thing.”
“You would disobey me?”
She smiled sweetly. “Without hesitation.”
Morgan stiffened. “As your husband, it is my responsibility to determine what pastimes are fit for my wife.”
“And as your wife, it is my duty to accommodate your wishes. I will attempt to do so — within reason.”
“Whose determination is it if my requests are reasonable?”
“Mine, of course.”
A small tremor of alarm shot through him as he perceived a dangerous trend, one he had heretofore overlooked. She had defied her uncle in finding a suitor of her own choosing. She had defied convention in earning an income of her own by leasing her father’s warehouse space. Now she was openly defying him. He had relented in the matter of his nuptial rights, but he would not indulge her whim on every issue. Better she learn now who commanded the household.
He leaned one broad shoulder against the window frame, eyeing her coolly. “I’m afraid you overestimate your influence in this matter. I need only send word to the editor of the
Review,
informing him that you are my wife and that I wish for him to cease publication of your column immediately.”
Heavy silence filled the room. “Yes, you have that authority,” she agreed at last. “But if you do, I will resent you for it and that resentment will fester between us for the remainder of our married life.”
“Perhaps that is a risk I am willing to take.”
She returned his stare with one of glacial self-assurance. “While I cannot prevent you from doing so, I can assure you it would be a mistake. I ask that you consider what you will have gained, for it will accomplish nothing but my undying hostility. Furthermore, it was my understanding that the primary goal of our union was to find Lazarus. How do you expect to accomplish that if he can no longer contact me through the
Review?”
Damn.
Morgan scanned his memory but could not recall a single instance when he had blundered so thoroughly. Had he thought the matter through, rather than reacting on emotion, he would have come to the same conclusion. Instead, his response had been both idiotic and embarrassing. But rather than admit that directly, he temporized. “Has it occurred to you that we may have driven Lazarus away by uniting openly? He had perceived you as a partner; our alliance may be seen by him as the ultimate treachery.”
A worried frown knit her brow. “Yes,” she conceded with a sigh. “I did consider that.” She paused, and then continued hesitantly. “But there was something in his communications, something that gave me confidence he would not do so. I may have read too much into them, but his letters seemed to indicate that he had formed a rather profound attachment toward me — an attachment he would not easily abandon.”
Morgan nodded. After viewing the man’s letters, he had reached the same conclusion.
Setting that issue aside for the moment, she continued. “It has occurred to me that Lazarus may not have been working alone. I thought our first step in uncovering his identity should be to determine exactly whose body was discovered among the ashes of Lord Webster’s fire. If the two men were working in conjunction, his corpse may very well lead us to the identity of Lazarus himself.”
“A laudable goal, but as no one was able to identify the man at the time, and two years have since passed, I would imagine those ashes have grown even cooler.”
“Very likely, yes. Nevertheless, I suggest we begin our search by eliminating the loose ends.” She retrieved a worn vellum notebook from the pocket of her skirt and flipped through the pages with a concentrated frown. “Yesterday I reviewed the notes I took at the time of Lord Webster’s fire, and—”
“You took notes?”
“I always take notes. In writing my column, it’s vital that I capture exactly what is said. A word or two repeated in error can change the entire nuance of a sentence. I was particularly careful in getting down
“You would disobey me?”
She smiled sweetly. “Without hesitation.”
Morgan stiffened. “As your husband, it is my responsibility to determine what pastimes are fit for my wife.”
“And as your wife, it is my duty to accommodate your wishes. I will attempt to do so — within reason.”
“Whose determination is it if my requests are reasonable?”
“Mine, of course.”
A small tremor of alarm shot through him as he perceived a dangerous trend, one he had heretofore overlooked. She had defied her uncle in finding a suitor of her own choosing. She had defied convention in earning an income of her own by leasing her father’s warehouse space. Now she was openly defying him. He had relented in the matter of his nuptial rights, but he would not indulge her whim on every issue. Better she learn now who commanded the household.
He leaned one broad shoulder against the window frame, eyeing her coolly. “I’m afraid you overestimate your influence in this matter. I need only send word to the editor of the
Review,
informing him that you are my wife and that I wish for him to cease publication of your column immediately.”
Heavy silence filled the room. “Yes, you have that authority,” she agreed at last. “But if you do, I will resent you for it and that resentment will fester between us for the remainder of our married life.”
“Perhaps that is a risk I am willing to take.”
She returned his stare with one of glacial self-assurance. “While I cannot prevent you from doing so, I can assure you it would be a mistake. I ask that you consider what you will have gained, for it will accomplish nothing but my undying hostility. Furthermore, it was my understanding that the primary goal of our union was to find Lazarus. How do you expect to accomplish that if he can no longer contact me through the
Review?”
Damn.
Morgan scanned his memory but could not recall a single instance when he had blundered so thoroughly. Had he thought the matter through, rather than reacting on emotion, he would have come to the same conclusion. Instead, his response had been both idiotic and embarrassing. But rather than admit that directly, he temporized. “Has it occurred to you that we may have driven Lazarus away by uniting openly? He had perceived you as a partner; our alliance may be seen by him as the ultimate treachery.”
A worried frown knit her brow. “Yes,” she conceded with a sigh. “I did consider that.” She paused, and then continued hesitantly. “But there was something in his communications, something that gave me confidence he would not do so. I may have read too much into them, but his letters seemed to indicate that he had formed a rather profound attachment toward me — an attachment he would not easily abandon.”
Morgan nodded. After viewing the man’s letters, he had reached the same conclusion.
Setting that issue aside for the moment, she continued. “It has occurred to me that Lazarus may not have been working alone. I thought our first step in uncovering his identity should be to determine exactly whose body was discovered among the ashes of Lord Webster’s fire. If the two men were working in conjunction, his corpse may very well lead us to the identity of Lazarus himself.”
“A laudable goal, but as no one was able to identify the man at the time, and two years have since passed, I would imagine those ashes have grown even cooler.”
“Very likely, yes. Nevertheless, I suggest we begin our search by eliminating the loose ends.” She retrieved a worn vellum notebook from the pocket of her skirt and flipped through the pages with a concentrated frown. “Yesterday I reviewed the notes I took at the time of Lord Webster’s fire, and—”
“You took notes?”
“I always take notes. In writing my column, it’s vital that I capture exactly what is said. A word or two repeated in error can change the entire nuance of a sentence. I was particularly careful in getting down
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