She knew the strength of him. The feel of his body as it covered hers. The silky thickness of his hair. The way he looked at her. The way he kissed her.

And yet, there was still so much about him that was unknowable. A secret, vulnerable part of him that made her vulnerable in turn.

“Were you very disappointed?” she asked.

Alex glanced up again. “I was. On your behalf.”

Laura supposed that was something. She held out her hand. “May I read through them?”

“Of course.” He handed half the stack of documents to her.

She leafed through the pages. The majority were in French, much to her chagrin. Thanks to Papa, she could speak the language a little, but she wasn’t able to read it. “I can’t make head or tail of these.” She gave them back to him. “I wish you would teach me proper French.”

His brows lifted. “Now?”

“Not now. Someday, I meant.” She rose from her chair, feeling cross and restless. “Pray don’t get up. I’m only going to the desk.” There was an escritoire in the corner, stocked with paper, pens, and ink. “I must write to Teddy and Aunt Charlotte.”

His gray gaze followed her as she crossed the room. “Have I done something to upset you?”

“No.” She sat down at the desk and opened the top drawer, withdrawing several sheets of paper.

“Then why do I have the distinct feeling that you’re angry with me?”

“I’m not angry, I’m—” She broke off, muttering, “I don’t know what I am.”

Alex set aside his papers and came to the desk. He sank down on his haunches beside her chair. “Do you want to sell the distillery?”

She gazed down at him. He was so handsome. So exceedingly dear. She smoothed his hair from his brow, combing it back into place with her fingers. He went still. Trusting her. Allowing her to handle him as she pleased. “No. I don’t want to sell it. But you know what all of this means, don’t you? Another year to wait before there’s any kind of profit to be had. A year of nothing but expenses.”

“What would you have done if I wasn’t here?”

The mere thought of it squeezed at her heart. Little more than a week of marriage, and she already couldn’t imagine her life without him. “Consulted with the bank, probably. Teddy and I spoke of borrowing against the property in order to resume production. But that was the farm in Dorset.”

“I don’t see why we can’t do the same with this property.”

“We don’t live here. We won’t be on hand to oversee things. And after Mr. Weatherwax’s misconduct…I don’t want to leave it to a solicitor, or someone like Monsieur Marchand. I couldn’t trust that they’d do what was right.”