Free Spring Fires by Cynthia Wright

and since I abhor Marcus Reems, I'll tell you what he wants from me."
    "As you may know, he is a banker, and seemingly well aware of the large loan my father drew several years ago, most of which we still owe. Mr. Reems believes that the bank will not accept me alone as their client, and in any event, he also believes that the CoffeeHouse is doomed if I intend to be sole proprietor." Her eyes flashed in recollection. "The toad! Ever so silkily, he offered to buy the CoffeeHouse for a very high price—to relieve me of this 'tremendous burden.' "
    "I gather that you refused?"
    "Of course! I'm perfectly capable of solving my own problems, and I certainly don't care to be rescued by Marcus Reems!"
    Nicholai lifted an eyebrow. "Somehow I knew you would say that. I might try to discuss the reality of your position here, with the CoffeeHouse, but I know you would summarily reject any advice I might offer, so I'll leave it to someone for whom you have a higher regard."
    He stood, but waved her down when she moved to join him. "No, no, I can find my way out." Casually, Nicholai leaned over, took Lisette's slim hand, and pressed his mouth to her palm. With satisfaction, he saw the tiny blond hairs on her forearm rise up. "Don't worry, I won't ravish you again. It has been... interesting knowing you, Lisette, and I do hope that if, in the future, you are overcome by 'womanly needs,' you won't hesitate to use me again."
    Lisette, for once, was speechless. She stared as Nicholai paused in the doorway to add an irrepressible emerald wink. Then he was gone.

 
     
     
    Chapter 9

     
    March 26, 1793
     
    The fashionable gown of primrose velvet sailed through the air, landing in a heap at the foot of the testered bed.
    "God's toes!" swore Meagan Hampshire, standing in the dressing room in her satin chemise. Still frustrated, she pressed her lips together and stamped a bare foot as hard as she was able.
    At that moment, the door to the bedchamber opened and Lion came in, eyes alight with mock fear. "Dare I enter?" he called, peeking into the dressing room. "Are you having a tantrum, fair wife?"
    "Oh, hush!" She reached for another gown from the long line adorning her side of the narrow chamber. After their marriage, they had begun to share one dressing room. They enjoyed bumping into each other, nearly naked, each morning as they dressed. Often, Lion substituted a return to bed with Meagan for his second cup of coffee.
    "You know, I fear you are losing your sense of humor," he commented now, an edge of irritation sharpening his own voice. "That might be serious... perhaps I should call Dr. Rush."
    "Oh, Lion." Slowly, Meagan turned to face her husband. Her violet eyes glistened as his fingers slipped into her curls; a wave of relief swept her when her cheek found his fresh-smelling shirtfront and she felt his other arm encircle her back. "I know I've been difficult; I get so mad sometimes when I realize how sorry I've been feeling for myself. People tell me it's part of pregnancy—and if that's true, I wonder if the whole idea wasn't a mistake. I can't wear a single one of my gowns—all the beautiful new ones you had made for me after the election. I was so happy then—"
    Lion felt Meagan's tiny back shake as she began to sob. "Sweetheart, this is madness...."
    "Oh, that's easy for you to say," she gulped through her sea of tears. "You're having a fine time, strutting like a peacock because your sweet, obedient wife is pregnant. But I'm the one getting fat, trapped in this house—" She almost added "losing you!" but stopped herself in time.
    "Meagan! That's a devil of a thing to say to me! Do you honestly believe that I'm behaving like a peacock, for God's sake?"
    She gazed up at him, searching his face, seeing the familiar expression of the man she loved. "No, of course not. It's not your fault—it just seems that our life has changed so much."
    Lion blotted her tears with his handkerchief before tightening his embrace and covering