Black & Blue (Lord & Lady Hetheridge Book 4) (19 page)

* * *

"Fencing? I just got in trouble for fighting," Henry groaned. He lay in bed atop the covers, flat on his back with a comic book unopened on his chest, apparently contemplating the unfairness of the universe. "Shouldn't I stay in my room and think on what I've done? Lie here and be punished? That seems right. I don't want to practice."

"The day you don't want to practice is precisely the day you most need to," Tony said. It was the sort of nonsensical thing his own boyhood instructor had told him, and to his surprise, it worked. Still looking downcast, Henry nevertheless trudged to his wardrobe, located his white pants, white shirt, padded vest, gloves, and face mask, and carried them into the hall bathroom to change. He was a private child, not given to stripping down to his shorts in front of anyone save Kate. Such innate dignity was one of the qualities Tony most enjoyed about him.

"Fine. Dressed." Still morose, Henry emerged with face mask under one arm. "I know you're angry with me. Go ahead, let me have it. Unleash."

Tony refused to laugh, but sometimes the boy tempted him as much as Bhar. "I was told your mother visited you at the school. Another boy called her a name, and you responded by hitting him. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"This other boy, how old was he?"

"Seven."

"Taller than you?"

"No."

"So you attacked a younger, smaller boy for calling someone a name?"

Henry fiddled with his face mask.

"Did you slap him?"

"No. I punched him. Right cross, just like you showed me."

Tony sighed. "And what did I tell you when I showed you that?"

More fiddling.

"Henry?"

"Only use it on bigger, older boys," he muttered.

"As…."

"As a last resort."

"That's right. Only go for the knockout when you have no choice. In those rare moments when you or someone you care about is seriously threatened. A schoolmate calling your mum a clot doesn't strike me as serious."

"She is a clot," Henry burst out. "She shouldn't have been there! She embarrassed me, smoking by the fence until the teacher told her to put it out. Everybody knows you don't smoke in school. And she shouldn't have come here last night. She was never around when I wanted her. Now that things are good, she's back, and she'll ruin everything."

"No, she won't. And it's all right to feel a little sympathy for Maura," Tony said, as much to himself as to Henry. "She's your mum. She's sick and unhappy and wants to see you. That's not so hard to understand."

Henry caught his breath. "Kate's giving me back to her?"

"I didn't say—"

"I don't want to go back to her! That was a TV van out there, wasn't it? I saw the aerial. Who was she talking to?"

"No one. A gossip program of negligible influence."

Henry shot a glance at his laptop, which hadn't functioned since he spilled a glass of chocolate milk on its keyboard. "Can I use your computer? Just for a sec. I want to see what she said."

"The video won't be up yet. Come along. Lessons first, all else later." Tony ushered the boy down the hall and into Wellegrave House's gymnasium. A long, high-ceilinged room, its walls were mirrored, and its heart-of-pine floors were bare except for exercise equipment: free weights, a heavy bag, an elliptical machine, and the piste, a fourteen meter strip fitted to keep score electronically. From a wall rack, Tony selected two practice epees, both standard size; Henry had progressed sufficiently to put away his plastic child's version.

They took their places opposite one another within the strip. As instructor as well as combatant, it fell to Tony to issue the initial warning:

"
Pret
."

Henry assumed the
en guard
stance.

"
Allez
."

They began. As usual, Tony gave Henry the first lunge, parrying with minimal speed and power. On good days, the boy kept his form, lunging with back leg straight, front leg bent knee-over-ankle, thrusting his sword at a forty-five degree angle. In such cases, Tony withheld the obvious ripostes, only parrying and gently pressing forward, leaving himself open so Henry could score the occasional "touch." On bad days, Henry forgot his form, stepped off the piste with one or both feet, scored off-target touches, and occasionally fell over in his desperation to prevail. This was a very bad day.

"
Arrêt!
"

Tony put out a hand to Henry, helping the boy rise after another uncontrolled lunge led to yet another fall.

"Form! Form is paramount. From the moment you step onto the piste and assume the
en guard
stance, every move must be controlled. Precise. If you train yourself to perform correctly, thinking through each step no matter how much the effort slows you down, the day will come when you don't have to think any more. Muscle memory will take over, your speed will increase, and your mind will be free to strategize."

"I just want to attack," Henry cried. "If you'd let me fight my own way, I'd score!"

Tony removed his mask, raking fingers through his hair. He'd broken a sweat, but from frustration, not exertion. "You think so?"

"I know so."

"Very well." He switched off the piste's electronic sensors. "Step wherever you wish. Move however you want." Replacing his face mask, he resumed his position, crouching in the classic
en guard
stance.

Henry charged, driving straight ahead with his slender sword as if it were a battering ram. Tony remained motionless until the blade was
there
, in that precise opportune place. He flicked his fingers so the tip of his weapon ducked under Henry's, and the boy's epee went flying. Unable to stop, Henry crashed into him, but Tony was braced and prevented their fall.

"Care to try that again?"

He expected another outburst or tears of frustration. Instead, Henry stayed where he was, holding Tony tight.

"I'm sorry I hit that kid. I shouldn't have done it. I wanted to hit
her
."

"Yes, well, we'll work out something with the school. There's sure to be discipline, and you'll just have to bear up. The main thing is, don't do it again."

"But she's taking me, isn't she?" Henry whispered, daring to look up at him. Tony pulled off the boy's steel-fronted mask, removing his as well.

"Henry. I should have brought this up to you before. Truth is, I should have brought it up to Kate, and for that I'm sorry. But the fact is… if you're not opposed… I think it's high time we adopted you."

The boy blinked behind half-fogged spectacle lenses. "Really?"

"Really."

"But Mum said she'll take Kate to court. That no magistrate will keep a son from his mother."

"That remains to be seen."

"I heard it all, everything she said before Kate hit her. Money can't buy a child… the courts will see this for what it is…."

"Yes, well, your mother and grandmother talk a good game. And for all I know, the courts won't look kindly on the adoption. Perhaps they'll think me too old or Kate's profession too dangerous, or consider the whole thing unfair to Maura, now that she's putting her life together. I have no idea. Just tell me this. Do you want to stay here?"

"Yes." Henry had never been more adamant.

"Then you will. If my solicitors can't win the battle, they can surely drag it out for years. Long enough for you to reach legal age."

"But she—"

"Henry." Tony looked the boy in the eye. "I'm promising you this. Maura won't regain sole custody of you, not if I have to empty my bank account to prevent it." At Henry's shocked look, he laughed. "What did you think money was for?"

* * *

By half-six, most of the household was sorted. Mrs. Snell had declined to stay for dinner. After locating two rooms that would serve as a temporary "command center," as she put it, for a private investigation service, she'd left, promising to return the next morning.

Tony, Harvey, and Henry ate dinner together; Ritchie carried a plate to his TV for an early showing of
The Lego Movie
. To keep Henry off the web and away from
Best Buzz
news for as long as possible, Tony granted the boy use of the Xbox and his favorite
Star Wars
game. That was surely poor guardianship for a child sent home for fighting, but he didn't know what else to do. He had to prevent Henry from viewing the segment until he could speak to Kate.

But half-seven came, and Kate still wasn't home. On day one of a murder investigation, that was hardly surprising, but he'd expected a call, a text, something. Resisting the temptation to call her, Tony went back up to the gymnasium. He was still too tense for a passive activity like reading, and as far as pondering Hardwick's murder, well, in point of fact, his opinion wasn't wanted. That left the elliptical machine, or perhaps a few rounds with the heavy bag.

He'd scarcely put on his gloves and started swinging when he heard Kate say from the doorway, "That's a lot of aggression. I can relate."

He turned. She'd changed from her work attire to a T-shirt and trackies. Her hair was loose and wild, her face set. He'd seen that look before, the jutting jaw and flared nostrils. And like a guilty suspect, he immediately sought to remedy the situation with words.

"Kate. There's something I'd like to speak to you about. I should have done it sooner, but—"

"Don't." She held up a hand. "Don't try to manage how I feel about this, Tony. Or I swear I'll have your guts for garters."

"You heard what happened?"

She made an exasperated noise. "Of course I heard. Look at this!" Closing the distance between them, she pulled out her mobile and scrolled through the call log. "While I was interviewing Sunny Wainwright and her sister, a call from Henry's school. A call from Maura. From Henry's teacher. From Maura again. From Mum. From Harvey. From a producer at
Best Buzz
news. From Mum again. From Maura again. And then the cherry on the cow pat—a text from Sharada Bhar with a link to this: 'Peer Ignites Class Warfare with Adoption Demand.'" Kate shook her head in disbelief. "You decide you want to adopt Henry and I hear about it from
Sharada Bhar
?"

"Your voice," he said. "You might want to keep it down. I distracted Henry with the Xbox, but he still could overhear."

"Let him. He deserves to know! Last night you had the nerve to ask if I cared what Henry wants. Then you do this,
this
, without even asking him if he wants it?"

"I did ask him. This very afternoon. He said he wants to stay with us. Of course," Tony added quickly to stave off another attack, "you're right, you're quite right, I behaved badly with that TV reporter. I wanted the matter settled, and I went too far, too fast. It was inexcusable, and I hope you'll forgive me."

She sighed. The long, exasperated sound pierced him deeper than any accusation.

"Kate. I know we haven't talked about children of our own," he said, venturing into waters they'd avoided for months. "Not since the miscarriage and the complications that followed. But at your last visit, the doctor made it clear that another pregnancy is a longshot. And given my time of life and the rigors of your career… maybe that's not so terrible?" He said that last word softly, hoping he hadn't misread her feelings.

"No," she said after a moment. "Henry and Ritchie are enough. This is enough. Nothing's missing."

"So you approve of the adoption? You agree it's the best way forward?"

Kate's eyes narrowed. "Don't you go sounding all calm and reasonable. You pulled the rug out from under me. Twice in one day! Even if I agree, even if I think it's a wonderful idea, you're not getting off the hook that easily."

There was nothing he could say to that, so he kept silent, maintaining a chokehold on his emotions—his default behavior when seas turned rough. He'd never spent the night in his study before. With any luck, the sofa would be comfortable.

"Now," Kate continued. "I've been assigned to Vic Jackson for the interim, if you didn't know, but I'll bet money you did. I had to sit and listen to him apologize about you-know-what, which made me want to castrate him with a fingernail clipper. A suspect attacked me. I subdued her. I had to watch her and her sister vomit all over their shoes.
Then
I spent the afternoon taking down the names and addresses of potential drug mules. There's over fifty! Hardwick's art business was mostly a front. I still don't know if Buck killed him, but I've uncovered a good reason why somebody else might have. I'm tired, and I'm angry, and I'm getting in the shower."

"Of course," Tony murmured.

"And you're coming with me."

"Of course." Trying not to show his relief, he followed her out of the gymnasium.

Chapter Twelve

"Tony," Kate whispered. The bedroom was dark except for a single lamp. "Are you asleep?"

"No. Just keeping my eyes closed."

He looked remarkably relaxed, younger even, basking in that masculine satisfaction she took such proprietary pleasure in. This was it: as undefended as the castle got. She almost hated to attack. Almost.