The Minx Who Met Her Match

by Christi Caldwell

  “During his tenure, Lathan loyally served the Home Office, and that reputation should—”

  “You would like me to take the case?” Duncan asked.

  Ewan gave him a confused look. “Forgive me if I was unclear. That is precisely the reason I’m… we,” he swiftly clarified, “are here.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you.” His gaze remained locked on the laconic stranger. “I was speaking to your brother.”

  More stony silence met that pronouncement.

  Another might have been disquieted by the hard glint reflected in the youngest Holman’s eyes. Younger than Duncan, Lathan was near an age Duncan had been when he was accused of murdering his wife. Back then, Duncan had also perfected a lethal stare and emotional detachment. And he’d become familiar with that hardness in many of his clients.

  “Ahem.” Ewan, the sole solicitor to refer cases to Duncan, gave his brother a pointed look… that went ignored. His expression blank, Lathan Holman remained a study in silence.

  Frowning, Ewan turned back to Duncan. “He wants you to represent him. Isn’t that right, Lathan? Tell him as much.”

  Ignoring the elder brother’s attempt at eliciting a response, Duncan spoke directly to the man society was all-too-eager to see swing. “You were charged with treason and impressed.”

  “I know my circumstances,” Lathan said, speaking his first words since he’d accompanied his brother into Duncan’s cluttered offices. He removed his spectacles and dusted each of the lenses. “There were some who believed I was deserving of an opportunity to clear my name. My brother being one.” His lip peeled in a sneer. “My brother being the only one.” A harsh, ugly laugh that no one would dare mistake as humor shook his frame. “Isn’t that right, Ewan?”

  Ewan’s scowl deepened, but he didn’t rise to that bait.

  Lathan had been scorned by not only Society, then. By his thinly veiled words, the younger man’s family had also rejected him. And yet, he’d retained the support of a loyal brother, which was a good deal more than Duncan had known in terms of his family. He beat his pen distractedly along the edge of his desk. All the while, he considered Lathan Holman, his case, and the opportunities it presented. Duncan stopped tapping. “And that is what you wish me to do? Clear your name?”

  “Yes.” That icy grin deepened, never quite meeting the younger Holman’s eyes. “Or that is my brother’s idea and certainly preferable to another trip to the penal colonies.”

  And yet, there was a certainty; the strongest men perished from being impressed. And the ones who managed to survive did so because of strength… and luck, but ultimately, that hellish experience left them ravaged and forever transformed.

  Duncan knew nothing about the man across from him other than what Society, on the whole, had gleaned from the scandal sheets: A secretary at the Home Office, he’d betrayed his superior, which had nearly resulted in the death of the unknown agent. The identity of that gentleman, however, remained a mystery, a closely guarded secret at the Home Office and the fodder of speculation. It was also crucial information that would shed light on Lathan Holman… and provide a context to a jury who’d already found him guilty in their minds.

  High profile as the case already was, to Duncan it represented the opportunity for more: more funds, notoriety that would make him more than just the barrister who’d been charged with murder, and, if Duncan successfully defended an infamous client, respect from those in the legal profession, which would likely lead to referrals from more than just Ewan.

  “Did you betray King and Country?” Duncan asked.

  The stone-cold gentleman narrowed his eyes. “Would it matter if I did?” His cool gaze slipped around the office, lingering on the dilapidated furniture and untidy workspace. “Though I trust it’s ultimately about the coin one can earn, isn’t it?”

  “Lathan,” his brother admonished, failing to see that the jaded person beside him could never be chastised.

  “It’s fine.” Duncan held up a palm, staying those unnecessary attempts. The young man wasn’t off the mark; in fact, he was impressively close to it. Duncan’s career and finances had struggled since he’d been accused of murder.

  “You misunderstood the reason for my questioning.” He directed that at the younger Holman. But then, Society didn’t tend to be of the same opinion as Duncan, that all men and women, regardless of station or even ownership of guilt, were all deserving of a fair trial. “It doesn’t matter how much money you have or could toss at me.” Since the night his own life had been turned upside down, and he’d been found guilty by the world at large, some things had come to matter more than just funds. As such, Duncan didn’t discriminate in cases or coins. “All people are deserving of a trial.” Alas, not that people were of a like opinion. People were content to judge another and execute him based on opinions and flimsy evidence alone.

  A cold smile ghosted the other man’s lips. “Even the guilty?”

  It was the moment he became absolutely certain of Lathan Holman’s innocence. Only the innocent tossed their guilt around as a threat and taunt.

  “All are equal before the law,” Duncan quietly returned.

  Lathan chuckled, the sound rusty and low like he’d forgotten how to laugh and had instead perfected the art of concealing all sound. “What a fanciful idea, that. All are equal.”

  “I didn’t say that is what Society believes.” Duncan leaned forward and rested his palms on the surface of his cluttered desk. “It is, however, what I believe.” There were some men of honor who’d never dare take a sinner as a client. He’d made enough mistakes in his own life and connected far more with extremely flawed criminals than he did with pompous and proper barristers who’d defend only those who were unequivocally innocent.

  “Ah, I see.”

  The other man might be hardened by the recent events in his life, but Duncan had become jaded when Lathan Holman was no doubt in Eton, an enthusiastic student with only promise and optimism for life. As such, Duncan wouldn’t be goaded by him or anyone. “What is it you think you see?” he asked without inflection.

  “You connect with the criminal, then, because you’re a wife murderer.” It was a familiarly leveled charge that had faded with time but had never vanished in its entirety. And though the force of the blow from those words had lessened, it struck still.

  “Bloody hell, Lathan. Will you stop?” Ewan hissed.

  “Ah, but we’re not discussing my crimes,” Duncan said to the younger brother, ignoring Ewan’s interruption. “I’ve been exonerated.” While he’d been cleared of wrongdoing, the guilt remained, both his own and that which was directed at him by strangers on the street. Just as Lathan Holman’s own sense of guilt would dog him until he drew his last breath. That was if he was spared the hangman’s noose or impressment.

  Lathan looped his right ankle across his knee in a gesture that on the surface would have been construed as affected. “What do you wish to know?” The tight lines at the corners of the younger man’s mouth and the slight spasm of his lower leg muscles, however, made a mockery of that nonchalance. Following Duncan’s stare, Holman unfolded his leg, and then, holding his gaze, the other man dared Duncan with his eyes to say anything of his injury.

  “If I’m going to consider taking your case, you’re going to have to share with me the details surrounding your alleged crime.”

  Lathan shrugged. “No doubt you’ve heard all about it. All of Society, polite”—he curled his lips up—“and otherwise, are familiar with it.” This time, for all Holman’s earlier mastery of his emotions, he could not keep the bitterness from creeping in.

  “I have heard what Society has said, that you were given employment by a respected nobleman at the Home Office and that you, in turn, betrayed him. If you believe I’m the manner of barrister to make any determinations about a case or accept one based on gossip columns, you’ve underestimated both me and my work.”

  “They’re saying I sought to subvert those of authority within the Home
Office.”

  Once again, the flinty-eyed gentleman attempted to pollute Duncan’s opinion of him. “And did you?”

  “Yes, and quite easily,” Lathan confirmed as casually as if he were offering instructions on how he preferred his tea.

  Duncan sat back in his seat. He’d hand it to the other man. For someone in desperate need of his services—any services—he was doing everything he could to see himself turned away. Another barrister, any one of them, no doubt, wouldn’t have even let a man of Holman’s notoriety through the front doors of their establishment. Lathan Holman’s case, however, represented something to Duncan—an opportunity to rebuild his career as a barrister and provide for his daughter as she deserved.

  “Tell me this, Mr. Holman,” he began. “Is your attempt at eliciting a rejection from me deliberate? Or is it a subconscious effort?”

  That managed to penetrate the harsh, icy, indifferent gaze with which Holman had walked into Duncan’s office. The young man’s expression grew stricken.

  Duncan had hit the nail on the mark, then.

  “No matter your intentions,” he went on when Lathan met that question with only silence. “I’ve taken on any number of clients over the years with considerable crimes to their name. But I cannot determine how I may help you if you’re expecting me to rely upon Society’s gossip.”

  His former college mate cleared his throat. “I can share the information I’ve managed to gather on the case.” He reached into the satchel on his lap and withdrew a folder inside that he placed on Duncan’s desk.

  “There is always some truth to gossip,” Lathan Holman said cryptically. “My role was to serve the Home Office. I was to be loyal to my superiors. In those endeavors, I failed.”

  Interesting.

  Even after having been cut loose by the Crown and sent to a penal colony, he’d maintain silence on behalf of that agency.

  Duncan set his pen down and pressed the tips of his fingers together.

  Mayhap Holman doesn’t want to be found innocent. Mayhap he was just another man who sought to punish himself for the crimes Society believed he’d committed when, all the while, the truth was one with many layers and complexities.

  “Do you want my services enlisted on your behalf, Mr. Holman?” Duncan repeated.

  “Sir?” the young man asked, slipping into a subservient role that proved a remarkable tell as to the work he’d likely done with the Home Office.

  “He does.” Ewan rapidly supplied an answer when his brother did not. “Tell him that you do, Lathan.”

  A muscle rippled along Lathan’s jaw. Resting a hand on his knee, the other man massaged the muscles there until he caught Duncan’s gaze on that telling gesture.

  “If you want to keep secret the details surrounding your role and decision with anyone else—your parents, your siblings, your dog, whomever it may be—then you’re free to that secrecy.” Duncan leaned across the desk. “However, if you truly have a desire to have your name restored, you will have to tell me everything at some point soon.”

  A sad smile ghosted the younger gentleman’s lips. “Can one accused of crime ever truly be exonerated?”

  There was a whisper of desperation, a plea contained within that question.

  He’d not lie to the man. “No.” Duncan’s answer came from the knowledge of one whose name remained synonymous, all these years later, with the crime of murder. “Most are content with the surface layer of a person’s sins or crimes, but the truths will be laid out in a way that will serve as an affirmation for the one charged. And the people who matter will see those truths.”

  Lathan burst forward and slammed a fist on the edge of Duncan’s desk. “There are no people who matter,” he thundered.

  At that explosion, Ewan’s features twisted.

  Duncan remained calm and quiet in the face of that burst of fury. “Then it will be enough for you,” he said quietly.

  Silenced marched on before his potential client started to speak, but then stopped. As if he’d realized with his outburst that he’d revealed too much of himself, Lathan sat back, silent once more.

  “Will you accept the case?” Ewan asked gravely.

  Given that most of the income he’d earned to provide for his daughter was a product of Ewan’s referrals, loyalty required he take the case.

  He’d not, however, if he hadn’t fully believed he could successfully defend and free the man’s younger brother.

  “He has to take the case,” the rumored traitor jeered. “He has no choice.”

  The gentleman wasn’t wrong on that score, and yet, that was not the sole reason Duncan worked with the ones Society found unfavorable.

  “Why, with your black reputation and your daughter to consider,” Lathan went on, “you aren’t necessarily in a position to be turning away clients.”

  Fury snapped through him. Shooting over the desk, Duncan grabbed the other man by the front of his jacket and dragged him to his feet. “Do not mention my daughter,” he growled. “Ever.” With that warning, he shoved the bulkier man back into his seat.

  Charlemagne’s name had been fodder since her mother’s tragic death. Now of an age that she heard—and understood—more, Duncan had moved them to London in the hopes of protecting her. He now knew that Charlemagne’s was a name that would always be fodder. That did not, however, mean that Duncan wouldn’t gleefully dismember anyone who hurt—or sought to hurt—her.

  “Have I made myself clear, Mr. Holman?” he asked when’d reclaimed his seat.

  The other man inclined his head. “Abundantly so,” he said without any inflection in his voice.

  He let his arms fall to the desk. “I’ll accept your case, Mr. Holman. We’ll begin organizing the facts and other details surrounding your case first thing tomorrow morning.”

  The alleged traitor gave the slightest nod, the only indication that he’d heard Duncan’s offer. Then, struggling to his feet, the other man limped off and was gone.

  Chapter 2

  It was a truth universally known that sons paid for the sins of their father.

  Miss Josephine Pratt, however, found quite bothersome the world’s failure to recognize or note all the ways in which sisters paid for the sins of their brothers.

  It had been the Pratt men who had ruined the Pratt name. One rogue of a brother with a reputation as a wastrel had seen them in financial straits. Another brother had jilted a lady in the name of advancing his career as a barrister.

  And in the absolute way of the world, all scandals and sins perpetrated by men passed over to women. Women whose names were left in tatters through no fault of their own.

  Josephine Pratt, however, was determined to be more than her family’s scandals.

  It was why, at that precise moment, she sought out Henry, the youngest of her elder brothers.

  Letting herself into the offices he shared with several barristers, Josephine shook out her skirts and looked about. In an indication of just how much time she’d spent here these past two years, the clerks and secretaries gave no outward reaction to her appearance. But for Dorinda, a bright-eyed young woman near in age to Josephine, glanced up from her sweeping. “Hullo, Miss Pratt,” she said cheerfully.

  “Dorinda,” she returned. Loosening the strings of her bonnet, Josephine pushed the straw article back and crossed over to the young woman. “My brother—”

  “Is in his offices, miss.” Dorinda stole a glance at the closed door at the corner of the establishment. “Said he’s not to be interrupted. He’s working on his case.”

  His case.

  Nay, The Case.

  Her heart thumped an accelerated beat.

  The newspapers had been brimming with details of the Home Office clerk, Lathan Holman, who’d betrayed King and Country and been sentenced to penal transportation. A traitor who’d had powers that be intervene on his behalf to allow him a retrial. Henry had been given the case that would, at last, see justice permanently served, and Josephine was determined that he wouldn’
t blunder this.

  Any of it.

  “He’ll see me.” Setting her chin, she drew off her gloves with deliberate movements and stuffed them into the pocket sewn along the front of her cloak. “I’ll not be long.”

  Dorinda swallowed loudly. “Miss, he won’t be…” Josephine had already begun her purposeful march. “…pleased,” the girl finished on a whisper as Josephine knocked once and then opened the door.

  Her brother jerked his head up. “Josephine?” Red color splotched his cheeks. He tossed his pen down. “What in blazes—”

  Josephine drew the door shut hard behind her, drowning out the remainder of those words. “You’ve not been home in several days.”

  He sputtered, “How do you know that?”

  She lifted a finger and leaned forward. “I know everything,” she said in a loud whisper. She followed that with a wink. “I may have asked your wife.”

  His mouth tightened, but he otherwise gave no mention of the young woman he’d married after breaking it off with one woman he’d truly loved. Of course, neither had ever been deluded into believing Henry’s marriage to his partner’s daughter had been anything but a business venture and a way to achieve his career goals. Though, in fairness, Josephine had long suspected Henry was altogether incapable of the sentiment of love. “You shouldn’t be here, Josephine,” her brother said impatiently.

  She scoffed. “I’ve been here plenty, Henry.” She marched over. “I want to help.”

  “You want revenge on the Holman family,” he said bluntly.

  A curtain of red fell over her vision, both from that dig and from the thought of Lord Grimslee, the man whom she’d almost married. “That is not what this is about.” She bit out each syllable.

  Henry snorted. “I happen to be prosecuting the case against your former love’s traitor of a brother. The same former love who said he couldn’t wed you because he required a wife of impeccable reputation? I’m certain that none of that factors into this in the least,” he said patronizingly.