Pride and Fire (20 page)

He would have laughed if he had the strength. “Lord, how you please me.”

The carriage rolled on for a few more minutes, giving them time to rearrange themselves. As the carriage rocked to a stop, Paul ran his gaze over her. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips a bit swollen. He smiled crookedly at her and she blinked at him in confusion.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, running her hands over her hair, her dress.

“No, love,” he said. “Everything’s perfect.”

He helped her down from the carriage and followed her up the stairs to their chamber. After their explosive release in the carriage they were able to take their time pleasuring each other, and it wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that they fell into exhausted slumber, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms.

When Paul woke the next morning, his mind went swiftly to the work waiting in his study. With Parliament set to adjourn in less than two weeks, his clients were eager to get their proposals heard. There were three speeches awaiting finishing touches, as well as several folders needing immediate attention.

He looked over at his wife, so beautiful even as she slept. He brushed her hair off of her face and dropped a kiss on her brow. She stirred and mumbled his name.

“Morning, love,” he whispered.

Michelle didn’t even open her eyes. Paul smiled to himself, guessing the cause for her exhaustion.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and rose. He saw to his morning toilette, and dressed quickly. He went downstairs to the breakfast room and served himself, his mind focused on the speeches awaiting him.

Later that morning, he was fully immersed in his work. He put the finishing touches on a speech arguing against the Chancery Court, using the points Michelle had brought up in one of their spirited debates. His thoughts went to his lovely wife then, to her quick mind as well as her beautiful face. He recalled the incredible passion they’d shared last night. He’d never felt for another woman the desire he felt for Michelle.

A soft rapping came at his study door, bringing him out of his reverie. He set his work aside. “Come in.”

As if he’d summoned her with his thoughts, Michelle stood framed in the doorway. She wore a day dress of white, sprinkled with tiny blue flowers. Her upswept hair shone, several glossy red curls teasing her cheeks and shoulders. She wore a sweet smile.

“Good morning, husband.”

Paul blinked at her. Would he ever get used to her beauty? He stood up behind his desk.

“Hello, love,” he said. “I was afraid you’d sleep the day away.”

Michelle placed her hands on her hips. “I didn’t get much rest last night. First the carriage ride home and then …” She shrugged with a wanton’s smile on her lips.

He chuckled and motioned for her to come to him but she hesitated. “What is it, Michelle? You’re welcome in my study.”

“I … thought after our disagreement the other day, I wouldn’t be.”

Guilt niggled at him. “Nonsense. Come here, wife.”

Michelle crossed to him and they shared a kiss. “Do you have much work today, Paul?” she asked, her attention on the papers littering his desk.

He froze at her words. “Um, not much,” he said, keeping his tone light.

He sat back down in his chair, taking her with him. She ran her fingers through his hair, trying to smooth the mess he’d made while wracking his brain for eloquence.

“What do you have planned this day?” he asked. “More redecorating?”

She shook her head in answer, a smile teasing her lips. She shifted in his lap and fingered the folders on his desk. “What are all of these?”

He went rigid in the chair. She must’ve felt the change in him for she turned to face him once more.

“Michelle,” he began, “I don’t want to—”

“Never mind,” she rushed out, her eyes round. “Pray, forget I said anything.”

Paul opened his mouth to respond, but couldn’t think of anything to say. He wouldn’t discuss his work with her. He let the silence win.

After a few uncomfortable moments, she slid off of his lap. Would this awkwardness persist? She brushed her hands over her skirt as she kept her gaze on the polished wood floor.

“I’ll leave you to your business, Paul.”

He stared at her bowed head. “Where are you going?”

“I suppose I’ll work on my needlepoint,” she said without enthusiasm.

She kissed him lightly and left him there. He waited until she had closed the door, then opened one of the folders and resumed his work.

Michelle sat in the parlor, her needlework clutched tightly in her hands, her blood boiling at what happened in the study. She didn’t know what made her angrier, Paul’s icy dismissal to her simple question or her own simpering response. She felt like a fool. First she tried in vain to get her husband to open up to her, then she meekly accepted his refusal!

With a sigh of irritation, she focused on the square of linen in her lap. What was so important in those folders, anyway? And why was it such a big secret? She vowed to get to the bottom of the matter, whether her husband liked it or not.

* * * *

Starks rapped on the study door. When Paul bade him to enter, the servant advised him luncheon was served.

“Lady Leed awaits you in the dining room, My Lord.”

Paul nodded, setting his work aside once more. “Thank you, Starks.”

The servant turned on his heel and went about his duties. Paul closed the inkwell and stood. He thought of Michelle and their strained conversation that morning and hoped it wouldn’t tarnish the rest of their day together.

Michelle looked up at him as he entered the dining room. “Hello, husband.”

She had an easy smile for him, the sparkle back in her eyes, but he sensed all was not as he might have wished. Well, he could certainly set it aside if she could.

“Hello, love,” he returned, kissing her on her offered cheek.

Paul joined her at the table. He watched her closely as they shared their meal, a light fare of cold meats and fresh bread accompanied by a thin soup. Maybe she had put aside the incident in the study. She seemed as pleased as he was to speak of other matters.

“I thought we might take a ride this afternoon, Michelle,” he offered. “Would that be agreeable to you?”

“But what of your work?”

“Bother my work, darling.” He took her hand with a small chuckle. “It’s nothing of importance.”

She was quiet for a moment, her brows drawn together. Had he stepped in it again?

“Michelle?”

She lifted her head and smiled sweetly at him. “I’d love to take a ride with you, Paul.”

He brushed his lips on her fingers and released them. If a thin line appeared between her delicate brows, if her lush mouth seemed a bit tight at the corners, he wouldn’t think on it.

Chapter 19

That night, in the big four-poster in their bedchamber, Paul stared up at the ceiling. He thought about the work he’d neglected that afternoon, feeling guilty despite the pleasant time he’d spent with his wife. She’d seemed to lose her stiffness over the course of their afternoon together, to his great relief. And at the moment Michelle was curled up against his side, lightly snoring in her slumber. The sheets were down around his waist, and barely covering her bottom. He trailed his fingers over her naked back, marveling at her smooth skin. She sighed and cuddled closer, rubbing her cheek against his chest.

He brushed her glorious hair aside and looked down at her. So lovely. So passionate. But with his work awaiting him in the study, it was best to let her sleep.

Paul lifted Michelle’s arm off of his chest and slid away from her. She muttered something in her sleep and turned, cuddling into her pillow. Smiling to himself, he pulled the covers up over her shoulder. He donned his shirt and breeches and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

Nearly three hours later, he wearily climbed the stairs up to their bedchamber. Entering, he saw that Michelle was still fast asleep. He tossed his shirt onto the chair near the door and climbed back into bed. After stretching out beside her he was asleep in mere minutes.

Michelle’s eyes snapped open. She’d awakened the moment he’d left their bed hours earlier, not surprised to find his side of the bed empty. Several times over the last week she’d awakened in the middle of the night only to find him gone. Her body was so accustomed to Paul’s she sensed even in her slumber when he left her side. She knew without checking he’d been downstairs in his study, as she’d found previously. At lunch he’d said his work wasn’t important. She snorted. It kept him up night after night!

She’d resisted the urge to confront him before he left the chamber and had forced herself to try to get some sleep. Now she sat up and looked at him, reading the exhaustion on his face. That only strengthened her resolve to get to the bottom of the matter. If she knew precisely what kept him so busy, perhaps she could help. She was no simpering miss, willing to perch on a brocade chaise while her husband toiled in secret. Wasn’t he working for the both of them? Shouldn’t she have a part in the endeavor, whatever it might be?

She retrieved her nightgown and wrapper from the foot of the bed and went downstairs to the study. What she found there amazed her. She closed the door and crossed to the desk, nearly covered with neat piles of folders. Several of the folders were quite thick.

Sitting down in the big chair behind the desk, she took a folder from the closest pile. When she opened it she found that the first paper wasn’t in Paul’s handwriting. It bore a name she didn’t recognize, along with a paragraph describing the unknown man’s views on the use of volunteers in the army. She put that paper aside and was startled to see Paul’s distinctive hand had penned a long oration on the proceeding pages. She found herself engrossed in the work, pulled along by the eloquence with which Paul stated the man’s opinions. She finished reading the file and opened the one beneath it. Inside the folder she found the name of yet another unknown man, followed by a statement of his views on the Chancery Court. She arched a brow when she read that the man held the same opinion of it she did. She went on to read Paul’s persuasive argument on the man’s behalf using some of the examples she’d provided him in one of their arguments. How curious.

She merely thumbed through the remaining folders, finding more of the same—brief descriptions of varying topics of political importance followed by Paul’s lengthy writings. Bemused, she sat back in the chair.

What did all of this mean? She was surprised at the incredibly well-written speeches, true. But what would prompt her husband to write them?

She closed the last folder and stacked them as they were. That was when her eyes fell on the leather-bound ledger. After a quick guilty glance toward the closed study door, she opened the ledger. She read over the last few entries, overwhelmed to see the exorbitant sums that came from the sale of Paul’s speeches. Some paid nearly one thousand pounds! Paging through the book, she noticed he’d been writing speeches sporadically for the past two years. But he’d increased the number of speeches written just this past summer. Soon after their engagement. Why?

She scanned his accounts, her curiosity unbridled now. She saw that the upkeep of his estate was a constant draw on his assets. And though his speechwriting contributed significantly to his accounts, his coffers were still strained. Then why did he refuse to accept her dowry? She’d find some way to have her money transferred into his accounts. No doubt he’d refuse her again but it didn’t matter. She’d see it done. Either with his permission or without.

Michelle yawned and closed the book. Taking care to leave the desk as she found it, she left Paul’s study. She returned to their room and gazed down at her very handsome, very surprising husband, irritated he’d shared nothing with her, neither his wonderful work nor the problems with his accounts.

Marriage partners in name only was nothing she ever thought she wanted. Well, she wouldn’t settle for it now. She crawled into bed beside him, firm in her conviction to set things straight.

* * * *

Morning sunlight streamed through the windows of the bedchamber. Michelle stirred, her eyes fluttering open. Looking at Paul, she wasn’t surprised he was still in a deep sleep. He wasn’t only awake for long hours last night, he’d been working feverishly in those hours.

She’d speak to Paul about her dowry directly, before she lost her resolve. And if she didn’t get the answer she wanted, she’d take matters into her own hands. She climbed out of bed and went into the dressing room. She wanted her wits about her when she confronted him, and it wouldn’t do to be cuddled up beside him. With one touch he could send all thought flitting from her mind. She finished her dress without Betsy’s assistance and returned to the chamber. Running her brush ruthlessly through her thick curls, she waited for Paul to awaken.

Paul finally stirred and she turned in her chair to face the bed.

“Good morning, Paul,” she said.

He stretched his big frame, a deep sigh of satisfaction coming from him. “What time is it?”

“Nearly nine o’clock.”

His brow furrowed in confusion as he took in her appearance. She endeavored to present a serious picture, squeezing her hands in her lap and keeping her back straight.

“Why are you up and dressed, love?” he asked. “Do you have an appointment?”

She shook her head and stood.

He propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes dark. “Then why don’t you come back to bed?”

She couldn’t stop her eyes from running over him. He’d pushed the sheets aside when he stretched, and wore only his breeches. His body was dark against the bedclothes, strong and powerful-looking. She brought her gaze to his face. His smile widened at the obvious interest in her gaze.

She blinked then, bringing herself out of her reverie. “No,” she said firmly. “There is something I wish to discuss with you, and I prefer to do it from this position.”

“What?” He lost his smile and sat up. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” she said. “But I believe we can put it to rights, provided you are reasonable.”