum asked, a little surprised by a servant addressing his master by his first name.
“He asks me to call him that because he calls me Juan, eh?”
“Oh. I see. Yes, well…um…thank you.” Plum started toward the passage, but found her way blocked by the amorous Spaniard.
“You would like for me to show you around the house first, eh? I have many things of interest to show you.” His eyebrows waggled at her again.
Plum knew she should be offended or angry with such blatant flirting by a servant, but she found herself oddly amused by Juan. He was so sure of his charm, so obvious about his innuendoes, she couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, but I will have my husband — your employer — show me around the house. I’m sure he, too, has many interesting things to show me.”
“He is old, that one. I am young and how it’s said, virile.”
“He’s not that old,” Plum laughed. “And considering he has five children, I would hazard that his virility is not in doubt.”
Juan shuddered and crossed himself. “Santa Maria, those ones are spawned by the devil himself.”
“Oh, come now, they’re a bit high spirited, but they aren’t really that bad.” Plum sidled around Juan while he was busy rolling his eyes. “A little untamed, perhaps, but that is no doubt due to having been without a mother for the last few years. I quite like them.”
Juan grabbed her hand as she moved past him, bowing over it again, brushing his lips against her knuckles before Plum yanked her hand back. “It is because you have not been here with them that you think they are the angels. They are not. And now, most very lady, I will return to my duties. You are mistress here now, you will want to speak to me later about my duties, yes? I will await your pleasure in the pantry of butlers.” His black, liquid eyes sent her a message that was unmistakable. Plum’s lips twitched as she struggled to keep from giggling. She hurried down the dark passage, wondering how on earth Harry had come to employ such a bold butler, when his words sank in.
“What can Harry be hiding from, I wonder?” she mused as she approached a door. She entered a small, extremely tidy room and smiled at the man sitting behind a desk piled high with books and papers. “Good morning, Mr. Harris. Can you tell me where I might find Lord…merciful St. Genevieve, what was that?”
The loud crash that came from the hallway made Plum jump. She turned back to the secretary, expecting him to leap up and investigate.
“His lordship is through the door to your right. If you could possibly convince him to allow his room to be cleaned, I would be eternally grateful.”
Plum stared at him as if he had horns growing from his head. “Didn’t…didn’t you hear the crash? From the hall? Shouldn’t you investigate?”
Temple tipped his head to the side as he considered her. “No. I’ve found it’s much safer not to be too curious about those sorts of things.”
“Safer?” Plum gaped at him, positively gaped, and she was not a woman who took gaping lightly. “But…but…the children could 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.”
“Well, 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.”
“As you say, ma’am.”
Plum thinned her lips at him. “You’re patronizing me, Mr. Harris. I dislike being patronized.”
“That 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.”
“Prove it.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“Prove 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.
“Sir,” Temple said from the doorway when Harry didn’t acknowledge them.
“Mmm?” 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…
“Your wife, sir.”
“What 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.
“She 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.”
“Why 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.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Temple,” Harry said absently, making a notation on the letter. “If one of them was hurt, there would be screaming and blood and such.”
Then again, it couldn’t hurt.
“Harry.”
He looked up, the adorable lock of hair hanging over his equally adorable brow, his eyes dark and shadowed behind the glass lenses. “Plum! You’re…er…up.”