Liberty for Paul (12 page)

“You wouldn’t understand,” she snapped. “Nobody understands.”

“Try me,” he growled.

“You don’t know what it’s like to grow up in my sister’s shadows,” she cried. More tears rolling down her cheeks. It almost looked like there were two streams flowing from her eyes.

“Don’t I?” he mocked. He of all people knew what it was like to grow up knowing he’d always be inferior. He wasn’t heir to a title, his brother was.

“No,” she exclaimed. “You’re handsome. You don’t know what it’s like to be plain. Unlike my sisters, who have nice hair, pretty faces and beautiful teeth, I have unremarkable hair, ordinary eyes and crooked teeth. There is nothing special about me. Therefore,” she said, trying to wiggle out from under his body, “I studied propriety as a way to make up for what I lack in beauty. There, I’ve told you everything. Are you happy now?”

“That’s why you don’t smile,” he mused disbelievingly. He rested his body’s weight on his forearms and stared down at her. She may not be a raving beauty like her sisters, but she was nowhere near as ugly as she thought herself to be.

She scowled at him. “You’re not very quick, are you, Mr. Grimes,” she said archly.

“Guess not,” he returned with a rueful smile.

“Care to share those thoughts,” she asked a minute later when he hadn’t yet wiped the giant grin from his face.

He brought his hand up and brushed back a lock of her hair that had fallen across her forehead. “Nothing really,” he said casually. “Just what I’m going to get you for St. Valentine’s Day.”

“Don’t bother,” she snapped. “There’s nothing you could give me that I could possibly want.”

“Not even a book?” Paul asked, getting on his knees and offering her his hand to help pull her up. She was hesitant to take his hand, so with a shrug, he stood up and watched her scramble to her feet.

“
No,” she said. “Well, wait unless the book is
Proper Manners for the Proper Lady
or,” she walked to the bookshelf and started scanning the titles, “
The English Wife
, or
Mrs. Sadie’s Rules for Young Ladies,
or…” her fingers trailed more spines and she let out a strangled cry. “How many have you burned?” she demanded hotly.

Paul shrugged. “Thirty. Perhaps a few more,” he said casually.

Her eyes flew to his. “You burned thirty of my books tonight?” Her voice rang with rage mixed with torment.

“No,” he said evenly. “I’ve burned only about five or so a night since they arrived.”

“You what?” she burst out. “Have you been stealing them off my nightstand?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That would be Mrs. Siddons. She doesn’t like things out of place.”

Liberty glared at him. “Has she been joining you for your nightly ritual?”

“No. It’s been a solo pursuit, I’m afraid,” he answered with an exaggerated sigh. “But if you’d like to join me,” he suggested excitedly, walking over to the books and grabbing half a dozen treatises from the end. “It’s an excellent way to relieve tension.”

“I can think of better ways to relieve tension,” she yelled. She grabbed one of the bigger volumes near her and threw it at him, clipping him in the shoulder.

“I’m sorry you did that,” he said, throwing all the books that were in his hands into the fire at one time.

Her eyes went wide and she let out a suppressed cry of rage. Grabbing another book, she took aim again and flung it at him. But this time he ducked and she missed altogether.

Paul leaned down and picked up the tome that was meant for his head. He blinked and tried not to laugh when he saw the title and the name of the author. “Hmm, I do wonder what Miss Bea Haven has to say about hurling books at one’s husband in
Please Your Husband, Please Yourself
.” He flipped through only a few pages when Liberty’s hands grabbed onto the book.

“Let go,” she said slowly, trying with all her might to keep her hold on the book. “Please.”

“Why?”

“Because I happen to like this one,” she admitted solemnly.

Paul scoffed. “I’m not letting it go. If I do, you’ll tell me you just so happen to like all of them for some idiotic reason or another. Into the fire it goes!”

“Please,” she repeated, her fingers slipping off the edge when he gave it a yank. “I…this one…it’s different.”

“How so?” he inquired. He was about to let it fly into the fire, but to hear her reason, he could wait a second.

“I bought that one based solely on the author’s name,” she said testily.

A grin split his face. “So then you
do
have a sense of humor. Very well, you may keep this one,” he said, handing the book back to her.

Her fingers snatched it from his palm and instinctively she brought it to her chest.

“But as for the rest of these,” he said, gesturing to all the other books on the shelves, “they’re not so lucky.” He started grabbing handfuls of pamphlets and treatises and tossing them into the fire.

“No!” she screamed, dropping the book she held on his desk before running to him and latching onto his arm.

Paul shook off her grasp. “Sorry, but they need to go and nobody wants them. I asked at the lending library two days ago. They don’t want them. There’s nothing else to do with them.” He shrugged. “It’s a shame to waste your father’s money this way, or to carelessly throw away paper, but at least we’ll stay warm tonight.” He shot her a quick smile as he tossed more books into the fire.

She stared at him. Her face was a mixture of distress and anger. Her lower lip quivered and tears ran down her cheeks. And yet, at the same exact time, her eyes told him her hatred for him was stronger now than ever before. “If you hate me so much, why not just ask me to leave? I would have gone if you'd have only asked it of me. But to stoop to
this
,” she said, waving a shaky hand at the fire where even more of her precious books were currently being used in place of firewood.

Paul stopped throwing books into the flames and looked at her. “Lib—Mrs. Grimes,” he began softly, “is that what you think? You think I did this because I want you to leave?”

“Yes!” Liberty shouted. “Why else would you be doing this? Why else would you do any of the things you’ve done to me since we married?”

Paul fought the urge to put his arms around her and comfort her. She thought he’d done all those things to get her to leave? That was completely opposite of what he’d been trying to do. But how could he explain that to her? How could he tell her that he wanted the woman he’d met last spring? The one who talked his ear off during dinner. The one he’d watched from across the room as she gave comfort to her sister after she’d been thrown over for one of the most unpleasant chits in society. Where was that woman? He’d liked her that night. He may not have done a very good job of showing it. But he was a man, for goodness’ sake, what did she expect?

Seeing she was still waiting for an answer, he said the truth, “I did those things because I wanted to break down your defenses. Ever since we married you’ve been acting as docile as a lamb. I don’t like it.” He let out a deep exhale. “I thought if I could vex you, you’d break out of your little act.”

“You burned my books because you intentionally wanted to vex me?!” she hollered, her eyes huge and twin red flags stained her cheeks. “Well, congratulations, Mr. Grimes, you succeeded.”

“I didn’t burn your books because I wanted to vex you. I did that because I wanted you to stop obsessing over propriety. It’s not you,” he bellowed back.

“Well, excuse me if it disappoints you that I was trying not to disappoint you,” she said with a sniff. Then before he could respond, she fled the room.

Paul stared at the door she’d just exited through. He had no idea what she meant by that last cryptic statement. With a sigh, he took a seat. He was too exhausted to keep throwing books into the fire. If she hadn’t come in when she did, he would have stopped at five like he had every other night. But when she came in the room, she’d somehow stirred the fire of his temper.

Each night he’d randomly selected five books and tossed them in. He hated having to look at them each time he came into the room. More than that though, he hated what they’d done to Liberty. Surely if it weren’t for those blasted books, she wouldn’t live her life like a crusty old bat.

He got up and walked to the hearth where the fire was still roaring. Grabbing the poker sitting to the right of the hearth, he started to bank the fire. He knew she’d find out eventually that he’d disposed of her books. He was just hoping it would be a little further down the road. Perhaps after she’d loosened up a bit, and preferably by him telling her, not by her walking into the room and witnessing it. Oh well, nothing for it now, he told himself. As funny as the situation wasn’t, he couldn’t help but smile when he thought about how she’d gone to the shelf and knew exactly which books he’d burned. So much for his random selections.

With the fire banked, he walked to the door, picking up her forgotten book on the way out. Tomorrow he’d make up for it, he promised himself. She may be hesitant to smile now, but he’d take care of that little problem tomorrow. As for tonight, he’d go to bed knowing she was upstairs thinking him an ass.

Chapter 15

“He is such an ass,” Liberty ranted to Elizabeth as soon as she walked into her drawing room the next day.

“Really, dear? Tell me about it. I’ve always been quite fascinated with equines,” Elizabeth said sweetly, pouring a cup of tea.

Liberty couldn’t help the wobbly smile that took her lips. “Unfortunately, he’s not of the four-legged variety.”

Elizabeth smiled at her warmly. “I was afraid of that. Would you care to talk about it?”

“I shouldn’t,” Liberty said solemnly before taking a sip of her tea.

“Bah! We all do things we shouldn’t,” she said, fluffing a pillow and shoving it behind her back. “I’m in ready position. Complain away, my dear.”

“He burned my books,” Liberty said testily.

Elizabeth blinked at her. “Your books?”

“My books,” Liberty repeated, nodding her head in confirmation.

“Why?” Elizabeth asked carefully.

Liberty blinked back tears. “Because he hates me.”

“That’s not true,” Elizabeth protested. “I may not be an expert when it comes to men, but even I can recognize that he doesn’t hate you.”

“Well, he certainly doesn’t love me,” Liberty retorted carelessly.

Elizabeth’s blue eyes lowered and she bit her lower lip as if she were choosing her next words with extra care. “Did you expect him to?” she said at last.

Liberty nearly choked on her tea. She hadn’t
expected
him to love her. She hadn’t even expected him to
like
her. But it surely wouldn’t have been unwelcome if he had. “No, I suppose not,” she said quietly.

Since there was nothing else to say on the subject, the two of them spoke nary a word about men for the rest of the day.

The night before when she’d been so distraught over Paul throwing all her books into the fire, she’d cried herself to sleep. But now, after nearly an entire day to get over his heartless actions, her shock and anger were giving way to thoughts of revenge.

She knew she shouldn’t want to take revenge on him. It was wrong. And, she reminded herself, it was revenge that had gotten her married to him in the first place. What would happen to her now if her plans went bust again? But then again, that was the one bright spot in a foiled revenge. She was already married to him. How could it possibly get worse?

Tonight, she told herself, after dinner she’d wait for him to go into his study, then she’d go look around his room to get ideas. Revenge was best done when planned out a bit. Obviously last time she hadn’t planned it out well enough. This time she’d have to plan better.

Dinner was awkward. But no more awkward than it had been in the past. It was just a different kind of awkward.

Her husband sat at his end of the table staring at her, drumming his long, blunt-tipped fingers on the wooden table. She’d never seen him do that and she had to resist the urge to laugh at his nervous habit. The only reason it was possible to resist was because she knew he had something up his sleeve, but unbeknownst to him, she had no intention to comply.

That morning he’d given a note to Mrs. Siddons to give to her while she was in her bath. There was no seal, but she knew who it was from. She half expected there to be words of apology or something of the like. Instead, it told her that after dinner he’d like to see her in his study. She groaned. He’d mentioned to her last night he was going to buy her a book for St. Valentine’s Day. He could toss it into the fire for all she cared. She wasn’t joining him in his study so he could give her whatever paltry book he’d bought for her.

It was about time for dessert. Liberty almost groaned with disappointment when she realized it was trifle, her favorite. Tearing her eyes away from the tempting trifle, she announced, “I’m not feeling well. I think I shall retire for the evening.”

Paul’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he murmured and went back to his food.

Her room was a bit cold and she noticed the fire was barely going. Not wanting to call Paul to help her with her fire, she bared her teeth, pulled off her gloves and got a fire going.

She’d have to spend a while up in her room before she could go raid his. There was no reason to be cold while waiting.

She walked behind her dressing screen and started to remove her gown when a sharp knock rattled the door.

***

No two ways about it, Paul was nervous. He’d never been good at impressing those of the female persuasion before, and even though Liberty was his wife, that didn’t make things any easier.

Until the night before, he’d still been unsure what he’d give her. Perhaps her barging into the room where he was burning her books was the best thing that could have happened. But he still felt uncomfortable about the display he was about to put on for her.

Last night she’d said she didn’t want anything from him and he quite believed her. In fact, if it wasn’t for his own selfish motives, he would have treated today like any other day and let her interpret that however she liked.

He’d anticipated Liberty might want to leave during dinner so he asked Mrs. Siddons to make all her favorite dishes. Now looking at her untouched trifle, he realized that either she didn’t like trifle as much as she thought, or she was so mad at him even the temptation of trifle couldn’t make her finish dinner with him.

He reached over and grabbed her dessert. A nicer man would bring this up to his “sick” wife, but he wasn’t in the mood to play her games.

A giant spoonful was heading for his mouth when he abruptly slammed down the spoon, sending some of the trifle onto the table. Better save the trifle, it might actually help him in his quest tonight, he thought, getting up from the table.

A quick stop in his study to remove his strangulating cravat and grab a few things, then he was on his way up to her room. If she thought to escape him by pretending to be sick, then she thought wrong.

He knocked on the door and waited precisely three seconds before swinging it open. He’d seen her wearing absolutely nothing before, whatever she had on just now should be adequate.

“Get out,” she shrieked from behind the dressing screen.

Paul put the things he’d been holding down on a credenza that was positioned by the wall. “No can do. I’m here to see after the welfare of my sickly wife,” he said idly while he crossed his arms and waited for her.

“I’m fine,” she ground out, making quite a lot of noise behind that screen.

“Are you sure about that? Would you like a hand?” he asked helpfully.

“No,” she exclaimed. “I do not require any help other than you leaving.”

“In that case, I’ll wait for you while you take off your gown,” he said, taking a seat on spindly chair in the corner.

“I’m not taking it off,” she said testily.

The rustling noises behind the screen sounding more agitated. “Then what are you doing?”

“I’m putting it on,” she said angrily.

“You came up here just to change gowns?” he asked, deliberately being obtuse. “Do you have an assignation with someone?”

“
No,” she snapped. “I’m putting it back on because
you
invited yourself in here. And, because
you
are not leaving. And, because I don’t want
you
to see me without it.”

“I see,” he said, drawing out his words. “You don’t need to worry about offending my sensibilities, Mrs. Grimes. I’ve seen you in far less than whatever you have on just now.”

A slipper came flying in his direction from over the top of the screen.

“Just last night I saw you in your dressing robe,” he drawled, leaning backwards in his chair.

This time a bejeweled slipper with a heel came flying over the screen.

Paul chuckled. “Would you like me to continue to recount to you all the states of undress I’ve seen you in?”

“I’ve seen you undressed, too,” she retorted.

“Yes, I know,” he conceded, getting up from his chair and walking to her wardrobe. “Do you want to see me that way again?”

“No!” she exclaimed, accidentally ripping a seam in her fabric because of her frustration.

“I think you do,” he teased, grabbing a simple frock from her wardrobe.

Liberty nearly grunted in frustration. “I have no such interest,” she declared.

“Then prove it,” Paul shot back, tossing her the frock he’d just pulled out of her wardrobe. “You have exactly two minutes to get that on and be out here. After that, for every fifteen seconds you make me wait, I’ll remove an article of clothing.” He laughed at her frustrated noises as she tried to get her old gown off. “Oh, one more thing, I’ll not be starting with my shoes, either.”

He walked to the vanity where a clock was positioned in the back corner and watched as the second hand ticked off one hundred twenty seconds. “Time’s up,” he called, then waited another fifteen seconds before tossing his coat over the screen.

“Don’t take anything else off,” she squealed from behind the screen.

“Are you dressed?” he asked, unbuttoning his waistcoat.

“No, but—”

“No ‘buts’, Mrs. Grimes, you’re late. And as you know, I prefer to be in my shirtsleeves anyway.” He tossed his waistcoat over.

“Stop! I’m dressed,” she exclaimed, coming around the corner of the screen.

His fingers froze on the buttons on his shirt. “All right,” he said hoarsely. His mouth had suddenly gone dry at the sight of her. That simple frock he thought he’d grabbed was not so simple after all. The blue silk clung to her womanly curves, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. The bodice swooped low, showing off the tops of her plump breasts. Tearing his gaze away from her chest, he gestured to the bed. “Why don’t you sit down?” His voice sounded uneven and he began to have doubts he’d be able to get through this.

Liberty took a seat and stared at him with hard eyes. “All right, Mr. Grimes, you win.” She sighed, held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Just give me the book so you can be on your way.”

Ah, the book. Good. He’d almost forgotten his purpose. “You’ll get the book. But first I have something else for you,” he said, flashing her a quick smile.

He walked over to the satchel he’d brought up with him. He pulled out several old cravats and placed them on the table. Next, he brought out a spool of silver wire in one hand and gold in the other. He placed the wire down by the cravats then pulled out a handful of metal tools. With a clang, Paul put the tools down and picked up a poorly wrapped bundle.

“
Now, Mrs. Grimes,” he said as evenly as he could. He hated calling her that. He only did it in an effort to please her, even though it drove him insane in the process. “It has come to my attention that you
do
possess a sense of humor, but you choose not to smile.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Well, m’dear, I have the perfect solution to your predicament. I shall fix your teeth,” he exclaimed excitedly and beamed at her.

Liberty stared at him unblinking. “You sir, are an imbecile. There's nothing you can do to fix my teeth.”

“So you agree there’s nothing wrong with them, then?” he asked, his eyes searching her face.

“
I didn’t say that,” she said sharply. “I said there’s nothing
you
can do to fix them.”

“I beg to differ,” he drawled. “If you’ll sit down for a second.” He waved his hand in a motion meant to stay her. “Very good. All right, the way I see it—and I could be wrong, so I’ll need to have a better look at your snappers before I can know for sure—it seems that it’s only your front tooth that’s out of line.”

Her face grew red and she pursed her lips. “If you’re going to make fun of me, you may leave right now.”

“I’m not making fun of you. And I’m certainly not leaving,” he said, his voice making it clear he was brooking no argument on the subject. “Now, as I was saying. I think if I were to take a piece of wire—either silver or gold, your choice—and wrap it around that misaligned tooth, then wrap more wire around some of the ones that are next to it, the tooth might be forced to join its brothers in line.”

Liberty looked at him like he was a simpleton. “And tell me, Mr. Grimes, just how is it that tooth going to be forced to ‘join its brothers in line’?”

“Good question, Mrs. Grimes,” he said thoughtfully. “However, I anticipated that concern and I believe every so often I’ll have to replace the wires with tighter ones.”

“So you’re saying you want to wrap wire around my front teeth and a few others and then every so often tighten this wire somehow in hopes of straightening out my front tooth?” she asked slowly, in a way a person might speak to a two year old.

“Yes, exactly,” he said, nodding his head as if he were the smartest man in existence. “Either I’ll replace the wire with shorter ones, causing your teeth to have to shift on their own. Or I’ll just grab the end of the wire with these,” he held up a tool that had a v-shaped handle that when squeezed, the long pointy ends came together, “and give it a jerk, then clip the extra off with a pair of scissors.” He shrugged. “We’ll have to work out the maintenance later. Right now I’m just telling you my idea.”