He widened his eyes, and the thin thread he had on his self-control, already frayed from the whirlwind entry she’d made, stretched all the more to near breaking. And God help him, he called forth every last vestige of patience he’d honed since Eugenia’s death.
Striding over to his desk, Duncan covered her hand with one of his in a bid to stay her cleaning. “That will be all, Josephine.”
Chapter 9
He’d used her Christian name.
It hadn’t been the first time, but it was the first time it had come unprompted.
And he’d touched her.
Nay, he touched her even now, in the present moment.
Her pulse thumping loud in her ears, Josephine let her gaze remain fixed upon the hand covering her own. His fingers were long, the digits stained with ink. His palms were callused. They were, in short, the hands of a self-made man and also so very different than the hands of her former suitor, who’d nearly always donned gloves and who’d taken her palm in his unblemished one but twice.
And never had Lord Grimslee’s touch roused any of the wild fluttering that unfurled in her belly.
Duncan leaned down. A whisper of bergamot clung to him and filled her senses, the scent of him as dangerously intoxicating as his touch. And, close as she was, she noted those equally perilous details all over again about his mouth. The slash of his lips, in this instant, were just a breath away from meeting hers. Her belly flipped all the more, and Josephine tipped her head back to receive his kiss.
Duncan yanked his hand away from hers and proceeded to arrange the files she’d been organizing on his desk. “Before you begin, we’re going to work through some important details.”
That apathy had a more sobering effect than her fall into the Serpentine during her first London Season. Curling her fingers into a fist, she let her arms fall to her sides.
“You do not have free roam of my offices, madam. I’ll enumerate just what you have the freedom to touch. But, let us be clear, you are never to touch my desk.”
Josephine clasped her hands primly at her waist. “Very well.”
His brow wrinkled. “Very well?”
He’d expected protestations from her, then. With good reason, of course.
What he had failed to gather about her was that she was clever enough to gauge just when to retreat and just how much to needle a person. That gift had been honed long ago with the baiting she’d doled out to her brothers.
Josephine spread her palms wide, gesturing to his offices. “We should begin with a tour and a clarification as to what I may—and may—not touch.”
Turning on his heel, he marched to the closets at the far-left corner of the room. “These are previous cases that go as far back as ten years.”
Ten years?
She rushed to keep up, but he’d already entered the closet.
Josephine hastened after him and promptly collided with his back.
He spun and caught her by her shoulders and then quickly released her as if burned.
And mayhap he had been because heat radiated from the point where he’d touched her.
Blinking wildly, she sought to adjust to the darkened space, giving thanks for the dimness that gave cover to her blushing cheeks. “This isn’t a closet,” she blurted. “It’s an office.”
Or it had been… and should be.
Now, it served as some sloppy hell for forgotten files and papers.
“It’s not an office because no one keeps rooms here,” he said with a drollness she’d come to find customary from Duncan Everleigh.
“But they could,” she pointed out.
“I’m the only barrister.”
Her lips twitched in a little smile. “Not in London.”
He flared his nostrils. “Here. I’ve no need for a partner. Any of them.”
“But… that doesn’t make sense.” It went against everything she knew about the law. “As a barrister, you must have dealings with a solicitor.”
“How do you know that?” he asked, his tone revealing traces of his surprise and shock.
“I know a good deal about a good many topics,” she said evasively. “You cannot seek or accept instructions from a client. A solicitor gathers information, which is then presented to you as the barrister. Therefore, by the law, you must have dealings with someone.”
A muscle twitched at the corner of his eye. “I don’t require any elucidation on the role of a barrister and solicitor in the English court systems.”
“But—”
“Let me help you, Josephine,” he whispered against her ear. “This is the part where I catalog your responsibilities, and you listen.”
She sought for a flippant reply—and promptly failed.
For there was something so naughty and forbidden about being shut away in the cramped space, even more insulated from the outside world as they were.
What is it about Duncan Everleigh that has you so enthralled? A man who sees you as nothing more than a bother?
His eyes settled on her mouth, and there was the faintest flickering of the gold specks in those green depths that not even the darkness could conceal.
Her breath caught in a slight intake. He was not unaware of her. Innocent as she still was, even after a three-month courtship and a betrothal, Josephine was still not so naïve that she didn’t recognize desire in this man’s gaze. To give her hands something to do so she might hide their faint trembling, Josephine fished her diary and the nub of a pencil from her sack.
“You were saying?” she urged. Her voice emerged faintly husky.
He blinked slowly and then jerked upright. “Of course. As I was saying…” Those endearing lines of confusion on his brow deepened all the more.
“You were saying that this is where I listen,” she reminded him, enjoying herself once more.
“I want all files kept by client and case. There should be no co-filing. Now, there are two kinds of criminal trials—”
“Summary and on indictment,” she interjected, grinding him to a stop midsentence.
Duncan’s jaw slackened.
“I’ve already told you, Duncan, I’m not unfamiliar with the law. When I indicated there were many benefits to your hiring me, I wasn’t inflating my worth. I was speaking truth.”
She’d not sought to impress him, and she certainly didn’t need or want his praise, and yet, there was a little niggling of disappointment as he carried on over her pronouncement without any response to her knowledge of the English courts.
As he rapidly fired off instructions while moving like a whirlwind through the office, she struggled to record notes on all his expectations.
After he’d finished going through it all nearly an hour later, Josephine sat with her list in hand… and sought to determine where in thunderation to begin. Ultimately, she settled her focus on the offices he’d transformed into a sloppy storage space. For, given the difficulty, Duncan had relinquished so much as the hook on his cloak stand, it would be better to work out of sight.
Or is it simply that you’re unnerved by your fascination with the gentleman?
“Stop it, you ninny.”
“What was that?” Duncan called over distractedly.
Josephine startled and immediately curled her toes at having been caught talking aloud. “Nothing. I was just wondering where I might begin,” she finished lamely.
Alas, she needn’t have worried about him noticing the mortified blush burning up her cheeks. Duncan hadn’t so much as picked his head up from whatever book he now frantically wrote in.
In fact, he’d not so much as acknowledged her response. She didn’t know whether to be impressed by the depth of his concentration or insulted.
“You know, because it is all such a mess,” she added.
“Hm. Mm.”
A smile tugged at her lips. Alas, where her brother had proven easily distracted when she’d aided him with his studies, she didn’t believe Duncan Everleigh would budge from his seat if the room was set ablaze.
Only the click-click-click of his pen striking his page met her pronouncement.
“In fact, I was thinking once it’s been properly cleaned, I might set myself up as the partner you need.”
Click-click—
His pen slid off the page. Duncan whipped his head up. “What was that?”
She winked. “I was just seeing if you were paying attention.”
“I wasn’t,” he said flatly. “I was working.” He gave her a look. “Or I was trying to.”
With that pointed reminder, he glanced down and resumed writing.
With him focused as he was on the file before him, she used the moment to study him. Given her brother’s work and the visits she’d paid to his offices, Josephine was not unfamiliar with a barrister’s offices. They were usually quiet, but those periods of silence had been intermittently interrupted by the appearance of an assistant or servant poking into rooms. “Do you ever grow tired of the silence?” she asked out of a genuine need to know about him. “Surely there must be some desire for company.” What a solitary existence his was in this drab, sorry office.
The pace of his writing grew increasingly quick. So he was uncomfortable with her questioning. “I’ve not hired you to keep me company or… talk.”
“That is fair,” she allowed. “Though, given the fact you’ve no partners and maintain a rather solitary existence, you would benefit from company and talking.”
He paused. “Company and talking?” This time, he looked up at her. “Don’t the two go hand in hand?”
“Only if it is the right company.” She smiled at him.
Once more, he appeared coolly unflappable.
“Very well, Duncan. I’ll allow you to—”
“Thank you.”
She was promptly forgotten.
Which was fine.
Given the state of his establishment, there was hardly time to go conversing with Duncan Everleigh.
Turning on her heel, Josephine returned to the darkened office and set her things down. Except… “I’ll have you know it is rather dark in here.”
He grunted.
Grunted. The lout.
“Entirely too…” Her words trailed off as she caught the faintest glimmer across the room. Drawn forward by that flicker of light, Josephine came to a stop beside it. “What is this?” she murmured to herself. Stacks upon stacks of files rested on a makeshift shelf. Going up on tiptoe, she filled her arms with them and set them carefully on the floor. Particles of dust wafted and danced in the air, the little particles tickling her nose. “Achoo.”
Silence.
Casting an annoyed glance over her shoulder at the open doorway, she called out, “I know you’re not one for any company, but this is generally where one says ‘God bless—’”
“God bless you,” he interrupted. Even the distance between them did little to conceal the shades of annoyance underscoring his tones.
Singing softly under her breath, Josephine moved three more piles before the space was cleared. Four rectangular places framed in dust now stood out starkly. “Now,” she murmured, reaching up. “What have we…?” She gasped. “Curtains?” Shoving aside the dank fabric, she sneezed again.
This time, Duncan didn’t miss a beat. “God bless you.”
It was a… window?
“I’ll give you a hint, Josephine. This is generally where one says—”
“You have windows,” she called out.
“Well, I was going to suggest ‘thank you.’”
Excitement building in her chest, she shoved aside the heavy curtains and then, spinning on her heel, raced out into the main room. “It is a real office.”
“I’m well aware,” he said drolly.
“That you have windows?”
“I didn’t give it much thought, because it’s neither here nor there.”
“But… you should take pride in your chambers.” His ability to create a future for himself as a barrister was a gift that he, like most men, surely didn’t realize he was so very fortunate to have. “And you’ve the ability to bring in other barristers so that you might build up—”
“Are you familiar with the term high treason?”
“Am I…?” Puzzled at the unexpected turn in their discourse, she nodded slowly. “I know the difference between high treason and petty treason if that is what you are—” The legs of his chair scraping the floor as he shoved back his seat cut into her next words. “—asking,” she finished.
“Petty treason,” he murmured as he unfurled his long, powerful form. “It is an interesting choice of words they’ve paired together. Is it not?” His was a rhetorical question, and as such he continued on with no response necessary from Josephine. Was that habit a product of his work presenting cases? Or a product of his being alone? “Petty,” he repeated. “A word derived in the fourteenth century to mean ‘small.’ And in the fifteenth century, it came to mean ‘of small importance.’”
She worried at her lower lip. “I’d never given it much thought, but you are correct on that score.”
A shadow fell over her, and she jumped, having failed to note or hear his stealthy approach.
“And what is the fate of one who is found guilty of petty treason?”
She wet her lips.
Duncan nodded. “I see by the pallor of your skin that…” He brushed a finger along the curve of her cheek. Did she imagine a lingering of that touch? “You do know.”
“Hanging.” She despised that the word emerged faint and weak because it was no doubt how he, along with the rest of the word, expected a woman to respond to such a discussion. Bringing her shoulders back, she infused a greater strength to her tone when she next spoke. “Those guilty of petty treason are hanged.”
“Precisely. Far more merciful than the drawing and burning that awaits those found guilty of high treason, and yet… have you ever seen a man hang, Josephine?” he asked quietly.
“I haven’t.”
“Most times, the positioning of the brass ring behind the ear provides instant death. Some say it is a painless end.” His lips twisted into an empty rendering of a smile. “If there is such a thing. There are three manners of death ensured by a hanging.” He ticked a finger up. “First, strangulation.” Another long, ink-stained digit came up. “Second, the victim’s vertebra is dislocated.”
She dampened her lips once more. “And the third?”
“Third, internal ruptures to veins, which in most cases causes instant death.” He paused. “That is, if the hanging isn’t botched and the hook is placed in the proper position.”
Images slid forward of those faceless victims he spoke of. Men and women and even children whom she’d not given thought of or about. Not a proper thought, anyway. Shame slid around her belly, churning from both her own remorse and the images Duncan had left in her mind.
“Have you witnessed… that?” she asked softly.
He swiftly corrected her. “A hanging, Josephine. It is a hanging.”
He’d recognized her cowardice in not acknowledging that act and rightly called her out on it. For all the ways in which she’d found him insolent and arrogant, she appreciated that he’d challenge her. The males in her own family were only ever worried with protecting her. There was something vastly preferable in this man who’d not skirt the difficult and ugly topics of life. “A hanging,” she brought herself to say.
“In my career, I’ve represented seven clients facing charges of petty treason. Two of them were sentenced to hang.”
She took an involuntary step toward him. “And did you attend… their hangings?”
“I did. The first died quick.” His expression darkened as his gaze slid past her, fixed on some image only he could see. Duncan gave his head a slight shake. “The other victim… she proved less fortunate.”
Josephine’s heart flipped over itself all over again. “She?”
His eyes went to her once more. “Yes. A woman,
not unlike Sarah Elton, who suffered the same fate. It was a gruesome, agonizingly slow end.” A muscle rippled along his jaw, and the hard glint in his eyes held her frozen. “So when you’re wondering why I’m not conversing with you or making pleasant talk, know it’s because of my responsibility to those like Sarah Elton and Mr. Lathan Holman and that the only thing standing between them and a botched hanging is the defense I’ll make on their behalf before a court.” With that, he returned to his chair, gave a snap of his tails, and sat.
Yet again, this stranger had managed to properly shame her. Only, it wasn’t just shame. Humbled. He’d humbled her.
Her brother had lost cases for two men, both of whom had met that same fate. Neither time had he attended the public hanging. His dealings with those criminals sentenced to death had ended the moment a verdict had been rendered and payment passed into Henry’s palm.
Had Henry ever thought of those men? Had anyone thought of them? Once, Josephine had believed people like them undeserving of any consideration after they went on to the hereafter to atone for their crimes on earth. Now, after Duncan, because of Duncan, she’d had her eyes opened to the truth about crime… and punishment.
Duncan’s hand flew over the page as he devoted all his efforts and attention to the man whose case he’d present and defend before the courts. She studied him, understanding now why he focused as he did on his work. He was driven by a sense of responsibility and… care for his clients. And she could say with an absolute certainty that Henry had never been driven by anything more than a need to improve their family’s finances and build a reputation for himself.
Just like that, she found herself drawn further under the spell of the peculiar figure hard at work.
Josephine had to force herself to return to the office masquerading as a closet, determined to focus as Duncan Everleigh did. That manner of focus didn’t allow for wonderings and furtive looks stolen at one’s employer. Nay, she’d put him from her mind and take over the role of de facto clerk.
Why did that feel like such a wholly impossible feat?
Chapter 10
Three days. Three days was all it had taken to settle into a familiar, comfortable routine with Miss Josephine Webb.
The Minx Who Met Her Match Page 11