The Minx Who Met Her Match

by Christi Caldwell

  Josephine went absolutely still. “You should…?” she whispered.

  “Marry you.” Except, that realization had come sometime before this. Somewhere between having made love with her in his offices and the time when she’d left in a hackney, Duncan had known Josephine deserved an offer of marriage. “It is… only appropriate,” he finished lamely.

  The light in her eyes dimmed.

  “Duncan,” she said softly. “If I may speak freely?”

  “Something tells me you intend to do so regardless of my answer.”

  “At least on that score, you are correct.”

  He blinked. Had the minx just insulted him?

  Josephine carried on. “As much as you would like to take ownership—and, in fact, are—of our embrace, you’re not the one responsible for it. I kissed you because I wanted to,” she said matter-of-factly. “You didn’t force that embrace. Therefore, this inability to meet my eyes or greet me when I come in the morning? It’s all really unnecessary, and more—given that you are my employer and have to answer questions I have for you and give me assignments to complete—it’s all deucedly inconvenient.” With that, Josephine patted his hand as if he were some slow-witted child.

  She’d rejected his offer of marriage. Duncan should be relieved, so what accounted for the sharp twist of regret in his chest? He cleared his throat. “Very well. I’m glad we had this… discussion, then?” It came out as a question to his own ears.

  She beamed. “Splendid! Now, shall we continue?”

  Continue? Continue with what?

  Josephine didn’t bother waiting three beats for an answer. “Your clerk’s room has been tidied. Your files are organized. What would you like for me to see to now?”

  He’d asked her to marry him, and she was speaking about the state of his offices?

  “Duncan?” she asked haltingly, and it brought him out of his stupor.

  “Oh, yes, right. Right.” He peered into the room beyond her shoulder. The spacious room fairly gleamed from the immaculate surfaces. Every last file had found a home. In her short time here, she’d put to rights details he’d never had the time to—simply for the reason that his attentions had been better served elsewhere.

  “That only leaves another area I might help you with.” Josephine stared pointedly from Duncan to a point just past him.

  He followed her gaze and then looked back at her.

  Surely she was not suggesting… Surely, she wasn’t thinking…

  Josephine nodded. “I can help you with Mr. Holman’s case.”

  “No,” he said more sharply than he intended. He winced. God, he’d lost all ability to be with polite company. “My apologies. You… I… I’m… Having help is still foreign to me.”

  She smiled. “Having it? Or accepting it?”

  “Either.”

  “There is no harm in accepting help where one needs it,” she said gently.

  “I…” Words failed him. For, actually, he didn’t know as much. “It has been so long since I’ve had it.” His voice emerged hoarse. The last time he’d sought support from anyone had been following his wife’s death. Duncan had swallowed the little of his pride left and sent a letter to ask his family for assistance. He would have never written that letter had he not a daughter to care for. That had been the last contact he’d had with them—or they with him. “I’ve forgotten how to ask or receive it.” The clerks and barristers in his office had cast him out. His parents and brother had turned their backs upon him. He’d have to be a pathetic, desperate fool to believe any help could come from, or be expected from, a woman he’d only recently met. A stranger who now spoke with him more candidly and freely than… anyone had in so long that he’d forgotten what it had felt like.

  Josephine covered his hand with hers. “Now, you recall.”

  And that was why he found himself sitting in silence as she flipped through one of his folders. “Generally, I’d have more information than you have before you, but Lathan Holman has proven… obstinate in what he’ll share.”

  She glanced up with surprise lighting her face. “But… why? I should think that he would share everything in the hope that it might benefit his case and secure his freedom.”

  “Unless he doesn’t want to have his freedom secured,” Duncan put forward. “After all, it was his brother who attempted to lobby for Lathan’s innocence as a matter of privilege of peerage.”

  Redirecting her gaze down at the folder, she flipped to the next page. “Then you have to determine exactly why Lathan Holman is not contributing to his defense.”

  “I’m not certain that it matters,” he acknowledged while she continued reading.

  Josephine briefly looked up. “Of course it matters, Duncan. Guilt over some aspect of his involvement in the event he’s been charged with is the reason he’s silent. If you understand that, you further understand the circumstances, and you frame that for the jury.”

  His mouth moved, and it was a moment before he found words. “You’re remarkable, Josephine Webb,” he said softly, passing a gaze over her face.

  A pretty blush stained her cheeks as she continued reading. “Until you have that moment with Lathan Holman, you’ll not have the answers you need. Did Lathan Holman steal and trade secrets from the Home Office? And if so… to what end?”

  “I’m left trying to gather names and information about members of the Home Office, which is entirely protected.”

  She frowned. “Even the identity of his superior officer, the man he is supposed to have betrayed—”

  “Is protected information.”

  A sound of frustration left her. “Well, that’s hardly fair. That gentleman alone might be in a position to absolve Holman of wrongdoing.”

  “Doubtful.”

  Josephine held a finger up. “But possible.” She quickly scanned the pages. “You’ve no idea of the gentleman’s identity?”

  “He’s a member of the peerage.”

  “Well, I cannot believe, with the way members of Society protect their scandals, any gentleman would wish to have that information known,” she said under her breath. Josephine lifted her head. “What else do you know of Mr. Holman’s superior?”

  “I know he’s been linked to a Lord T, though it’s not been confirmed that Lord T was or is, in fact, the one whom Holman reported to.”

  “Hmm.” Pulling out his center desk drawer, she fished around inside the sloppy space. She wrinkled her nose. “You know, you really need to let me help you tidy this, Duncan,” she said as she pulled out a pencil.

  His lips twitched.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “I’m smiling.” And how very good it felt. The muscles of his cheeks and face were no longer strained under the falsity of that expression, because… it was no longer false.

  “Continuing on,” she said, all business once more. “You know the gentleman is a member of the peerage. He is addressed as Lord T. That leaves”—she proceeded to speak more to herself—“twenty-five dukes. Thirty-one marquesses. Two hundred and twelve earls, give or take. Sixty-nine viscounts and only one hundred and ninety-three barons.”

  “Only,” he said dryly.

  “Hush.”

  He winced as she wrapped him on the knuckles.

  “Lord T. Lord T,” she murmured.

  “At the time of the crime in question, his superior was newly married, and according to the charges against him, Holman’s actions nearly caused the death of a member of the peerage, his wife, and another unnamed peer believed to be related to either the husband or the wife.”

  Josephine’s gaze grew contemplative, and then she began to turn frantically through the pages. “What year?”

  “Last year, 1821.”

  “In 1821. 1821,” she repeated to herself. She tapped the end of the pencil against her lower lip, drawing his eyes to that lush flesh, and a wave of lust bolted through him. A desire so strong to claim those lips again. He leaned close and—

  “Hmm,” she murm
ured, fixed on the page before her. “Newly married means we must consider those lords of the peerage who married in the preceding year.”

  There was certainly nothing to kill a man’s ego faster than that total lack of awareness. “Why only one year?”

  “By two years, the marriages would not be considered new to the ton.”

  “And you’ve a familiarity with the ton?” he teased.

  Josephine stiffened. “I’m… aware of enough.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to offend you. You were saying?”

  Except, Josephine was already lost in those pages. And he knew the moment he was forgotten.

  He sat on, a silent observer as she created a list of names.

  Lord Talbert

  Lord Tindal

  Lord Trelawny

  Lord Tennyson

  Lord Townshend

  Lord Teynham

  “There,” she said, shoving the page across the desk. “I cannot speak to the specific years that all of those gentlemen were married. However, those are the ones I know of.”

  His mouth fell agape as he took the list. “How…?”

  “I know many things, Duncan,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Yes, she did, and she captivated him at every turn.

  The air crackled and hissed as energy hummed between them.

  Josephine edged forward, leaning closer to him.

  “I don’t want to kiss you,” he said hoarsely, and her eyes flew open. “No. That isn’t what I mean. I do. I want to kiss you, but I’ve already told you, as you’re in my employ—”

  Josephine kissed him… and propriety and honor and his best intentions were all lost to the feel of her lips on his.

  Groaning, he cupped her nape and angled her face closer.

  It had never been like this. Never before. Fire and hunger and excitement roiled within him, stealing logic so all that he knew was her, and all that he wanted to know was her.

  Josephine parted her lips, and he swept his tongue inside to taste her. Honey and mint proved headier than spirits. Catching her about the waist, he guided her onto his lap.

  With a moan, Josephine tossed her legs over his. Her skirts climbed high about her thighs, exposing that tantalizing flesh, and he explored the silken contours of her skin.

  All the while, they thrust and parried with their tongues, waging a battle for supremacy that he was all too content to lose. He wanted her. In his arms. She arched her neck back, and he shifted his attentions to the long, graceful column, nipping and suckling until whispery half sighs and whimpers filtered around the office. “I want you,” he rasped against her skin. In every way, he wanted her. Needed her, when he’d never again wanted to trust himself in any way to a woman.

  “I want you, too,” Josephine panted, undulating against him.

  I want you, too.

  And her words had the same effect as water being doused upon him.

  Duncan stopped.

  “Duncan?” Her breath rasped noisily as she stared back with confusion in her desire-laden eyes.

  “I cannot.”

  “I wanted you, too,” she whispered. “I want you, too.” Josephine touched her mouth to his.

  He was almost lost again. “I can’t.” It was an entreaty, ripped from him. Duncan forced himself to draw away from her.

  He couldn’t have her. Not like this. Not without her knowing the manner of man whose mouth she trusted to hers.

  And he didn’t want to keep her here on a lie, because then her inevitable departure would leave him hollow… if he let it.

  He set her from his lap, and to give his shaking hands something to do, he proceeded to organize an uneven pile of folders. He didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know what to say. How to begin. He, who presented arguments that had seen men and women spared a hanging, didn’t have any coherent sentences to string together for this woman who’d come to matter too much to him. Duncan settled at the easiest place, his offices. “I’ve not had partners in some years. Or clerks. The solicitors who present cases to me are few.” With the exception of one, a former classmate and friend at St. Andrews. Ewan Holman was the sole reason for all the work Duncan had found over the years and the reason he’d been able to feed and provide for his daughter.

  “I see.”

  Josephine’s voice, however, said anything but.

  “That wasn’t always the case. I’d once been part of a thriving office. Among the most successful in England.” The pride and sense of accomplishment he’d felt at that role, however, had proven short-lived, as his wife had been singularly unimpressed.

  Do you truly expect I should be happy about your news? Your brother was just named a viscount, Duncan. A peer of the realm. And I am stuck in a loveless marriage with a mediocre barrister.

  “What happened?” Josephine asked quietly, cutting across the acerbic echo of Eugenia’s words that day.

  “What happened?” he echoed dumbly, and then he accepted that there was no gentle or polite way to reveal his history. As such, he settled for the blunt truth.

  Duncan held Josephine’s stare. “I was charged with the crime of murdering my wife.”

  Chapter 16

  I was charged with the crime of murdering my wife.

  Of everything Duncan Everleigh might have said, or could have said, to explain his partnerless state, that had not been what Josephine had been anticipating.

  Josephine had taken him to be a man who paid attention to excessive details in managing all tasks. A person unwilling and unable to cede control. She’d not, however, at any point in having met Duncan Everleigh assumed his solitary state was a result of… of… the reason he’d given.

  “Oh,” she blurted, an inane utterance that contributed nothing to their discourse.

  And, by the unmovable planes of Duncan’s face, she might as well have said nothing.

  The clock ticked, the only sound other than the occasional groan and creak of the settling structure.

  Josephine tried again. “But… you didn’t.” She knew him barely at all, and yet, she knew he couldn’t have killed… anyone. Or was it simply that she didn’t want to believe that Duncan Everleigh was, in fact, a murderer? “That is, you’re here and not hanged or in prison, and you’re practicing law, so, therefore, you must be innocent of that… crime,” she finished, too cowardly to utter the word aloud and relieved by her own rationale.

  Duncan offered her a sad, too-knowing smile. “Alas, that is how Society wishes the world to exist.” This was the black and white he’d spoken of. “There aren’t shades of gray.”

  Only, in his talk of Mrs. Elton, he’d opened her eyes to that realization. So why did she want so desperately to return to a world of black and white with regards to his innocence? Josephine caught the sides of her gown in her hands, twisting and clenching the fabric, before catching herself. She ceased her disquieted fidgeting. “Were you… responsible in some way for her… death?” she made herself ask.

  “I was.” His answer came instantaneously. His gaze met a point over her shoulder.

  Her gut churned. “I see.” Only, she did not see. Any of it—his past, what he sought to impart, the ease with which he claimed his own guilt.

  “Our marriage wasn’t a happy one. That hadn’t always been the case. We were very much in love.” His lips pulled in a cynical twist. “Or at least, I’d convinced myself it was love.” His eyes grew distant, and he was a man who saw a past that existed only to ghosts and the memories in his mind.

  A pang struck somewhere in her heart.

  “There was a competition between my brother and me for her hand. I… won.”

  She’d have to be deaf to fail to hear the bitter irony in that single syllable.

  “As a somewhat successful barrister, I was able to provide more of a life than my brother, who was going to become a vicar. Then a distant relative died, making Matthew a viscount. And Eugenia was left with the realization that she’d given up the title of viscounte
ss to wed a man who’d never have a title and, because of that, would never have enough.”

  She frowned. The woman he spoke of sounded like a perfectly horrid, materialistic creature. And yet, horrible as she might have been, or was in Duncan’s telling, murder would have been a crime that did not fit the bill of what he now spoke of. “What happened?” she asked.

  “We had a child.” Charlemagne. “After she was born, my wife wanted no part of her and spent no time with her.” Not for the first time, Josephine felt a pang of distaste for Duncan’s late wife.

  Duncan set his papers down. “My wife hated me,” he said with the same matter-of-factness as when he doled out lessons on law and crime. Only the tremble of his palms belied that casualness. “That hadn’t always been the case. I convinced myself that we could at least be happy together.”

  She heard the hesitation in his voice. Felt it as a tangible force. And believed he’d end those personal revelations there. As much as she wished to prod him to continue, she did not this time. She’d no right to secrets he didn’t wish to share.

  Or is it that you fear what he has to say?

  With restiveness in his movements, he walked over to the recently replaced window. Clasping his hands behind him, he looked out through the distorted glass. “There was an argument. She was leaving. Forever.”

  Her heart spasmed. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her words so very futile.

  Duncan cast a brief look in her direction. “I’d already accepted that she didn’t love me. That she never had. I couldn’t accept that she’d just leave Charlemagne. I begged her to stay. She left anyway,” he said, his voice distant. “I ran after her. I found her at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck at the same moment the servants in our employ did.”

  Josephine briefly closed her eyes, already knowing how that discovery would have played out. “They accused you.”

  “And why shouldn’t they have?” He lifted his shoulders in a tense shrug. “I should have simply let her go. It shouldn’t have mattered that she was leaving. She left Charlemagne. Charlie, who was the only person I truly loved. In the end, it was my own pride.”