Pride and Fire (15 page)

At least he didn’t have to worry that Burns knew about his finances. Chester had dropped by that afternoon and told him Burns spread such lies to other attached ladies, hoping to lure them into arrangements. Paul shook his head. Little wonder, that. Why else would a woman want to dally with that weasel? His words hit too close to home for Paul’s comfort, however. If Michelle ever found out that Paul had to work, that he was in financial trouble… Well, he wasn’t in dun territory yet.

Stifling a yawn, he let himself into their bedroom. Shrugging off his shirt, he climbed into bed and stretched out on his back. Michelle must have sensed his presence, for she quickly curled up against his side.

“It’s all for you, love,” he whispered.

She made no answer, just tucked her head against his shoulder.

He draped his arm over her and fell into a deep sleep.

At breakfast the next morning, Michelle served herself from the sideboard. “Paul, are your ledgers still troubling you?”

He hesitated, grateful that she wasn’t facing him. “Not particularly. Why do you ask?”

She joined him at the table and sat. “I wondered what kept you up so late last night.”

He started, at a loss for words.

“Were you working on your ledgers?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep, that’s all.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “You should’ve awakened me, husband.”

If only he could’ve spent those long, dark hours loving his wife.

“Next time I will. What say you to a ride after breakfast, love?”

“That sounds lovely, Paul.”

As they ate, Paul attempted to wash away his guilt with several cups of coffee. After their meal, Michelle hurried upstairs to fetch her hat and gloves. Paul watched her go, waiting until she turned at the top of the stairs.

“Starks,” he called.

Starks joined him in the foyer. “Yes, My Lord?”

“I need you to deliver some documents for me.”

The butler followed him into the study. Starks nodded as Paul handed him the sealed file and they walked back to the foyer. Michelle came down the stairs as Paul closed the door behind Starks.

“Has someone called, husband?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then why were you looking outside?”

Guilt slashed at him. “I was checking to see if the day was as beautiful as my wife deserves.” So easy the lies came to him now.

Thankfully she laughed at his foolish words, and he led her out to the waiting curricle.

That afternoon, Michelle sat in the parlor working on a piece of needlework when Paul called to her from the doorway. She looked up, her face still scrunched in concentration.

“Absorbing, is it?” he teased, crossing over to her.

She arched a brow at him and set her work aside. “Have you finally come out of your cave?”

He crossed the room to join her on the settee. “Yes.”

With a sigh, Michelle leaned against him. “I’ve missed you, husband.”

He gently grasped her chin and brought her face to his. Her eyes glittered as he brought his lips to hers.

“My Lord,” Starks called from the doorway. “I have some papers for—” He stopped when Michelle glanced at him.

Paul jerked his head back. “That’s fine, Starks. Please put them in my study.”

Starks bowed. “Certainly, My Lord.”

The butler swiftly closed the double doors.

“Paul, what was Starks talking about?” Michelle asked. “What papers?”

“It’s nothing, love,” Paul said. “I promised a friend I would look over some documents for him.”

Surely she thought there was more to the matter than what he was saying, but she didn’t press him. That should have put him on his guard, but the expression on her face as he shrugged out of his jacket and laid it across the back of the settee was enough to set the matter aside.

“Now, wife,” he began. “What were you saying? Something about missing me?”

His desire was mirrored on her beautiful face and he sharply drew in a breath. She gave him a slow nod, sending his pulse pounding. The parlor was as interesting as their bed chamber, and his wife proved a match to his appetites there as well.

Later that night, with his wife curled up against his side, guilt struck Paul once more. Again he’d told her lies and half-truths. He couldn’t tell her about his work. That would reveal his father’s problems, the problems with his inheritance. As an heiress, she could never understand his shame. He let out a loud sigh. Michelle started at the sound, picking her head up.

“Paul, what…?” she murmured, still half-asleep.

“Shh, love,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

He’d barely given the gentle command before she was once more snoring lightly against his chest. His mind went to his government work.

He was very proud of the speeches he’d written, proud of his ability to take the kernel of an idea and bring it forth eloquently. Yes, he did sometimes have the unpleasant task of writing from viewpoints that were ridiculous in the least and dangerous in the worst. But that was to be expected when one was a speechwriter. He sighed again, softly this time. He dropped a kiss on Michelle’s head and finally let sleep claim him.

* * * *

Michelle came to Paul’s study late the next morning. “I thought I’d pay a call on my mother again today.”

“That’s fine, love.” He folded the letter he’d been reading and set it aside. “Give your mother my best.”

“And won’t you accompany me, husband?”

Paul blinked at her in surprise. Her mother’s chattering rivaled Catherine and Elizabeth’s. He saw the twinkle in Michelle’s eye and chuckled as he came to his feet.

“No, wife,” he said. “I believe the Thomas women can find plenty to discuss without the addition of your clod of a husband.”

Michelle smiled up at him. “If you insist, Paul.”

He took her hands in his. “Besides, I have some correspondence to finish.”

She reached up on tiptoe and kissed him lightly. “As you like it. I’ll tell Starks to have the carriage brought around front.”

Paul nodded and watched her go, a half-smile on his lips. With a sigh of resignation, he settled himself behind his desk again. He picked up the note he’d received a week earlier and unfolded it once more. It was from the late Earl of Thomasham’s solicitors, requesting he see to the transfer of Michelle’s dowry. When he’d read the amount of money involved, he’d been shocked. Her father dowered her with nearly fifty-five thousand pounds! Impossible.

“What self-respecting man would take that kind of money?” he grumbled aloud. “Not me. Never.”

Michelle had sensed his preoccupation just last evening at dinner, but he’d convinced her he was just tired. How could he tell her his stomach turned at the mere thought of accepting her money? So he’d put the matter aside. Then he’d loved her until any questions she might pursue were pushed out of her lovely head.

But now, with a second request delivered yesterday, he couldn’t ignore it any longer. He’d have to inform the solicitor that he didn’t want her money.

He crumpled the note in his fist and threw it in the trash. “Bloody Hell. I won’t think about it today.” He turned his attentions to the stack of documents demanding his writing skills and put the matter of Michelle’s money out of his mind.

“Paul Talbot,” he swore to himself, “you’re a coward.”

* * * *

Michelle had a lovely visit with her mother, discussing the balls she and Paul had attended recently. Lady Helen wished to hear all of the gossip, a request Michelle was well able to oblige. Spending so much time with Paul’s sisters at the bashes had certainly expanded her knowledge of the goings-on in their social circle. Some of the tales had nearly burned Michelle’s ears, they were so salacious. Her mother reveled in the stories and told her daughter some of her own, gleaned from calls paid on her oldest, dearest friends.

The morning passed swiftly, and the ladies went into the dining room for lunch. There they shared a meal of sliced ham and roasted potatoes.

“Michelle, dear,” Lady Helen began, cutting into her meat. “I received a note from your father’s solicitor this morning.”

“Really?” Michelle asked. “What did he want?”

“It seems Lord Leed hasn’t yet seen to the transfer of your dowry.”

Michelle blinked in surprise. “But I assumed that had been taken care of weeks ago.”

“Perhaps it’s just an oversight on his part, dear,” her mother said. “I wouldn’t fret about it.”

“Yes,” Michelle said. “He… he has been busy of late.”

“That’s it, then,” Lady Helen agreed.

Although Lady Helen tried to persuade Michelle to stay to tea, she was eager to get back to her husband directly after lunch. “I’ll see you soon, Mother.” She kissed her mother on the cheek.

“Do give dear Paul my greetings.”

Michelle nodded and took her leave. “That and more, I daresay.”

As Michelle rode back to the townhouse, her mind worked. Why hadn’t Paul taken her money? She’d assumed it had been taken care of weeks ago, after the wedding. She’d ask him about it when she got home.

“And let him try to kiss the question off my lips,” she muttered. “I’ll have my answers.”

Chapter 15

Michelle went directly to Paul’s study.

“Hello, husband,” she said, peeling off her gloves.

Paul looked up, his eyes taking a moment to clear. “Hello, love.” He stood and came around the desk. He kissed her lightly. “Did you have a nice visit with your mother?”

“It was pleasant, yes.”

Suddenly unsure of her next words, she turned to gaze out the window into the courtyard beyond. How should she bring up the subject of her dowry?

“Michelle,” Paul began. “Is something bothering you?”

“What? Oh, it’s nothing, I suppose.” She fiddled with her gloves, creasing and smoothing the kid leather. “An oversight, I’m certain.”

He crossed over to where she stood. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him. “What is it?”

She gazed up at him, encouraged by the open interest on his face. “Paul, my mother said my father’s solicitors have been in contact with her.”

He stiffened and stepped away from her. She didn’t much like the glacial look that crossed his face.

“Oh?” he asked.

She sensed something odd in his tone. “Yes,” she replied. “They told her you haven’t claimed my dowry.”

He looked away, shuffling the papers on his desk. She came to stand in front of him.

“Paul?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

“Were you aware of this?”

After another long moment, he looked her in the eye. “Yes,” he said. “I have no intention of transferring your dowry into my accounts.”

“But…” she stammered. “Why not?”

“I’m not taking your money, Michelle,” he said in a clipped tone.

Her confusion swiftly turned to irritation. “Paul, my father left that money for me and my husband,” she said, her anger rising. “For our children.”

“That’s of no consequence.”

“No consequence?” she repeated, incredulous. “How dare you say such a thing!”

“I won’t speak of this now,” he said. Again he turned away from her.

She clenched her fists at her sides, her back ramrod stiff. A dark thought struck her, one she almost didn’t want to give voice. “You…You don’t want my money because that would mean I bring something to this marriage.”

He looked at her then, his eyes narrowing. “That’s not—”

“Yes!” she cried. “This way, I am beholden to you. You own me!”

“Michelle, don’t be ridiculous.”

She didn’t heed the warning in his voice, her blood roaring in her ears. “You insult me greatly, Lord Leed. If you don’t accept my money, you don’t accept me.”

With that, she turned on her heel to take her leave.

He reached out and grasped her arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Michelle looked down at his fingers, wrapped tightly around her arm. “Take your hand from me.”

“You’re my wife.”

“That’s right,” she returned, glaring up at him. “I belong to you. I’m your property, your chattel. Take me, then! Do what you will!”

Paul grabbed her to him, his hot gaze scorching her. She closed her eyes and braced herself for his assault, afraid she’d give into his demands in a heartbeat. Finally he released her and pushed her away. He wanted her, his desire was palpable. His nostrils flared and his body was tense.

“What’s the matter, Lord Leed?” she taunted. “Don’t you want me?”

He raked his fingers through his hair, taking in a deep breath. “Not like this.”

She spun around and ran from the room, so angry she could spit. How dare he treat her like a possession! By refusing her dowry, he rendered her helpless, completely under his control. She threw down her gloves and stripped off her day dress. Her body burned, from anger at Paul’s actions and words and shame from her own response to his manhandling. Clad in her chemise and petticoat, she threw herself down on the bed.

“This is not over, Paul,” she gasped.

Then to her disgust she cried hot bitter tears.

* * * *

That evening, Paul ate alone in the dining room. He’d heard her stomp up the stairs that afternoon and slam their bedroom door. He’d nearly followed her to finish what they’d started. Oh, not their ridiculous conversation about her dowry. That discussion was well over. But he’d nearly taken her in his study, his anger and desire so sharp he nearly couldn’t breathe.

After staring at Michelle’s empty chair for another long minute, he called to a maid.

“Yes, My Lord?” she asked.

“Bring a tray to Lady Leed,” he told her.

To his dismay the maid returned with the tray soon after, the food untouched.

“Lady Leed said she wishes nothing at present, My Lord,” she reported.

“Very well,” Paul grumbled.

He finished his meal without tasting it and went upstairs. He started to push open the door to their bedroom, but checked his actions. He raised his fist instead and rapped lightly on the wood panel.

“Tell Lord Leed I need nothing from him,” he heard Michelle say from inside.

Paul pushed the door open then. “He would disagree with you.”