His finger traced over her name, wishing her silken skin was beneath his touch instead of the fine paper. He folded the letter and sealed it. He’d send the missive first thing in the morning. He stripped off his clothes and fell into bed. The note wasn’t much, but at least it was a step toward some kind of understanding between them.
He placed his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. An understanding. What a bloody cold, detached word. As cold and detached as she had accused him of being those many months ago before he’d kissed her for the first time. What he wanted was to hold her in his arms, to forget the hateful words they’d said to each other and make love with all the passion between them. He wanted to forget she ever went to that bastard Reggie, that she ever conspired behind his back to give him her money and steal his words. That thought brought a flash of anger, anger quickly calmed as he recalled their last time together on the morning he left Thomasham. He hadn’t forced her, at least not after the beginning. Yet he’d felt terrible for taking her, for demanding a response without any tenderness or loving words. Despite his mind’s wanderings, he found himself hard and throbbing just thinking about her beneath him, responding to him so freely. He closed his eyes tight and willed himself to sleep.
The next morning, he sought out the butler and instructed him to dispatch a messenger to Thomasham directly.
Chester strode into the entrance hall just as the messenger took the note from Paul’s hand and left with haste. “Good morning, Leed. What are you about?”
“It’s nothing, Chester,” Paul answered. “I have merely sent a note to my wife.”
Chester’s brow furrowed but thankfully he held his tongue. Without a word he headed for the breakfast room and Paul followed in his wake, finding Roberts already seated.
After serving themselves a hearty breakfast from the sideboard, the gentlemen ate and discussed the upcoming hunt. Strolling out into the fall sunshine, the three of them made for the stables.
Paul was the first to arrive back at the house, all but bounding from the stables after handing the reins to the groom. He called out to the butler, who came immediately to his assistance. Paul rubbed his hands together as he stood waiting for the servant’s appearance.
“Yes, My Lord?” the man asked with a bow.
“Has the messenger returned from Thomasham?”
“Yes, My Lord,” the butler replied. “I placed the reply on the hall table.”
Paul glanced about the entry, his eyes settling on a side table beneath a large mirror. He crossed to it and grabbed up the paper, confused when he realized it was written in his own hand.
“What is this?” he asked, turning to the servant. “Why wasn’t this delivered?”
“It was, My Lord. The boy said Lady Leed was not at Thomasham to receive it.”
“Why didn’t he leave it for her?”
“The staff informed the boy that Lady Leed was gone from Thomasham and they did not expect her back at present.”
Paul closed his eyes at those words. He dismissed the servant with a nod and braced his hands on the hall table. Where the devil was she? With a turn he called the butler back to him, instructing the man to send the messenger to him.
Paul was able to find out nothing of value from the young man. Apparently Lady Helen had gone to one of her friend’s estates for a visit and Michelle hadn’t been at Thomasham for the past two weeks.
“Where the devil is she?” Paul asked aloud that evening.
“What are you muttering about, Leed?” Roberts called from where he sat at the table, beating Chester soundly at a game of Ecarte.
Paul had no interest in wagering on the game’s outcome this evening. “Never mind,” he grumbled.
Roberts looked back at Chester. “I thought he’d have heard from her by now.”
Chester shrugged. “Had she responded as he wished, Leed would be back to his old self.”
Roberts nodded. “I hope something happens soon. The man looks ready to rip apart your favorite chair.”
Paul glanced down at his hands where they clutched the arms of the massive leather chair and loosened his grip.
“Here, Leed,” Chester called. “Come join us. I fear this rogue had doctored the deck.”
Paul laughed, a strangled sound, but a laugh nonetheless. He stood and joined his friends.
* * * *
A few days later, in the nursery at Kanewood, Michelle sat on the floor with little Michael. She placed several colorful blocks in front of him and knocked them gently back down. The baby was enchanted, but not with the blocks. He stared at Michelle’s hair, grabbing her curls again and again.
“Michael,” Becca said, sitting in the rocking chair nearby. “Do leave Michelle’s hair alone.”
“Don’t be silly, Rebecca. Michael may do whatever he likes.”
Becca sighed. “Ah, fallen under the little lordling’s spell, have you?”
Michelle looked into the baby’s big sparkling green eyes. “How could I not?”
Michael’s nurse came in. “Time to feed the sprite, My Lady.”
“A bottle please, Mrs. Green,” Becca said. The nurse returned with the bottle and left them. Becca turned to Michelle. “My greedy lordling takes the bottle readily now. Do you wish to feed him, Michelle?”
“Oh, may I?”
Michelle lifted the baby and placed him securely on her hip. Becca yielded the rocking chair and Michelle sat, cradling the baby as he greedily sucked at the bottle. The faint smell of the milk in the bottle struck her, turning her stomach. She planted her feet on the floor, bringing a halt to the chair’s rocking motion.
“Rebecca,” she began, “could you please…?”
Becca grabbed Michael from her arms, surprise rounding her eyes. “Michelle, what is it?”
Michelle breathed in deeply. The room soon stopped spinning and her stomach settled at last. “I’ll be all right.”
“Do you…” Becca began. “Do you think you might be expecting?”
Michelle looked at her in surprise. “What? I… No, I don’t think…”
“Well?” Becca asked gently. “Is it possible?”
Michelle blinked at her and held tightly to the arms of the rocker. She hadn’t had her monthly since right after the wedding, nearly two months ago. And Paul certainly had plenty of opportunities to plant his seed. Of course, it was more than possible. She was carrying Paul’s baby.
“My God, Rebecca,” Michelle said. “I’m expecting.” She closed her eyes and sobbed. “Oh, no. This is too much. I can’t burden Paul with this now.”
“Don’t ever say such a thing,” Becca said. “A baby is a blessing, not a burden. I’ll tell Geoffrey to go to Leed and—”
“No.” Michelle opened her eyes. “He mustn’t tell Paul.”
“But if he knew about the baby, perhaps he could set aside whatever has separated you.”
“Paul has made no move to contact me in all this time,” Michelle said. “I won’t have him do so out of guilt.”
“Guilt?” Becca asked. “If you’re expecting, it’s his right to know.”
“Please don’t press me about this. Not now.”
After a long moment, Becca nodded her agreement. “All right. But this can’t go on for long, Michelle.”
“I know.” Michelle let out a breath. “Believe me, I know.”
Michelle retired early that night and lay in the bed in her guest room, unable to sleep. She was expecting. Her hand went to her still-flat stomach as she thought of the tiny being cradled within. She smiled. Her smile led to an unexpected giggle, the giggle to a flood of laughter. But soon her laughter turns to sobs, sobs that shook her very soul.
Paul’s baby. Her sobs eased. She should tell him. But how could she bridge the distance between them? With a ragged sigh, she wiped away her tears and closed her eyes. Just before she fell asleep, an image came to her. Paul, his beautiful eyes shining with joy, holding their baby tenderly in his arms.
* * * *
At Chesterfield the gentlemen readied themselves for a country dance held in the nearby town of Stockport. Paul tried to beg off, but his friends wouldn’t hear of it.
“You’re accompanying us, Leed,” Roberts insisted. “Pray, leave that scowl here.”
When they arrived at the assembly hall Paul and his friends were the recipients of admiring glances and speculation.
“The Earl of Chester,” one woman said to her daughter. “I’d heard he might bring his handsome friends with him tonight!”
The young girls surrounding the woman gawked at them.
“Oh my,” one of them sighed. “So dashing!”
Another girl, one with red hair curled about her head, nodded as she looked at Roberts.
“That man with the black hair,” she said, her hand at her throat. “I fear I’ll swoon.”
“Look at that one,” the first girl said. “The one with the dark, brooding look.”
“Ooh,” the red-haired girl said. “How romantic he looks.” She glanced at Paul and quickly turned back to her friends.
Paul blinked. He’d heard the girl’s comments and turned, stunned to see the red-haired girl standing at the edge of the group. His thoughts cleared as he realized the girl standing across from him wasn’t Michelle. Her hair was red, but not the vibrant, golden-red of his wife. She was pretty, but certainly not breathtakingly beautiful like Michelle. He shook his head and turned back to Chester.
“Care for some ale?” Chester asked.
Paul nodded. “God yes.”
As Chester and Roberts danced with several young girls over the course of the evening, Paul leaned against the wall and consumed more ale than usual. His gaze settled on the red-haired girl time and again.
She sashayed over to where he stood and gave him a saucy grin. “Viscount Leed. Pray, what has you so dour?”
Paul blinked at the girl. “I wasn’t aware I was dour, Miss…?”
“Fanny,” the girl answered with a curtsy. “Miss Fanny Millard.” She leaned closer. “I daresay I like a dark, brooding man.”
She sighed dramatically, her breasts threatening to spill over the top of her gown. Paul eyed her flesh. She really was put together rather nicely. He drank from his mug of ale.
“I really don’t enjoy these gatherings,” she whispered. “I find them too, um… restrictive.”
Paul arched a brow at that, draining the last of his ale.
“I know where we can be alone,” she said.
“Alone?” He eyed her breasts again. “With me?”
She trailed her finger on his arm. “You wouldn’t be the first gentleman to favor me over these silly girls.”
Paul tried to think but his mind was pleasantly muddled from the ale. Perhaps he’d give the little chit a tumble. It had been weeks since he left Thomasham, and he was a healthy male. And the girl was clear in her invitation.
He bent his head to hers. “And where can we be ‘alone’?”
She flashed him a grin and turned, leading the way to a secluded alcove set behind the orchestra. Paul set down his empty mug and followed her.
When they were cozily tucked into the alcove, Fanny turned to him. She leaned against him, her breasts rubbing against his chest. There wasn’t much light in the alcove, only one branch of candles lit. Fanny led Paul over to a chair and gave him a gentle push. Paul sat and watched her.
Fanny sat in his lap. “Do what you will, My Lord.”
His eyes settled on the girl’s hair, the color vibrant in the candlelight. He brought his fingers to the ringlets brushing her shoulders, the ale confusing him enough that it felt as silky as Michelle’s. Fanny kissed him hungrily. He sucked in a breath and buried his face in her hair. The girl’s hands were all over him, stroking him through his breeches. Paul felt the stirrings of desire as Fanny began to unbutton his breeches.
“Ah, Michelle,” Paul groaned against her neck.
“Nay, My Lord,” she giggled. “I’m Fanny.”
Paul froze, promptly losing his erection. He held the girl away from him, his mind clearing, and pushed her off of him. “I’m sorry.”
She held on tightly to his shoulders. “What do names matter, My Lord?” She unfastened another button.
“Stop it now,” Paul said firmly.
Fanny stood in front of him, her hands on her hips. “Why? I have no protector at present.”
Paul stared at her. She thought to become his mistress? “I’m sorry,” he said again, buttoning his breeches.
He came to his feet and regarded her from beneath hooded eyes. The girl was miffed, but apparently undaunted. Dismissing him, she straightened her hair and returned to the dance hall.
Paul stepped back into the room to find Chester regarding him closely.
“Leed,” Chester began, “what happened to you?”
“Ah, Chester. I nearly made a huge mistake.”
Chester saw Fanny glaring at Paul from near the orchestra. He arched a brow at Paul. “You should be grateful you came to your senses, friend. That chit is obviously on the hunt.”
Paul saw another gentleman was soon the focus of Fanny’s attentions. They left the country dance not long after.
When they returned to Chesterfield, Paul went up to his chamber and stripped out of his finery. He thought of how close he’d come to taking that country girl and shuddered. He wasn’t worth the breath in his body for thinking to use her to fill the void left by his estrangement from Michelle.
Settling himself on the bed, he let thoughts of his wife consume him, wiping from his memory Fanny’s kisses and caresses. He wanted only Michelle. He closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.
Chapter 28
Two days later, Paul returned from the stables to find a note awaiting his attention. Perhaps Michelle had decided to write him herself? His hope faded as he recognized Graves’ handwriting. With little enthusiasm, he took the note into Chester’s study.
He’d advised Graves he was at Chesterfield once he realized his father might return to Town after leaving Thomasham. Certain the note held only bad news, Paul broke the seal and read it. Twice.
Graves stated he had to see Paul immediately, on a matter of the utmost importance. It involved his father’s accounts, the note read, and Paul must be apprised of the situation directly.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” Paul muttered.
What the hell had his father done now? He left the study in search of Chester, finding him in the entry.
“What is it, man?” Chester asked. He saw the paper crumpled in Paul’s hand. “It’s not Michelle, is it?”