exaggerated sigh. “We must go to the florist before writing out the invitations, dear.”
Michelle nodded, hiding her grin. “Yes, Mother,” she said for what felt like the tenth time that morning.
Her mother reveled in these details, and Michelle wouldn’t want to detract from the woman’s pleasure. Lady Helen left her, humming to herself.
Michelle dressed and joined her mother in the foyer just as the doorbell rang. It was a messenger with a response to one of the notes she’d written earlier. She opened and read it.
“It’s from Lord Kanewood, Mother,” Michelle said. “And he’d be delighted to give me away.”
“Oh, this is wonderful news!” Lady Helen beamed. “You must write him a note of thanks directly, Michelle.”
Michelle penned the note and the ladies went on their errands, soon immersed in the selection of flowers for the reception.
* * * *
Paul rose late that morning and, after a quick meal of ham and eggs, closed himself up in his study. He had much to get done before the week was out. He set to work immediately, poring over the files on his desk. He was surprised to find one file on the topic they had discussed last night.
“The Royal Navy? Hmm.” Smiling, he remembered how eloquently Michelle had stated her views. And how proud he’d been regardless of the other gentlemen’s reactions.
He opened the file and scanned the contents. The gentleman who planned to speak on the matter held the same opinion as his beautiful bride-to-be.
“Surely Michelle wouldn’t mind my using some of her very words.”
As he crafted a persuasive speech for his client, he remembered Burns’s veiled attempts at discredit last night. His fawning over Michelle’s face and form was almost forgivable. She was an incredible beauty and Paul had snatched her off the Marriage Mart in nearly a heartbeat. But alluding to Paul’s speechwriting? That was not forgivable. His clients knew well of Paul’s work, and his speeches were sought after through discreet referrals. But no mention was ever made of the work in company. The peers preferred to take credit for his words on the floor and Paul preferred not to have the necessity for his nearly working in trade to be bandied about the ballroom.
“The weasel had better keep his snout shut,” he muttered.
He leaned back in his chair and reviewed what he’d written, humming as he began his final edits.
Chapter 10
Paul arrived at the Thomas townhouse, Michelle’s note tucked in his pocket. In it she’d politely requested his presence for tea at her mother’s home. He’d completed two more speeches that afternoon and was pleased for the diversion and the unexpected opportunity to see his intended.
When the butler showed him into the parlor, his eyes settled immediately on Michelle. She wore a tea gown of pale pink, the color nearly matching her skin. Her hair was loosely gathered at the back of her head, several red-gold curls floated about her shoulders. He’d never seen such a pretty sight. “Hello, love. Where is your mother?”
Michelle smiled. “Mother deemed it proper to leave us on our own, Paul.”
Paul recalled the last time they’d been alone in the parlor and a punch of lust struck him low in his belly. “Foolish woman.”
Michelle blushed but her smile widened.
As they drank their tea, her hands caught his attention. “What is on your hands? Ink?”
“It’s nothing.” She tried to hide her ink-stained fingers from him, thrusting between the folds of her skirt.
He clicked his tongue at her and grasped her hands in his. “Love, whatever are you hiding?”
“Mother and I wrote out the wedding invitations today,” she said. “I thought you would find my hands distasteful.”
He placed kisses on her fingers. “I’ll never find anything about you distasteful.”
She lowered her eyes. “Paul, what have you been about today?”
“Why do you ask?”
She turned his hands over in hers. “Your hands have nearly as much
Michelle nodded, hiding her grin. “Yes, Mother,” she said for what felt like the tenth time that morning.
Her mother reveled in these details, and Michelle wouldn’t want to detract from the woman’s pleasure. Lady Helen left her, humming to herself.
Michelle dressed and joined her mother in the foyer just as the doorbell rang. It was a messenger with a response to one of the notes she’d written earlier. She opened and read it.
“It’s from Lord Kanewood, Mother,” Michelle said. “And he’d be delighted to give me away.”
“Oh, this is wonderful news!” Lady Helen beamed. “You must write him a note of thanks directly, Michelle.”
Michelle penned the note and the ladies went on their errands, soon immersed in the selection of flowers for the reception.
* * * *
Paul rose late that morning and, after a quick meal of ham and eggs, closed himself up in his study. He had much to get done before the week was out. He set to work immediately, poring over the files on his desk. He was surprised to find one file on the topic they had discussed last night.
“The Royal Navy? Hmm.” Smiling, he remembered how eloquently Michelle had stated her views. And how proud he’d been regardless of the other gentlemen’s reactions.
He opened the file and scanned the contents. The gentleman who planned to speak on the matter held the same opinion as his beautiful bride-to-be.
“Surely Michelle wouldn’t mind my using some of her very words.”
As he crafted a persuasive speech for his client, he remembered Burns’s veiled attempts at discredit last night. His fawning over Michelle’s face and form was almost forgivable. She was an incredible beauty and Paul had snatched her off the Marriage Mart in nearly a heartbeat. But alluding to Paul’s speechwriting? That was not forgivable. His clients knew well of Paul’s work, and his speeches were sought after through discreet referrals. But no mention was ever made of the work in company. The peers preferred to take credit for his words on the floor and Paul preferred not to have the necessity for his nearly working in trade to be bandied about the ballroom.
“The weasel had better keep his snout shut,” he muttered.
He leaned back in his chair and reviewed what he’d written, humming as he began his final edits.
Chapter 10
Paul arrived at the Thomas townhouse, Michelle’s note tucked in his pocket. In it she’d politely requested his presence for tea at her mother’s home. He’d completed two more speeches that afternoon and was pleased for the diversion and the unexpected opportunity to see his intended.
When the butler showed him into the parlor, his eyes settled immediately on Michelle. She wore a tea gown of pale pink, the color nearly matching her skin. Her hair was loosely gathered at the back of her head, several red-gold curls floated about her shoulders. He’d never seen such a pretty sight. “Hello, love. Where is your mother?”
Michelle smiled. “Mother deemed it proper to leave us on our own, Paul.”
Paul recalled the last time they’d been alone in the parlor and a punch of lust struck him low in his belly. “Foolish woman.”
Michelle blushed but her smile widened.
As they drank their tea, her hands caught his attention. “What is on your hands? Ink?”
“It’s nothing.” She tried to hide her ink-stained fingers from him, thrusting between the folds of her skirt.
He clicked his tongue at her and grasped her hands in his. “Love, whatever are you hiding?”
“Mother and I wrote out the wedding invitations today,” she said. “I thought you would find my hands distasteful.”
He placed kisses on her fingers. “I’ll never find anything about you distasteful.”
She lowered her eyes. “Paul, what have you been about today?”
“Why do you ask?”
She turned his hands over in hers. “Your hands have nearly as much
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