by Rose Gordon
Liberty didn’t respond. She couldn’t respond. She was too busy wishing he had just let her die rather than take off her clothes and look at her naked. The man was a monster who knew no bounds when it came to decency!
“Liberty, it’s not that bad. As it is, you never even see the man. You’ve made yourself scarce when he’s around ever since that house party. This changes nothing,” she assured her. “You’re not going to see him again, so it shouldn’t matter.”
“You wouldn’t know,” Liberty shrieked between the sobs that were wracking her body. “You’ve never had a man see you naked before.”
Madison looked like she'd been struck. Liberty thought she should say something, she hadn’t meant for it to come out like it sounded. But she wasn’t given the chance to make amends before Madison quietly stood and departed. That was the last time she saw Madison for the rest of the day.
Sitting alone in silence, she thought of the apology she owed Madison. After she’d worked out the perfect words to express her remorse for her heartless comment, she started to form her plan of how she was going to get revenge on Mr. Grimes. He had no business seeing her naked, which was bad enough, but he’d taken it one step farther by carrying her around and bathing her.
Madison said he claimed not to have taken her virtue, but he was the only one who really knew for sure. Even she couldn’t be certain she was still intact down there. She suppressed that thought immediately.
No doubt about it, the man had gone over the line this time, and she was going to make sure he never did it again. After she was done with him, he would never show his face in England again. Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad he’d be exiled, but he would not be going anywhere near any member of the Banks family anyhow. She was going to make sure of it.
Chapter 2
Mid December, 1812
London
With a sigh, Paul sank further into the steaming hot water that filled the copper tub. He’d had a long day of travel and the hot water felt good on his aching muscles.
He still wasn’t sure what possessed him to accept the invitation to spend Christmas with the Banks family, but he had, and the least he could do was attempt to have a good time, starting with a soothing bath.
When he’d first arrived, Turner, the Banks' unusually unusual butler, told him the family had gone over to the oldest daughter’s townhouse for dinner and a night’s entertainment with her and her husband.
Feeling relieved he wouldn’t be forced to endure an uncomfortable dinner tonight, he asked the butler to order him a tray and send for a bath.
Dinner was good. The bath was better.
Paul grabbed the cake of soap that was resting by the tub, dunked it in the water and started spinning it with his hands, creating a foamy lather. Paul ran the soap up his arms and shook his head. The irony was too much, he thought, transferring the soap to the other hand. The last time he’d been to this house, he’d been giving someone else a bath.
He scowled. That was a day he longed to forget. The whole situation had been awkward, but necessary. What could he have done, let her catch her death from the ague? No. No matter how much he disliked Liberty, he couldn’t have allowed harm to come to her.
When he saw how badly she needed help, he’d done the only thing he could think to do: take care of her.
When the duke first brought her in, her lips were blue, her skin so pale it was almost translucent, her breathing shallow and she had a low pulse, he knew instantly she required immediate care. With it being Wednesday, the day of his weekly meeting with John and the servants day off, it was up to him alone to give her the care she required.
Leaving all rational thought behind, he scooped her up, took her upstairs and without much thought or emotion, removed her wet garments. Wrapping her in a warm blanket, he set out to boil some water and summon a doctor.
When the water was ready, the doctor still wasn’t there, so he did what any person with any shred of humanity would: he bathed her.
At the time it seemed the best course of action. She was literally freezing; she needed a hot bath to warm her. But half an hour later, it seemed like the worst idea he could’ve ever come up with.
Paul was kneeling down by the tub. He’d rested one arm on the back of the tub, supporting her head. The other hand held a warm, wet cloth and he was running it over the parts of Liberty that were not submerged in water—namely, the top of her chest. When all the sudden, the door flew opened to reveal a very shocked John and Carolina Banks.
Paul froze. “This isn’t what it looks like,” he said lamely, squeezing the cloth tightly in his hand and wishing for the gift of invisibility. It was bad enough to be caught giving their youngest daughter a bath, but to compound it with a lame excuse made it seem even worse. With a loud Ker plunk, the cloth he’d been holding hit the water, and Paul stood. “Sir, I…I…” Paul trailed off. There really wasn’t anything to say. It didn’t matter that he’d only been trying to help, he’d just been found bathing a naked young woman, and nothing he could say would justify that.
“Paul,” John said roughly. “My study. Five minutes.”
Paul’s moss green eyes went wide behind his spectacles. He nodded his agreement and wordlessly left the room as fast as he could, studying the tops of his boots as he went.
The walk downstairs was what he imagined the walk to the guillotine must feel like: time suspended as your weary muscles force your heavy limbs to keep moving forward, all the while being alone with nothing but your thoughts, knowing the end of your life was right around the corner. The only difference was, at least the people who were slated to go to the guillotine would die very quickly, and in a humane way to boot.
However, unlike a guillotine victim, he was about to be made to suffer in an inhumane way and for who knew how long. Surely John wanted to see him so he could demand he marry that hoyden. Which was actually worse than death in his opinion.
Too anxious to take a seat, he went to the window and looked out at the street. It was only one floor down to the street, too short of a fall to kill him if he jumped, he thought grimly. In light of having to marry Liberty, it wouldn’t be perceived as cowardly at all to do oneself in; it would probably be thought to be heroic.
With a deep exhale that fogged up the window, Paul resigned himself to his intolerable fate and plopped down in an empty, uncomfortable chair. Thoughts of what he should have done came flooding into his head: go get a lady from next door to care for her, send for the doctor sooner, keep her in her wet clothes and stick her in the tub. Any of those would have been a preferable course of action and would have eliminated the position he was currently in.
No use in wallowing in self-pity, he told himself, deciding that when John came in, he’d just tell the truth and beg for mercy. And if that didn’t work, he’d marry her.
Paul reached into his coat pocket and took out his pocket watch. It wasn’t anything special to anyone but him. His maternal grandfather had given it to him when he was nine and his mother died; for that reason alone, it had become his most valuable possession. Running his finger over the engraving, he popped it open to see how much longer he was going to be left alone with his thoughts. John had said five minutes, but after spending seven months in his company, Paul had learned John spoke in prophetic time, and five minutes really meant thirty. It had only been twenty. He closed the watch with a snap and shoved it back into his pocket, reminding himself for the hundredth time he needed to get a chain for it.
The last ten minutes ticked away slowly, and just as he’d predicted, when exactly thirty minutes had passed, John came into his study.
Paul jumped off his chair. “Sir, please let me explain,” he said before John could make his demands.
“There's no need to explain anything,” John said quietly, coming over to stand by him.
His eyes searched John’s face. While John had always been extremely kind to him, this was a situation that even the most composed person could find themselves in a temper.
“Pardon?”
“I said there's no need to explain anything. I heard about her fall on, or perhaps I should say in, the river,” John said unevenly.
They both stared at each other a minute. If John knew everything did that mean he wasn’t going to insist he marry Liberty? Or did that mean he was going to insist on it, but wasn’t sure how to say it? His hopes soared and he dismissed his latter thought almost instantly when he remembered that only seven months earlier John insisted a man marry his other daughter for a far less offense than this. If John hadn’t demanded it yet, Paul was certain he was in the clear. Sighing with relief, he wasn’t prepared when two arms wrapped around him and gave him a tight squeeze.
Paul awkwardly brought his hand up to pat John on the back. “Thank you,” John said after a minute then released him. A lone tear rolled down the other man’s face. “I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done. If not for you…”
Paul nodded. “You’re welcome, sir,” he said tentatively.
“I know you two cannot abide each other. Why, I have no idea, but in any case, thank you for saving her,” John said solemnly.
Paul knew why they didn’t like each other, and John should know it, too, but he wasn’t going to say anything. “Once again, you’re welcome.” Was this it? Was the only reason John wanted to see him was to give him an awkward hug and thank him?
Indeed, that had been it. The two went about their weekly meeting talking about his church. He had stayed for dinner that night and afterward Carolina asked him to join them in the drawing room. Afraid it would be then that he would be told they expected him to marry Liberty, he tried to beg off, but they wouldn’t have it and he found himself in a room with gold wallpaper, sitting on a pink settee being questioned to death over the events of the afternoon.
If he thought he’d experienced his most uncomfortable moment in life when he was found bathing Liberty in her room, he’d been wrong. Retelling the story to her parents and sister had been far worse. With each retelling he was fearful it would be during that recount they’d find fault with his actions and his world would end.
But thankfully, that never happened. In fact, by the end of the evening he’d been praised as a hero. Not wanting to push his good luck, he slipped out before their opinion could change.
During the past few weeks he’d avoided going to their London residence because he knew Liberty would be upset with him when she was well and had heard the story. He’d experienced her wrath enough in the form of her sharp tongue, a well-placed elbow in his privates, and a being knocked unconscious by a book she’d thrown for no apparent reason; he had no desire to experience what she might find fitting for retaliation this time.
But he couldn’t avoid the family forever. Only a week ago John practically begged him to come spend Christmas with them, knowing Paul had no excuse to refuse. Paul's brother and wife were having a large party at their estate, but he wasn’t one for parties—not that he’d even been invited in the first place. Using his church as an excuse was futile. John knew as well as Paul did that most of the members didn’t get along and would prefer to gossip about each other—and their minister—rather than try to get along for an attempt at a Christmas service. He was still hesitant though, and to further persuade him, John promised Paul he wouldn’t be alone with Liberty even for a minute.
Thus, he agreed to spend the holidays with Banks family in London.
Paul rubbed his fingers over his face. Pulling his hands back, he stared at his fingers. They had more wrinkles than a ninety year old woman. It was definitely time to get out of the tub.
Standing up, he twisted his body and reached for the towel he knew was on the stool behind him. But instead of landing on a fluffy towel, his hand was met with the hard wooden surface of the stool. Fully turning his body around to better see the offending piece of furniture, Paul discovered the stool did not hold a towel at all. All he saw on top of the wooden seat was his wire rimmed spectacles.
Stepping out of the tub, he put on his spectacles and looked under and on both sides of the stool. There was not a towel in sight. He frowned. He remembered specifically asking the maid for a towel and taking it from her when she came back. Then he’d gone behind the screen and placed it on the stool before disrobing. Where had it gone?
Paul sighed. It wasn’t a problem; he’d just stand there a few minutes to let the air-dry his body, then he’d put on his clean clothes.
When his skin felt dry enough to drag his clothes over, Paul stepped out from behind the screen and walked over to where he’d laid his clothes out on the bed.
Reaching the bed, Paul groaned with deep irritation. Had the maid accidentally taken his clean clothes? He’d heard her come in during the middle of his bath and assumed she was trying to please her employer by being efficient. Not being used to a lot of servants, he hadn’t question her activities. It did make sense why she’d taken the wrong clothes; they were the only clothes on this side of the screen. The clothes he’d worn earlier were in a pile on the other side of the screen. Shaking his head, Paul padded over to the corner to dig out a different set of clothes from his trunk.
Leaning over at the waist, he slowly opened his trunk. With one hand holding up the lid, he bent over and extended his fingers to snatch up whatever clothes were on top. Not being bent far enough, he bent further and further until his bare arse was straight up in the air and his fingers collided with the hard bottom of his empty trunk.
Straightening himself up and abruptly letting go of the lid, causing it to crash down on the box with an echoing thud, Paul grabbed a match off the bottom of the wall sconce that was directly above his trunk and lit the lamp. Surely his mind was playing tricks on him, or perhaps his vision—even with spectacles—was so bad he'd been reaching beside the chest. Those were the only explanations he was willing to entertain for his recent discovery.
Lamp lit and glowing, Paul yanked open the lid of his trunk with more force than necessary only to reveal what he already knew was in there: nothing.
Slamming down the lid, Paul made a noise of irritation. This was the work of one person: Liberty. He’d been told the family was out visiting the earl and countess, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t given orders to the maid before she left. Now it made sense why the maid came in while he was bathing. And why his towel had gone missing.
Angrily, Paul stalked across the room. No matter how much John tried to smooth this over, he wasn’t staying. Having his clothes stolen was not his idea of an enjoyable visit. And this was only the first night. Who knew what other treats she had in store for him! He’d just have put on the clothes he’d worn earlier, even if they were wrinkled and slightly wet from the snow. He knew these clothes were in the room. He’d taken them off and thrown them in a heap at the far end of the tub. The maid hadn’t come behind the screen. Well, she’d had to in order to grab his towel from behind his back; but she hadn’t gone to the end of his tub and collected his dirty clothes.
Rounding the screen, Paul swiftly walked to the end of the tub and leaned down to retrieve his clothes.
“Looking for something?”
Chapter 3
Paul’s hands instinctively flew to his privates and his head snapped up so fast he was left with a dizzy feeling—or maybe the dizzy feeling was caused by the sight that presented itself in front of him, he wasn’t sure.
Not three feet away, standing by the fireplace was his nemesis: Liberty Banks; and she was holding his clothes—directly over the roaring fire.
They weren’t actually on fire. Yet. He considered that good fortune, indeed. “Would you kindly give me back my clothes?” Paul asked irritably, glancing down at his hands to make sure he was covered properly. She might have an illusion that he owed her the privilege of viewing his body because he’d seen hers. Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t in the mood to become a source of virgin entertainment.
Liberty laughed. “You don’t need to cover up. I already saw your…” she trailed off and sent a pointed
look to where his hands were doing their best to shield her view of him. She smiled up at him with a crooked smile. Her dull brown hair was coming loose from the hideous bun she always wore on the top of her head and a lock was falling in her face, partially covering one of her hazel eyes.
“Nonetheless,” he said stiffly, twisting his body to offer more protection from her gaze. “Your game is up. And unless you want to see it again, you’ll give me my clothes back.”
“Are you threatening me, Mr. Grimes?” Liberty asked archly, lowering her hand an inch and bringing his clothes that much closer to the flames. “It seems to me that I hold all the cards. Or clothes, as the case may be.”
“Indeed,” Paul conceded. Did she want to see him naked? A chill ran down his spine. Only one way to find out. Turning back to face her, he said, “Well, if you’ve already seen it, and you’re still holding my clothes, then I guess you didn’t get a good enough look. Do you want another peek?” He took delight as her eyes widened when he moved one of his hands away, still leaving him somewhat covered.
Under normal circumstances he’d never be so bold as to issue such a challenge, or follow through with it, but his irritation with her, coupled with his strong desire to have his clothes back and be on his way, was impacting his brain and turning him into someone he didn’t recognize.
Outstretching his free hand, Paul asked, “May I please have my clothes back now, or do I need to remove my other hand and get them myself?”
“Why should I give you your clothes back?” she demanded.
“Because now we’re even,” Paul snapped.
“We’re not even,” she responded sharply, her gaze at his waist, absorbing what was exposed to her curious eyes.
“No? Would you like to bathe me, is that it?” he countered, slowly reaching for the clothes she held hostage above the fire.
“No,” she snapped, her eyes flying to his. She took the small bundle of his clothes and brought them to her chest, wrapping both arms around them and clutching them tightly to her chest.