Liberty for Paul

by Rose Gordon

  Chapter 29

  Paul was furious. It had been four days since Liberty mysteriously vanished. If either she’d not taken his carriage with his trusted coachman or his responsibility to arrange for the funeral, he would have run her down as soon as he realized she was gone. This is what he got for abandoning his plan of letting her come to him and trying to woo her.

  Finally after three days, he received a missive from Brooke that made his anger escalate to new heights.

  Brooke had been brief and rather evasive in her letter. But he’d gleaned that Liberty was at Rockhurst and was demanding to be told the whereabouts of one Mr. Thomas Daltry. Just reading the words made him bitter. Just as he was about to tell her he loved her and explain everything, she’d run off to her lover. Brooke further tried to explain that she’d told Liberty Mr. Daltry wasn’t the solution, but Liberty had threatened that if Brooke didn’t produce Mr. Daltry in the flesh, she’d go to London and search for him. Therefore, Paul discarded his spectacles, put oil in his hair, slapped on a fake mustache, dressed in the black clothes from the other night (adding a waistcoat and coat for good measure) and was currently riding to Rockhurst.

  He’d considered going to her as himself and demanding to know what was going on in that foolish head of hers. Sometimes he’d swear she had rocks for brains. Yet, in the end, he decided he’d have better luck if “Mr. Daltry” talked some sense into her first. But there was no mistaking his irritation about going through with it.

  He arrived at Rockhurst and was greeted by her entire family—literally. John, Carolina, Brooke, Andrew, Madison, even the baron and Alex were there.

  “Don’t you think you’re missing something?” John asked solemnly, holding up a rapier and cape.

  Paul sneered at him. “Sir, I don’t think you want me to bring a weapon up with me. At this point, I cannot guarantee I wouldn’t use it.”

  John’s eyes went wide and he hid the rapier behind his back. “Point taken.”

  “Thank you. Now where is she?”

  “She’s upstairs. Third door on the right,” Brooke told him.

  He nodded his thanks and stared at her for a minute. Her eyes had a sparkle he couldn’t place in them. That was of no importance, she wasn’t the one he’d come for.

  Not bothering to knock on the door, he swung it open and walked inside like he owned the place. He abruptly halted when he realized he’d entered her bedroom. She sat on her bed wearing a green muslin day dress looking down at her toes as they dug into the carpet.

  Thinking she hadn’t heard him enter, he cleared his throat and startled her. Her eyes flew to his and she sprung off the bed, jamming her stocking-clad feet into her slippers before offering him a weak greeting. “Sorry. You caught me off guard. Brooke was supposed to have you wait in the drawing room.”

  “It’s fine. We’ll talk here,” he said tightly, remembering to lower his voice.

  She looked around. “Very well. We’ve been alone in a bedroom before,” she said cheekily, taking a seat on the bed. She patted the space next to her.

  “I’ll stand, thank you.”

  She frowned. “That’s just as well, I suppose.”

  “As charmed as I am that you felt the need to speak to me again, I must ask why it was necessary,” he said as evenly as he could. He knew he needed to stay calm and act nice if he was going to be able to convince her to go back to himself.

  “Things didn’t work out,” she said evasively, not meeting his eyes.

  “It’s only been a week,” he pointed out, trying not to grind his teeth. They’d only been together one day of that week; and try as he might to present her several opportunities to talk to him, she hadn’t taken the bait.

  She bit her lip and turned her face to survey the empty space next to his head. “I lied to you last week,” she said with a slight hitch in her voice.

  “Oh, you’re husband doesn’t have fourteen by-blows, then?” he teased.

  She laughed. “That’s not what I lied about. I’m not from America. I mean, I am. But I’ve been living in England for almost a year now,” she said dully.

  “I already figured that out,” he said dismissively. “What importance does that have?”

  “Because my husband is English,” she explained as if that mattered a great deal. “Wait. How did you figure that out already?” she asked curiously.

  He flashed her a wry smile. “You’re not exactly the best at keeping up a pretense.”

  “What do you mean?” she demanded in mock outrage.

  “Oh, calm down,” he said, shaking his head. “You told on yourself when you mentioned your relationship with the duke. No newcomer to England could have made that connection and had a ducal crested watch fixed in a matter of two days.” That was true enough. If he hadn’t figured it out sooner, that would have been a dead giveaway.

  “Oh,” she said, pink touching her cheeks. “I told Brooke I’d be no good at her game,” she grumbled. “Well then, I’ll tell you the rest of my secrets. I’m not Brooke’s cousin Allison, I’m her sister, Liberty.”

  “Now that we have that established, what’s going on with your husband? How has it all turned to dust in a matter of a week?”

  “Right,” she said sadly. “As it turns out, I’ve ruined everything.”

  He sighed. “You mean because of what happened between us the other night?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “I’ve waited too long to tell him how I feel and now it’s too late.”

  He walked to the bed and sat down beside her. “What do you mean?”

  She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and swallowed before turning to face him. “I mean that it’s too late. If I tell him now, he’ll not believe me. He’ll think I experienced a change of heart because of his good fortune.”

  “His good fortune?” he echoed. Nobody had informed him of any good fortune.

  “He’s to inherit a title,” she clarified.

  Oh. That good fortune. “Do you care about a title, then?” he asked softy. His heart hammered in his chest waiting for her answer.

  “No,” she burst out in a slightly hysterical tone. “Haven’t you been listening, you dolt? I don’t care one whit about his title. But he’ll think I do.”

  “Why do you think that?” he asked, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around her.

  “Do you remember the woman who I told you pointed out to me that I was tutoring illegitimate illiterates?” she asked, brushing a tear from her cheek?

  He nodded. “Yes. The mother to the little boy you played games with.”

  “She also told me that my husband used to be madly in love with her until she threw him over for his brother because his brother had a title. She said she’d later realized her mistake, but it was too late and he wouldn’t take her back.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. Lucy had hurt him when she’d refused him due to his lack of title. But he later realized that if he had indeed loved her, he would have taken her back when she wrote to him. Instead, he realized it had only been an infatuation and had helped her the best he could. Playing the part of Mr. Daltry, he couldn’t explain that to her just now. “Perhaps you should just tell him and see what he says,” he suggested.

  She rolled her eyes. “You seem to have a lot of faith in the two of us.”

  “I do,” he acknowledged. “I think you’d both benefit greatly from a candid conversation.”

  She frowned at him. “You would,” she said sarcastically.

  He scuffed his boot on the floor. “You don’t?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “I was going to talk to him after our last conversation. But then when I got home, he was gone to Cornwall because his brother was in an accident of some sort. A carriage I think. Anyway, I couldn’t talk to him there where someone could overhear. Especially if I were to tell him about you, which I fully intended to do.

  “Then he wanted to meet with me privately. He said we had a lot to talk about. I tho
ught he might explain about his brood of children because I’d caught him entertaining one of his mistresses and their child. But then, before our meeting he got called away for some ‘good news’.” She let out a deep exhale before continuing her rambling. “After he was gone, his cousins—who I’d just figured out were there for his brother’s funeral—started commenting about how I married well and didn’t know it, and I was as good as a viscountess now. A few even made crass comments about how they’d all retire early that night so my husband could start working on his heir.”

  Paul’s jaw clenched. As irritated as he was with her for always running from him and never confronting her problems head on, he was equally irritated with his cousins. They should have had more sense than to say those remarks to her. “Is that why you came here?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Yes,” she whispered, burying her head in his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck

  His arms came up around her, pulling her even closer to his body. “Shh. It will work out,” he whispered against her hair.

  “No, it won’t,” she cried fiercely, choking back a sob.

  “Yes, it will,” he assured her, stroking her back.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think you understand,” she said, pulling head back from his chest and lowering her hands to his shoulders. “I cannot tell him my feelings because he’ll throw my love for him back in my face.”

  “Love?” he repeated, shocked. She loved him? Him as in Paul Grimes?

  She groaned then closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. When she opened them again, she turned her head and nodded. “Yes, love. I love him. But he doesn’t love me. He’s nice enough to me, but he doesn’t love me.”

  “Do you think your husband so callous to spurn you for loving him?” he questioned, very interested in her answer.

  “Well, no,” she admitted. “He’s not cruel or anything. But I’ve no doubt he’ll think I only love him for his title and since he can’t exactly abandon me, he’ll use my love against me.”

  “Come again?” he said sharply, pulling her hands off his person. “You just said he’s not cruel, but what you just suggested he’ll do when you inform him of your feelings sounds rather cruel to me. So which is it, madam, do you love your husband or do you find him to be some sort of nasty brute?”

  “You misunderstand me,” she interrupted hastily. “He won’t spurn me right off because I’m his wife and he needs me to secure his heir. But that’s all he’ll see me as, a broodmare.”

  “I don’t think you know his character very well if you think that of him,” he said as she pushed him backwards on the bed and came to rest her head on his heart.

  She brought her right hand up to rest on his stomach and he felt a coil of desire form directly under the spot she touched. “Perhaps I don’t,” she confessed, pulling his shirt free of his trousers.

  He didn’t say anything in return. He couldn’t say anything. Her fingers worked loose the buttons of his waistcoat and laid it open, along with his coat. She brought her hand back to his stomach and traced lazy figure eights over the top of his shirt. Even through two layers of linen her touch made his blood race. He knew he should end this and leave before this went too far. Her hand reached under his shirt and his blood chilled. “You didn’t invite me here to use me as a replacement for your husband did you?” he asked raggedly.

  “A replacement?” she asked, her fingers skimming his bare abs.

  “Yes. So you don’t have to be his broodmare, as you so delicately put it.” His hand grabbed her wrist to still her wandering fingers. “I will not be used in that way.”

  “Are you saying you’d bed me under different circumstances, then?” she asked with a teasing smile.

  “Yes,” he answered honestly. He’d bed her tonight if she wished it. Who was he kidding, he’d bed her ten minutes after she walked through the door to their home. He was planning on it. She couldn’t get there soon enough to his mind.

  “Well, too bad for you, this broodmare plans to do right by her husband,” she said, breaking free of his grasp on her wrist and letting her fingers twirl the coarse hair that ran down the middle of his stomach.

  “Good. I think you’d break the heart of that besotted sap you call a husband if you gave him a cuckoo,” he teased as he closed his eyes again and let her touch him. He knew he shouldn’t let her continue. He should end the conversation and go home to wait for her to come to the real him. And yet, for as much as he knew he should stop her, he just couldn’t. It was the first time she’d ever touched him and he was too lost reveling in her touch to care she thought he was another man.

  She laughed. “Paul’s not besotted.”

  “Yes, he is,” he countered with a harsh laugh. “Only a besotted man would give his wife such a gift for St. Valentine’s Day. All the rest just buy them a bauble or trinket or something along those lines.”

  Her hand stilled and she lifted her head off his chest and favored him with a curious glance. “How did you know about that?” she questioned.

  “I saw it. It was laying on your vanity and I flipped through it while you were changing.” A lock of hair had fallen loose of her bun and his hand came up to push it behind her ear.

  She put her head back on his chest. “He’s a good man,” she admitted after a minute.

  “Promise me you’ll work it out this time. Don’t run away from him anymore,” he said, bringing his hand up to caress her arm just above her elbow.

  “I promise,” she whispered. Silence filled the room for a few minutes as they lay there in silence with their hearts beating in time with each other. “You know what’s funny,” she said, breaking the silence.

  “Hmm.”

  “You’ve hair in the same place as my husband,” she said, tugging on a tuft of hair near his naval.

  “Most men do,” he said, chuckling. “Anyway, how would you know,” he wondered, “I thought you had a marriage of convenience?”

  “Yes, that’s true, but I’ve seen him naked before,” she confided with a laugh. “It may have been only once, but I remember the details quite well.”

  “Oh really,” he drawled, trying not to grin at her revelation.

  “Oh yes,” she laughed. “I even remember he has a scar right,” her hand slipped into the waistband of his trousers so fast he couldn’t react in time to stop her, “here.” Just as she ran her slender finger over his left hipbone in the direction of his groin, his eyes went wide and he knew instantly he’d pressed his luck too far, and now the game was over.

  Chapter 30

  “Drop! Your! Pants!” Liberty demanded angrily as she pulled her hand from his trousers and stood up. Her voice was so loud she’d even hurt her own ears.

  “Pardon?” he said in feigned innocence, standing up.

  “You heard me” she yelled, a little softer, but not much. “Drop your pants.”

  “No.”

  She shrugged. “Fine. Don’t.”

  He crossed his arms defiantly and stared at her. “Fine. I won’t.”

  Anger and mortification swelled up inside her. How could he do this to her? How could he play her a fool this way? She walked up to his defiant form, grabbed the corner of his fake mustache and yanked it off, taking pleasure in watching him wince in pain. “Get out!” she yelled, pointing toward the door. “Get out of my room and stay out of my life.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “You made a promise. I intend to hold you to it.”

  “You can’t hold me to anything, you filthy liar,” she snapped, moving to the door. She tried to open the door to flee the room, but it was locked. She pounded on the door with her palm, trying to get someone’s attention. “Brooklyn, this isn’t funny. Open the door this instant.”

  “Sorry, Liberty,” came Brooke’s muffled voice. “I’m not unlocking the door until you two have worked it out.”

  “We have,” Liberty said.

  “Is that so?” her sister taunted, irritating Liberty all the more.
r />   “Yes,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Now let me out.”

  “Not until I know you two have worked it out and I am well on my way to being an aunt.”

  Liberty rolled her eyes. “That will not be happening.”

  “Yes, well, usually asking a man nicely to drop his pants, or just undoing them for him, is a better approach.”

  “And just how long have you been standing there,” Liberty demanded.

  “I walked up as you were pounding the door. But I heard you yelling for him to drop his pants all the way downstairs. You were so loud, I daresay the whole shire heard.”

  Heat crept up her neck and she turned to face her snickering husband. “Think that’s funny, do you?” she asked coldly. “Well, rest assured, dear husband, that is the only time you’ll ever be issued such an invitation by me.”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t much of an invitation,” he retorted.

  “Nonetheless, you’ll never hear me say those words to you again,” she hissed.

  “I don’t think you have much room to be angry,” he drawled. “You were the one caught sticking your hand down another man’s trousers.”

  Oh he wanted to play that card, did he? “I don’t know why you even care,” she replied angrily. “That’s nothing compared to your multitude of sins!”

  “To what do you refer?” he asked sarcastically. “The fourteen illegitimate children you seem to think I possess?”

  She snorted. “You know as well as I do they exist. Don’t deny it.”

  “I don’t deny their existence,” he said firmly. “However, I deny they’re mine. They’re Sam’s.”

  “Yes, they’re Sam’s and that’s why you’re paying for them. Right, I forgot, the younger, untitled and considerably less wealthy brother always pays the support of his older, titled and wealthy brother’s illegitimate children,” she mocked, rolling her eyes. “You know, I think you use Sam as your excuse for everything bad that happens to you. Fourteen illegitimate children, the reason you couldn’t get Lucy to marry you, and now for me discovering your identity because of a scar. Sam, Sam, Sam; he’s the reason for all three. Too bad for you, now that he’s gone, you can’t use him as a scapegrace anymore.”