Pride and Fire (17 page)

“Well, that’s something,” Roberts said. “Surely funds come from them?”

Graves shook his head. “Unfortunately, gentlemen, any monies paid for rent go back into maintenance.”

Paul nodded. “I know. The estate house itself is a huge draw on those funds.”

“I say, Leed, your recent deposits have increased your coffers,” Graves said.

Paul took some comfort that his late-night speechwriting was paying off. “Yes.”

“What of your wife’s dowry?” Graves asked. “The late Earl of Thomasham’s solicitors have been in contact with me, and—”

“Never mind,” Paul said. “That’s a matter for another day.”

Chester and Roberts exchanged a puzzled look.

“Leed, didn’t you—?” Chester began.

Paul held up one hand. “How did my father accumulate theses debts?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Graves said.

“I’m tired of half-truths,” Paul said. “My father would tell me nothing when I questioned him, but I expect better from you.”

Graves held out his hands. “I assure you, Leed, if I knew the nature of his debts I would tell you.”

Paul studied the man for a long moment. Finally, he nodded and Graves relaxed visibly. The three gentlemen stood then, ready to take their leave.

Paul turned to Graves. “I now have a wife to look after, Graves. You’ll tell me before handling anything for my father.”

“Leed, I can’t—”

“You will,” Paul stated.

The man gave a small nod and Paul joined his friends in the carriage.

“Leed,” Chester began, “what’s this about Michelle’s dowry?”

“I’m not taking her money,” Paul said.

“But that’s ridiculous,” Roberts said.

“Don’t think to advise me on the matter, Roberts,” Paul said.

Roberts pulled back and Paul immediately regretted his harsh words.

“Forgive me,” Paul said. “It’s a sore point for me.”

Roberts nodded. “Then let’s focus instead on a plan of action to get to the bottom of your father’s debts.”

“Capital idea, Roberts,” Paul agreed.

* * * *

Back at the townhouse, Michelle occupied herself by having the furniture in the parlor rearranged. Now the settees flanked the fireplace, creating an inviting conversation area. Some of the pieces from her mother’s house had arrived, and she found they fit in quite nicely. The new pillows she’d ordered, along with matching drapes, tied the room’s decor together. She placed a vase of fresh flowers on the table between the two large windows and nodded in approval, her arms crossed in front of her.

She moved on to the sitting room in the front of the house. As she walked into the foyer, someone knocked at the front door. Finding Starks absent for once, Michelle opened the door. A messenger stood on the steps, a large parcel tucked beneath one arm. He took off his hat and bowed to her, recognizing her as the lady of the house.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“Beggin’ your pardon, My Lady,” the young man said. “I’ve some documents for Viscount Leed.”

Michelle smiled and held out a hand. “Well, I’ll take them.”

Michelle watched as color flamed the man’s cheeks. He recovered himself and handed her the parcel. She thanked him, closed the door, and brought the papers to Paul’s study. The contents in the parcel shifted, drawing her curiosity. She couldn’t resist taking a peek. After a quick glance at the door, she untied the flap and peered inside. She was surprised to find several folders tucked neatly into the large envelope. She read the labels attached to each one. The army? The Chancery Court? Each label listed a different subject of political interest. As she began to withdraw one of the folders, guilt niggled at her. She closed the parcel and set it aside. As she went to the front sitting room, curiosity still thrummed within her.

She picked up a piece of ever-present needlepoint and tried to turn her mind from the contents of those folders.

* * * *

Paul entered the townhouse and found Michelle in the parlor, her head bowed as she focused on her needlework. He smiled at the pleasing picture she made. The sunlight streaming through the window behind her made her golden-red curls appear like a halo. She looked like an angel. Her angelic appearance was marred as she dropped a stitch and cursed.

As she pulled the offending thread loose, she pricked her finger with the needle and let out a gasp. She placed the finger in her mouth to soothe the injury. Paul’s body hardened at that provocative image.

“Hello, love,” he said softly.

Michelle looked up in surprise. She pulled her finger out of her mouth with a soft “pop.” “Paul. Have you been… standing there long?”

“Long enough,” he teased, coming to stand over her.

Michelle put aside her work and stood. She turned her face up to his and he kissed her.

“I trust you and Lord Chester concluded your business?” she asked.

Her question brought back the frustration he’d felt in Graves’ office. “For now.”

He lowered himself onto the settee, pulling her down to sit closely beside him. Taking her hand in his, he located the tiny injury on her finger and kissed it gently.

“And what have you been about while I was gone?” he asked.

She wore an expectant smile on her face. “Do you notice anything different?”

Paul saw only her, not their surroundings. He blinked. “You cut your hair.”

“Yes, but—”

“Why?” he asked.

She tried to smooth the curls near her cheeks. “You don’t like it?”

Paul stilled her hands. “You look beautiful, love.”

His fingers tunneled through the silky curls framing her face, bringing his lips to hers. He pulled back and smiled. “I knew something was different this morning, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.”

She returned his smile. “But what of the room, husband?”

He arched a brow in question and looked about. “The room?”

She nodded. He sensed her excitement and thought to tease her.

“You moved some furniture,” he said. “It looks pleasant enough.”

She gave an unladylike snort. She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide as he chuckled deeply.

“It looks very nice, Michelle,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “Though I admit I don’t pay much notice to our surroundings when you’re in the room.”

“Oh, Paul.” She laughed.

Paul stroked her back, feeling the tension he’d carried all morning finally begin to ease. Lord, she felt good in his arms. Michelle settled against him, letting out a sigh.

“What are you thinking, wife?”

“I’m thinking it’s quite pleasant sitting here with you.”

Paul was thinking of the passion they’d shared in the parlor a few days earlier. Michelle’s eyes widened when he flashed her a wicked grin.

“Paul, what are you…?” She gasped. “Paul, we can’t.”

He gave a slow nod. He stood, pulling her gently to her feet. Michelle picked up her skirts, bound for the open doors, but he got there before her. He closed the doors and leaned against them, his gaze roaming over her.

She backed way from him. “Paul, you ripped the front of my dress the last time, and I won’t let you to ruin this one.”

He stepped away from the door and stood very close to her.

“Paul,” she whispered. “Why don’t we go upstairs?”

“Ah, Michelle,” he sighed. “I can’t wait that long.”

She looked up, her eyes reflecting the heat in his as he began to lift the hem of her skirt.

Afterward Michelle sagged against him, her legs still wrapped around his waist. Paul leaned against the wall, holding up the two of them. He kissed her nose, her brow, as he waited for his breathing to slow.

“Ah, wife,” he rasped. “That was incredible.”

She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Thank you, husband,” she said softly.

“For what?”

“For not ripping my dress.”

He threw his head back and laughed, hugging her tightly. “Is it any wonder I love you?”

Chapter 17

They managed to disentangle themselves and straighten their clothing. Smoothing her hair, Michelle rang for tea. Paul watched her as she arranged herself on the settee. She looked delectable. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen from kisses.

Starks brought in the tray. If the servant noticed anything amiss, he gave no indication. Good man. The butler placed the tea service, accompanied by a dish of biscuits, on the table and left them alone. He did, however, close the doors behind him on the way out of the parlor.

Paul chuckled and turned back to his wife. Her eyes were opened wide, her mouth an O. He knew precisely what was on her mind. “What is it, love?”

“Paul,” she began. “Y-you don’t think Starks heard us, do you?”

“Oh, certainly not,” he lied.

She breathed a sigh of relief and poured out the tea. He hid his grin and helped himself to tea and a few biscuits.

She lifted her tea cup to her lips. “Paul, some documents came for you today.”

He stiffened. “Did Starks tell you that?”

“No,” she said. “I took them from the messenger myself.”

He set his cup down and raked his fingers through his hair. “I take it you left them in my study?” he said, trying to keep his tone light.

“Yes. What are they?”

“I told you before. I was looking over some papers for a friend.”

“But surely you can’t have the time to review such things.”

“What I do with my time is my business,” he said, his tone sharper than he’d intended.

She placed her cup on the tray and stared at him. “You don’t have to get angry with me, Paul. I simply thought if this person is politically-minded, then surely he can see to these matters himself.”

He took a short breath. “What, precisely, do you mean by ‘politically-minded’?”

Michelle looked down and ran her hands over the folds of her skirt. “I admit I glanced at the folders and—”

“You looked at the folders?” He came to his feet. “Which folders?”

She winced. “The folders in the parcel.”

Paul fisted his hands at his side. “Why, you intrusive, meddlesome little—”

Michelle stood, glaring up at him. “I won’t have you speak to me that way.”

“You had no right to look into things that don’t concern you.”

“I may have glanced at the papers, Paul,” she said, her voice shaking. “But that is no reason for you to treat me like… like…”

He’d never seen her at a loss for words and it cut him. He reached for her. “Michelle—”

She pulled out of his grasp and ran from the room. He stared after her, his mouth agape. He knew why he was so mad—he feared she’d find out about his work. She had no idea, though. God, he’d reacted without thinking. She hadn’t gone through his desk, only the parcel that arrived that day.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he went into his study and poured himself a brandy. If he didn’t do something to calm his nerves, he was liable to lash out at her again. He loved her too much to lose her over some silly papers. Damn his father’s odd behavior and his own need to write the bloody speeches!

* * * *

Michelle ran up to their chamber and paced, fuming. How could Paul be so tender one moment and so hateful the next? True, she shouldn’t have looked in the envelope. But his reaction seemed excessive, even given their past quarrels. He’d been as angry as when they’d discussed her dowry.

Michelle rang for Betsy and ordered a bath. She felt less than fresh from their hurried lovemaking, but that wasn’t her sole reason for the bath. The water would soothe her nerves. And if she didn’t calm herself down she’d never get through an entire evening in her husband’s company.

The tub ready, she sank into the steaming water and tried to put the afternoon’s argument out of her mind.

“Paul had better do something to cool his ire,” she grumbled to herself.

When Michelle joined Paul in the dining room, she felt more relaxed. She wore a dress of deep burgundy, the color somber and suited to her mood. She watched Paul’s eyes as he ran them over her, reading desire and guilt in them. Good.

“Michelle,” he said gruffly, “I… I wish to apologize for my behavior this afternoon.”

She kept her eyes downcast as she sat. “I had no right to look through your things.”

“Yes, but—”

Michelle looked up at him then. “You see, I’m an intrusive, meddlesome little creature and couldn’t help myself.”

Paul couldn’t hide his smile. She caught his amusement and looked away, her chin held high.

“I truly am sorry, love,” he said.

She rang for dinner. Neither one of them mentioned their heated words again though the subject hung in the air.

After dinner, they adjourned to the parlor. Paul poured himself a brandy while Michelle sipped from her cup of tea. “Would you like to play a game of cards, Michelle?”

“If you feel up to the challenge, Paul,” she said, setting her cup down. She stood and crossed to the little table set between the two windows and opened the drawer in it. Extracting a deck of cards from within, she turned back to him. “Beggar My Neighbor?”

“Capital idea. Fast paced with plenty of opportunity for confrontation.”

Paul was right. In the game the players split the deck and took turns flipping over their top cards. The loser of each match had to give cards over to the winner. The object was, of course, to be the one left with the entire deck.

“Goodness knows we never have much opportunity for confrontation.”

Michelle sat down on the settee and Paul pulled over one of the side tables. She placed the cards on the table and gave him half the deck.

“And what do I get if I win all the cards, wife?”

“Are you feeling overconfident, husband? All right. Winner’s choice.”

He nodded as they began the game. They took turns flipping over their cards one at a time. After the first hand, Michelle won all the cards on the table, much to Paul’s chagrin. Play continued for well over an hour as the two of them grew more at ease with each other. On the last hand, Paul raised his fist with a whoop of triumph.

Michelle eyed her husband. He held all the cards in his hand. And a glint in his eye, she noticed. A tingle tickled its way down her spine.