"Not in itself, perhaps." He pushed away from the window and strolled to where Lucinda stood waiting.

"But there are bra.s.s rings set into the headboard." His brows rose; his expression turned pensive.

"They quite excite the imagination." Taking Lucinda's arm, he turned her towards the door.

"I must remember to show them to you sometime."

Lucinda opened her mouth, then abruptly closed it. She allowed him to lead her back into the corridor. She was still considering the bra.s.s rings when they reached the end of the hall, having looked in on a set of unremarkable bedchambers along the way. "These stairs lead to the attics. The nursery is there, as well as the Simpkins's rooms."

The nursery proved to take up one entire side of the commodious s.p.a.ce beneath the rafters. The dormer windows were set low, just right for youngsters, The suite comprised five interconnecting rooms.

"Bedrooms for the head nurse and tutor on either end, bedrooms for their charges, male and female and this, of course, is the schoolroom." Harry stood in the centre of the large room and looked around, a certain pride showing in his expression.

Lucinda eyed it consideringly.

"These rooms are even larger, relatively speaking, than your bed."

Harry raised his brows.

"I had rather thought they would have need to be. I'm planning on having a large family."

Lucinda stared into his clear green eyes--and wondered how he dared.

"A large family?" she queried, refusing to retreat in disorder.

"Taking after your father in that respect, too?" She held his gaze for an instant longer, then strolled to look out of a window.

"Three boys, I a.s.sume, is your goal?"

Harry's gaze followed her.

"And three girls. To preserve a reasonable balance," he added in reply to Lucinda's surprised glance.

Annoyed at her reaction, and the fluttery feeling that had laid seige to her stomach, Lucinda snorted. And glanced about again.

"Even with six, there's room enough to spare."

She had thought that would be the end of that particular conversation but the reprobate teasing her hadn't finished.

"Ah--but I'd thought to leave sufficient s.p.a.ce for the odd few who might not come in the correct order, if you take my meaning. Begetting boy or girl is such a random event, after all."

Lucinda stared into impa.s.sive green eyes--and longed to ask if he was joking.

But there was something in the subtle tension that held him that left the distinct impression he wasn't.

I eeling a quiver--no longer odd but decidedly familiar-ripple through.

,hbr, Lucinda decided she'd had enough. If he could talk about their children then he could put his mind to the' first of the points that came before. She straightened and lifted her head, her gaze holding his.

"Harry--' He shifted, turning to look out of the window.

"Mrs Simpkins has our tea and scones waiting. Come--we can't disappoint her." With an innocent smile, he took Lucinda's arm and turned her towards the door.

"It's nearly noon, too--I suspect we should get back immediately after our impromptu feast. We don't want to be late getting on the road this afternoon." Lucinda stared at him in disbelief.

Harry smiled.

"I know how much you're looking forward to getting back to town--and waltzing in gentlemen's arms."

Frustration filled Lucinda, so intense it made her giddy. When Harry merely raised his brows, all mild and innocent, she narrowed her eyes and glared.

Harry's lips twitched; he gestured to the door.

Lucinda drew in a deep, steadying breath. If she wasn't a lady. Setting her teeth against the urge to grind them, she slid her hand into the crook of his arm. Lips set in a thoroughly disapproving, not to say disgruntled line, she allowed him to lead her downstairs.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

"So--oo you have it dear?" Seated behind the desk in his library, Harry drew an unnibbed pen back and forth between his fingers, his gaze, very green, trained on the individual in the chair before him.

Plain brown eyes regarded him from an unremarkable countenance; the man's attire proclaimed him not of the ton but his occupation could not be discerned from the drab garments.

Phineas Salter could have been anything--almost anyone--which was precisely what made him so successful at his trade.

The ex-Bow Street Runner nodded.

"Aye, sir. I'm to check up on the gentlemen--Mr Earle Joliffe and Mr Mortimer Babbacombe--with a view to uncovering any reason they might have to wish a Mrs Lucinda Babbacombe--the said Mortimer's aunt-by-marriage-- ill."

"And you're to do it without raising a dust." Harry's gaze became acute.

Salter inclined his head.

"Naturally, sir. If the gentlemen are up to anything, we wouldn't want to tip them the wink. Not before we're ready."

Harry grimaced.

"Quite. But I should also stress that we do not wish, at any time, for Mrs Babbacombe herself to become aware of our suspicions. Or, indeed, that there might be any reason for investigation at all."

Salter frowned.

"Without disrespect, sir, do you think that's wise?

From what you've told. me, these villains aren't above drastic action.

Wouldn't it be better if the lady's forewarned? "

"If it were any other lady, one who would be predictably shocked and content thereafter to leave the matter in our hands, I'd unhesitatingly agree.

However, Mrs Babbacombe is not one such." Harry studied his newest employee; when he spoke his tone was instructive.

"I'd be willing to wager that, if she were to learn of Babbacombe's apparent involvement with her recent adventures, Mrs Babbacombe would order her carriage around and have herself driven to his lodgings, intent on demanding an explanation. Alone."

Salter's expression blanked.

"Ah." He blinked.