Pride and Fire

by JoMarie DeGioia

  Paul turned to glare at him. “What happened to all of it, Father?”

  His father pulled back, suddenly looking all of his fifty-three years. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  His father closed his eyes, his skin ashen. Swallowing any pity, Paul let out a grunt of frustration and stalked out of the townhouse.

  What the bloody hell had happened to all of his father’s deeded properties? How could he marry Michelle now, with his prospects so cloudy? He needed to be certain of his ability to provide for her and any children they might have. And if last night’s passionate display was any indication, it wouldn’t be long after their wedding before he had another mouth to feed.

  He leaned his head back and took a deep breath. Well, he’d have to increase his government work, now. Damn, he could think of more pleasant ways to spend his time. More clients meant more speeches, true. And that meant more money in the long run.

  The wedding would simply have to wait.

  “Forgive me, Michelle.”

  He wouldn’t put off his engagement, however. He’d die before he’d let another man have the chance to win her away from him.

  * * * *

  It was tea time, and Michelle stood in the parlor. Her mother waited with her, her needlework in her lap as she kept up a steady stream of instructions for her daughter.

  “Now, Michelle,” Lady Helen began, “when Lord Leed arrives, you’re to remain here with me. If your father was still alive, you would leave the room.”

  Michelle simply nodded, knowing no response was expected. Her mother had begun her recitation twenty minutes earlier, and was now repeating herself.

  “But seeing he’s no longer with us, God rest his soul, you must remain here with me,” Lady Helen continued. “You should sit over by the window while the gentleman informs me of his intentions. When he arrives, you should—”

  “Mother, please,” Michelle cut in. “I understand your instructions fully.”

  Lady Helen blinked at that. “Are you certain, dear?” she asked as if she were speaking to a very small child.

  “Yes, Mother.” Michelle rolled her eyes heavenward. “I’m quite certain.”

  “Well, despite your assurances that Lord Leed finds your opinions palatable I advise you to keep quiet when—”

  “Mother, please!”

  Lady Helen held her tongue and returned her attention to the piece of needlework she worried in her hands.

  The butler soon announced Paul’s arrival. Michelle sat in the chair by the window, unconsciously following her mother’s instructions.

  Lady Helen told the butler to show Paul in and set her needlework aside. “Good afternoon, Lord Leed.”

  “Good afternoon, Lady Helen.” He bowed and turned to his intended. “Lady Michelle.”

  Lady Helen spoke to Paul as Michelle ran her gaze over him. When she brought her eyes up to his face he quirked a smile at her. Ooh, that dimple. She recovered herself and bowed her head in answer to his greeting.

  He turned back to her mother. “I would like a word with you, Lady Helen.”

  “Certainly, Lord Leed.”

  Paul sat on the settee facing Lady Helen. He cast a glance at Michelle, who immediately feigned interest in the pleats of her skirt. Her ears pricked as he began his request.

  “Lady Helen,” he began, “it would do me a great honor if you would give me your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

  Lady Helen waited a beat, and Michelle’s heart nearly stopped. “Oh, yes, Lord Leed,” she said at last. “I would be delighted to do you the honor!”

  Paul grinned, standing to bow low to his future mother-in-law. He strode to where Michelle sat and grasped her hands in his. He placed a chaste kiss on her fingers. She looked up at him, into his sparkling eyes, and to her delight he gave in to one temptation. He pulled her up out of the chair and kissed her. Her mother gasped, the sound drawing his attention.

  Paul broke off the kiss with a chuckle. “Do forgive me, Lady Helen. I couldn’t resist.”

  Lady Helen smiled and fanned herself with her hand. “Oh, that’s quite all right, Lord Leed.”

  Paul tugged on Michelle’s hand and brought her to join him on the settee. Lady Helen rang for tea and they sat.

  “Lord Leed,” Lady Helen began, “when can we expect the wedding to take place?”

  Paul bristled, and a tingle of unease crept down Michelle’s back. He set his cup aside and looked from the woman to her daughter and back again, his eyes hooded.

  “Paul?”

  “I thought the wedding would take place next Season,” he said.

  Lady Helen blinked rapidly. “I… I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Did you say ‘next Season?’”

  “Yes,” he said in a low voice.

  “But,” Lady Helen went on, “Michelle is twe—well, she’s passed the age to wait—”

  “Next Season?” Michelle asked, coming to her feet.

  Paul winced.

  “Next Season!?” she repeated, her hands in fists at her sides. “Why on earth would we wait until then?”

  He stood and reached for her hand again. “Michelle, I—”

  “You don’t care for me. By next Season you’ll find a new girl to taunt and tease.” She pulled out of his grasp. “You… you only offered for me to soothe your guilty conscience!”

  “Guilty conscience?” Lady Helen wondered aloud. “Why on earth would he feel…? Oh, my!”

  Paul’s head turned sharply. “Lady Helen, she doesn’t mean what you’re—”

  “You don’t care for me,” Michelle cried again. “You could never love me.”

  She couldn’t face him, certain that the cold man she’d known before would simply dismiss her hysterics and consider himself lucky to be rid of the obligation. Not caring a whit, she ran from the room.

  Paul could only stare at the doorway, shocked. He slowly turned back to Lady Helen. The expression on the woman’s face gave him pause.

  “Lady Helen.” He took a deep breath. “I assure you I have not compromised your daughter’s virtue in any way.”

  Lady Helen studied him for a moment. Thankfully he could see she believed he spoke the truth. She gave a nod of her head, at which his shoulders slumped in relief.

  “I promise to remedy this,” he assured her.

  Paul took his leave then. He stood on the sidewalk outside, gazing up at the fine house. He caught movement in one of the upper-story windows, the one farthest on the left. Michelle stood there, her face pale behind the glass. He opened his mouth to call to her but she turned away. The hurt in Michelle’s eyes had cut him to the quick. “I’ll find a way out of this mess,” he softly vowed.

  He climbed into his carriage, bound for his townhouse.

  Chapter 7

  Michelle turned from the window and fell on her bed.

  “Why does he want to wait until next Season?” she murmured into the coverlet she soaked with her tears. “If he truly cared for her, he wouldn’t want to wait more than a few weeks!”

  She sniffled and let the tears flow. She was twenty years old. Both of them had resided in London for much longer than the required fifteen days. All that was necessary, really, was for Paul to secure a license from the local clergyman.

  She dashed the tears from her cheeks and sat. “He mustn’t want me as much as he professed. More fool me.”

  Betsy knocked on the door. “It’s time to ready for the evening’s parties, My Lady.”

  “The parties.” Michelle snorted. “I don’t want to attend the blasted parties.”

  Betsy blinked at her.

  Michelle climbed off the bed and smoothed out her skirt. “But since the alternative is staying home with my mother… Betsy, I believe you have the right of it.”

  Betsy nodded and dressed Michelle’s hair, pinning the curls in a graceful tumble on top of her head. Michelle slipped into the beautiful gown of deep violet she’d chosen that morning. Michelle let Betsy finish with her,
saying nothing. Betsy must have sensed her mistress’ reticence, for she kept her opinions to herself. With a nod to her mistress, Betsy took her leave.

  Michelle regarded herself in the cheval mirror. She’d been so happy that morning when she’d chosen the beautiful gown. She’d imagined the pleasure on Paul’s handsome face when he saw her in it. But now the thought of seeing him filled her with unease. What would she say to him? Was their engagement still intact? Did she want it to be? Next Season, indeed.

  She pulled on her gloves and went down to the carriage.

  There were several parties that evening and Michelle was happy for the diversion. She was relieved when she didn’t see Paul at the first one she attended but disappointed as well. She traveled with some friends, two young girls who were completely oblivious to her discomfort in the noisy hubbub. At least they left Michelle on her own, much to her relief.

  She entered the ballroom at the second bash, glancing around the room for any sign of Paul. She saw his sisters and froze. To her renewed relief and disappointment, they were escorted by the Earl of Chester and Viscount Roberts. Paul was nowhere to be seen.

  Chester crossed over to her. “Lady Michelle,” he said with a bow. “How nice to see you.”

  “Hello, Lord Chester,” Michelle said.

  “And are you enjoying yourself?”

  She managed to smile. “Oh, the party is lovely. But, enjoying myself? Not particularly.”

  Chester blinked at her in apparent confusion. “Do you happen to know why Leed—?”

  Roberts stepped in front of Chester and bowed. “Good evening, Lady Michelle.”

  “Lord Roberts,” she returned.

  “May I say you look lovely this evening.”

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  Roberts held his hand out to her. “As our dear friend Leed is not in attendance, perhaps you will do me the honor of a dance?”

  She flinched at the unexpected mention of Paul and the room seemed too hot for a moment. She recovered herself and gave her hand to Roberts. She let him twirl her about the floor, blessedly conscious of only the music and the dance steps.

  * * * *

  Paul stayed home that evening, coward that he was. While he didn’t think Michelle would attend the parties, he couldn’t face that chance. What would he say to her if he saw her?

  He ate dinner alone in his dining room, his mind occupied with thoughts of Michelle and their engagement. How could he prove he still wanted to marry her? He only wished to push the wedding back until he had a firmer grasp on his finances. But he couldn’t tell her that. She was an heiress, for God’s sake! And he’d rather lose her than admit he couldn’t provide for her and their children. If he was being prideful, so be it. With a sigh of irritation, he pushed his dish away. According to his father, pride was really all he had at the moment. He went into his study, prepared for a long, lonely evening.

  Chester opened the door to Paul’s study some time later.

  “Chester, what—?”

  “You’re a fool, Leed.”

  Paul blinked at the anger in Chester’s eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re going to lose her if you’re not careful.”

  “Why?” Paul came to his feet. “Where is she?”

  “She’s at a party without the man who offered for her, that’s where she is.”

  “But, I…” He pushed his hair back from his brow. “How did she look?”

  “She looked very beautiful, Leed. And very sad.”

  “Ah, Chester.” Paul groaned and slumped back down into his chair. “I see no way out of this.”

  Chester sat in the chair facing him, his brow furrowed. “What happened?”

  “I went over to her mother’s today.”

  “And? Surely her mother didn’t refuse you.”

  “No, no. Quite the opposite.”

  “Then, what?”

  “I told her the wedding would have to wait until next Season and—”

  “Next Season? Why the devil would you insist on that?”

  “I have virtually no inheritance to hope for, Chester.”

  Chester shook his head, incomprehension stamped on his face.

  “My father lost nearly all of it,” Paul said.

  “But… How?”

  “He wouldn’t tell me.”

  Chester raised his brows. “It’s not like you to leave it at that.”

  “I know.” Paul nodded. “But with Michelle to consider, I have enough on my mind at present.”

  “But the girl is quite enamored of you. Even Roberts saw that.”

  “I know, but with my accounts—”

  “This is about your accounts? Why of all the stubborn, thick-headed—”

  “Chester, I have to work a while longer to provide Michelle with the life she deserves.”

  “She deserves to have the man she loves, Leed. Do you doubt she loves you?”

  Paul stared at his friend as his heart slowly beat out the truth. “No.”

  “And do you love her?”

  “Yes, damn it,” Paul snapped. “I love her.”

  “Don’t tell me, friend.” Chester smiled. “Tell her.”

  Chester left him then. Paul poured himself a brandy and thought about what his friend said.

  “I’ll do it.” He drained his glass and set it back on the desk. “I’ll go to her, money be damned.”

  He got up out of his chair and went upstairs to dress. He wanted to look his best when he swept the lovely Michelle off her feet.

  * * * *

  Michelle’s shoulders sagged with relief when at last the evening was at an end. She climbed into the waiting carriage, finding her two young companions apparently as tired as she was. She was grateful for the silence on the way home. She’d had more than enough forced frivolity for one evening, and looked forward to crawling into bed and crying herself to sleep. Her lips curled. How bloody melodramatic.

  The carriage rocked to a stop in front of her house. She bade the other ladies good night and let herself inside.

  Thankfully her mother had already retired for the evening. Michelle climbed the stairs and turned down the hall to her room. She managed to unfasten the many hooks in the back of her gown and draped it over a chair. Betsy had left out a nightgown of thin lawn, along with a matching wrapper. Michelle undressed, donned the filmy gown and loosened her hair. She climbed into bed, pulled the covers up over her head and managed to fall asleep.

  Sometime later, she awoke with a start. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, so it was little wonder she was awake again. Then she heard something that surprised her. Someone was tapping on her window.

  “Don’t be a fool,” she whispered as she closed her eyes again. “The room isn’t on the ground floor.”

  The little taps came again. She cocked her head and listened carefully. What the devil…?

  She climbed out of bed and lit the candle in the holder on the bedstand. Grabbing her wrapper, she tied it tightly about her waist and went to the window.

  She pulled aside the heavy draperies but couldn’t see anyone. The sound came again, startlingly close to her face. Pebbles? Someone was throwing pebbles at her window? She looked down at the street, her heartbeat skidding to a stop as she saw Paul standing just inside the light of the streetlamp. He stared up at her, hope clear on his face.

  She opened the sash. “Paul, what on earth are you doing here?”

  “I had to see you, Michelle,” he rasped.

  She gazed furtively up and down the street. His carriage was parked a few houses down from hers, but should she risk the scandal?

  “Let me in, love,” he said in a whisper. “Let me in or I’ll shout how much I love you for all the world to hear.”

  He looked like he’d do it, too. A shiver danced over her flesh.

  “Ooh, I’ll be right down.” She nodded and closed the sash. “He loves me?” Grinning, she grabbed the candle and hurried down the stairs to the front door. She ope
ned the door and peeked out. Motioning for him to be silent, she let him in. He closed the door and followed her into the parlor.

  She crossed to the mantle and lit the candles there, turning to face him. “Paul, what is this about?”

  “Shh.” He closed and locked the parlor doors. “Michelle, I had to see you.”

  “When you were here this afternoon—”

  “I know, darling,” he cut in. “I was a fool.”

  She considered him closely. “True.”

  He chuckled softly. He crossed to her and took her hands in his and led her to the settee, pulling her down to sit beside him. “I love you, Michelle. I’m sorry about this afternoon.”

  His simple words set her heart soaring. She’d been half in love with him since last year at Kanewood, when she’d first seen his smile. And now with his kisses, his caresses, his acceptance of her mind and opinions…

  “I love you, too, Paul,” she admitted. “When I thought you didn’t want to marry me, I nearly died.”

  He held her close, stroking her hair. “I want to marry you, love. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

  “Why, then, did you want to wait until next Season?”

  She couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice. He pulled back and cupped her face with his hand.

  “Never mind the reason,” he said gently. “I don’t want to wait for you.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Will you marry me this Saturday?”

  She blinked up at him. “Saturday?” She smiled. “First you wished to wait a year and now you won’t wait a week?”

  He quirked a half smile at her. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  She regarded him closely. “Yes, Paul.” She nodded. “I’ll marry you this Saturday.”

  He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them. He grinned at her and she arched a brow at him in question.

  “I don’t know which lovely hand I will take in marriage.”

  “Take them both,” she said sweetly.

  He turned them and placed a kiss in each palm. He brought his eyes up to hers. “And will they hold me as they did on our picnic?” he asked, his eyes dark.