Liberty for Paul (21 page)

Paul felt his gut clench. Had someone told her about Sam’s illegitimate brood? “And did he tell you himself this was his child?” he asked carefully.

“No,” she admitted softly. “I know it sounds awful, but it’s not just one. I have reason to suspect there’s more.”

He sucked in his breath. She’d heard and he wasn’t the one to tell her. He was a fool. He should have told her. How bad could it be though? Lucy was the only one still living close by and she had no qualms telling anyone who the father was. All the others he’d managed to find employment for elsewhere as quickly as possible. How many of those could she have heard about? Cautiously, he asked, “How many?”

She looked at him with such sad eyes he’d swear he’d just had an arrow shot into his heart. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, “Fourteen.”

Chapter 25

Paul felt as if there was a shortage of air in the room. If not for the hard hand whacking him on the back, he’d think he’d just died from shock. Fourteen?
Fourteen?
Is that how many of Sam’s brats he was supporting these days. And how on earth did Liberty know? He’d gotten in habit of writing down a long string of initials in the ledger, not even wanting to count the pairs to know how many there were. Then he’d send a set amount to his solicitor who divided it between them. It wasn’t much, just enough to support the children, about fifteen pounds a month each. Perhaps he needed to increase the monthly amount. “Are you certain?” he asked weakly.

“Yes,” she said solemnly after she was convinced he could breathe without her further assistance. “A little over three weeks ago some ladies had come over to sew and I overheard them talking bad about my husband while I was out of the room. I came in and jumped to his defense. But instead of apologizing like individuals living in a well-behaved society, they continued to gossip about him. One thing led to another and I was informed my husband had a slew of illegitimate children. I didn’t believe them. But then one of them told me to check the ledger and I’d see the truth. Thinking to clear my husband of the gossip, I did just that.” She choked back her sobs and wiped her eyes. “That’s when I found a long list of fourteen pair of initials. I recognized a few of the initials from the names the women had said.”

His emotions were warring inside of him. He couldn’t deny he’d felt joy when she said she’d defended him. But knowing she’d had cause to defend him ate him up. Those harpies had no business spreading those lies to his wife. But he couldn’t fault them completely, he should have told her. But when? They hadn’t exactly been getting along for most of their marriage; and this was not a topic you bring up over a casual dinner.

No wonder she’d left him. She thought he was like Sam, addicted to sex. She must have assumed since she wasn't warming his bed, some other woman was. Bile rose in his throat. Swallowing, he picked up Liberty’s trembling body and hauled her on his lap, pressing her head into his solid chest. Sobs wracked through her body and he carefully rubbed her back to calm her down. “Shh…” he whispered into her hair. He knew he probably should reveal himself now and ease her worries. But first, he wanted to see her smile at him just once more.

Tucking a tendril of stray hair behind her ear, he brushed the tears off her cheeks and waited for her to look at him. “You should look at the positive in this situation,” he said with a smile.

“You mean I should be thankful he’s proven to be so virile,” she said blandly.

“Sure; but that wasn’t what I was going to say,” he said. “I was—”

“Good,” she said, cutting him off from finishing his previous sentence. “I have no desire to go to bed with him.”

His jaw clamped together. “Why not?” he asked tightly. If he had it his way, he’d reveal his identity, explain about Sam and be hauling her off to the nearest bed in the next fifteen minutes.

“Why?” she echoed. “You cannot seriously think after he’s been with so many women that I’d actually let him touch me with his…his…” she trailed off, waving her hand wildly.

“Wedding tackle,” he supplied with a roguish grin.

“What?” she asked with a shaky laugh.

“Wedding tackle,” he repeated with a shrug. “It’s just one of the many names for a man’s privates.”

“Men name their body parts?” she asked, perturbed.

He chuckled at her naivety. “No, well, maybe, I don’t know.” He shook his head to clear the thought. “What I meant was, there is the scientific name and then there are…er…less than scientific names.”

“Less than scientific?” she said dubiously.

“
Right,” he agreed. “Most men call it their rod, tool, pole, unit, piece, member or something along those lines,” he didn’t want to get
too
graphic with her, and wisely chose to leave off some of the coarser terms, “but some, myself included, use different terms when in mixed company.” He winked at her blushing face. “Wedding tackle, privates, package, equipment, pizzle, t—,”

“Pizzle?” she repeated, a slight giggle burbling from her lips.

“Yes, pizzle,” he said in mock irritation. “It’s an older word with German origins.”

“Oh, well, I’d never heard it before, that’s all.”

“And do you typically spend time trying to learn slang terms for a man’s genitals?” he asked, trying not to laugh. He knew the answer to that as well as she did.

“No,” she blustered. “Actually, I’ve heard more from you than anyone else.”

“Even your husband?” he asked casually.

She looked up at him again with that sad, dull look in her eyes that ate at his heart. “Yes. The night before I married, my sister and mother tried to explain what would happen. And for as much as they fought over who would get the honor, neither of them were very informative. The only thing I learned was that he was going to touch me with it. They didn’t say exactly where, nor what the thing was called. The only term I’d ever heard for it was earlier that when night my other sister called it a ‘love musket’. When I asked my husband if he planned to touch me with his ‘love musket’ I thought he was going to die of laughter while I died of mortification.”

He tried not to laugh again. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he assured her unevenly, then turned his head to hide his grin.

“Oh, you can laugh,” she said lightly, flashing him a smile. “But if you want a real laugh at my expense I must tell you another story. But first, you must promise not to tell anyone. Ever. I’m serious. This is far worse than anything I’ve told you so far.”

“All right,” he agreed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer to his chest.

She looked up at him with questions in her eyes, but still didn’t make a move to get off his lap. “When I first married I joined a bunch of charitable organizations. One of which was to help both children and adults learn to read. I thought it was odd that the meeting was located above the local tavern, but didn’t let that stop me. Anyway, every Tuesday I went to the meeting, walking right by the sign, mind you. Every Tuesday I’d stay later than everyone else because there was this little boy whose mother was always late to collect him and we’d play all sorts of wild games while we waited for her.

“Then, one day when she came to get him, she praised how nice it was that my husband allowed me to help the illegitimate learn to read. Thinking she had her terms confused, I tried to correct her and explain the difference between illegitimate and illiterate.

“
After five minutes of arguing with her, I ran down the stairs to grab the sign and show her. I swear my whole life flashed before my eyes when I read that sign. The sign itself did indeed advertise for volunteers to help the
illegitimate
learn to read.”

Paul couldn’t reign in his laughter as he thought what her face must have looked like when she reread that sign. “It seems you might not be as literate as you thought,” he teased when his laughter ceased.

“Indeed not,” she agreed, with a wide smile.

“Do you plan to go back?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. It will depend on how my husband handles it. I haven’t told him yet, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to screw up the courage to do so. It wouldn’t be very advantageous for his work if I continue,” she explained.

“I see. Can I ask you something personal?”

“Sir, we’ve discussed my husband’s affairs, names for men’s private parts and the fact that I was unknowingly tutoring illegitimate illiterates, what could possibly be more personal?” she said, resting her head against his heart.

His heart would have squeezed at her gesture if he hadn’t been so jealous of himself. She’d never talked so freely or acted so tenderly with him, but with a stranger, all restraints were down. It was heartbreaking. He cleared his throat and said in a husky voice, “I can think of many things more personal than that.” He winked at her when she pulled away and gasped. “But what I wanted to ask you is if you honestly think your husband would put his work above you and your interests?” he asked, pulling her back to him.

She turned her head up to face him and wet her lips with the tip of her pink tongue. “I don’t know. Probably.”

He stiffened. She really thought he cared more for his position than for her. Sure he loved to preach, but it wasn’t as if his reputation wasn’t already in the privy. Her helping illegitimate illiterates learn to read wouldn’t harm him one bit. Even if his reputation was pristine, he wouldn’t stop her. “Why?” he asked hoarsely.

She shrugged. “Maybe he wouldn’t. I truly don’t know. But I’m afraid to tell him all the same.”

“He’s not cruel to you, is he?”

“No, not really,” she admitted. “I mean, we’ve had our moments, but who hasn’t? I’d be afraid to disappoint him, that’s all.”

“Disappoint him?” he repeated, hating the way the words tasted bitter on his tongue.

“Yes. Before we were married, it was explained to me that I was lucky he’d have me and I needed to be on my best behavior—always. Otherwise, I’d disappoint him and he’d send me away,” she said unevenly.

He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. In a fit of anger he’d told John he’d send her back to America with them if she gave him fits. And in turn, she’d erected the wall of ice around her heart all because of his careless words. Choking back his own waves of emotions, he sought to comfort her. He pulled her as tightly to him as he could and kissed the top of her head before resting his cheek on her crown, knocking her hairpiece askew. He felt her silent tears wetting his shirt and it was almost his undoing. Not trusting his voice, he moved his left hand to rub small circles on her back, while his right held her face firmly against his chest, massaging her scalp with the ends of his fingers.

After a few minutes, he whispered soft and low, “You couldn’t be a disappointment if you tried.” He meant it, too.

“That’s not what Papa said,” she told him, wiping her nose on the handkerchief she’d found on the inside of his shirt pocket.

“
What?
” he hollered, making her jump.

“I needed a handkerchief, and it was right there. I’m sorry. Just wait a minute and I’ll get you a new one,” she said irritably.

“No, don’t bother,” he said, squeezing her to him. “I don’t give a hang about the handkerchief. I want to know what your father said to you.”

Her hazel eyes went wide at his demand. “Nothing that wasn’t true,” she mumbled at last. “He told me once that I was a disappointment.”

“When? Why?” he demanded, anger seeping into his voice. What had she done that had been so bad John would feel she deserved those hateful words?

“
Before I married, my husband and I were caught in a
very
scandalous situation that was to my making. That night, he told me I was a disappointment.”

Paul wordlessly nodded. He remembered that night very vividly. He’d gone into John’s study and waited for her to join them. The whole time he’d answered John’s uncomfortable questions and silently hoped John wouldn’t demand marriage. However, if he’d known Liberty was going to be treated so badly after he left, he might have offered for her just to save her the pain of her father’s cruel words.

“Let me see if I have this right,” he said, his voice sounded like gravel in his throat. “You’ve been afraid to do the things you want around your husband because your father said he was disappointed in you, and you didn’t want to disappoint your husband and be sent away?”

She nodded.

He exhaled sharply. He’d never been as angry with John as he was right now. Not even when he’d learned John duped him into what he thought would be a miserable existence until they put him in the ground compared to this. But Liberty didn’t need to hear angry words about her father, she needed soothing words. Words that would help her understand that John hadn’t meant what he’d said. Because as mad as he was with the man, he knew John hadn’t meant it and he’d be disappointed in himself if he knew how Liberty had reacted to his words.

Bringing his hand up to the back of her head, he grabbed a curl and twisted it around his finger. Her hair was so soft, he thought as he let the hair go and watched the curl spring back to her head. “I’m personally not a father,” he said truthfully, “but I believe I’ve had enough experience with matters of the heart to tell you that he didn’t mean what he said.”

She looked up at him with her doe eyes and asked, “Who?”

“Both of them,” he said hoarsely. “From what I understand, you and your husband didn’t have a good start before your engagement. Perhaps his words were said because he was just as scared as you about entering into a marriage with someone who didn’t hold him in any esteem.” That was true enough.

“I suppose you’re right,” she acknowledged, cocking her head in contemplation. “Actually, that makes a lot of sense. If I remember my father’s words correctly he just said that if my husband didn’t think we suited after six months, he’d return me to my parents.” She twisted her lips into a mock sneer.