Beguiling the Barrister

by Wendy Soliman

  “You seem to have established a lot of facts.”

  “None of which will help much when it comes to defending my clients.” Darius probably looked as exasperated as he felt.

  “I so wanted to help you, Darius, and have you admire my initiative.”

  Her expression closed down and the lively sparkle once again left her eye. Seeing her so downcast made it impossible for him to continue lecturing her. Instead he stood and reached out a hand. As soon as hers slipped into it, sparks flew between them, just as they always did when he touched her in the slightest way. She glanced up at him from beneath her fringe of thick lashes, a question in his eyes that Darius was nowhere near strong enough to resist answering. But this time his answer required no words.

  Smothering an oath, he pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again, attending to the matter properly on this occasion. His hands drifted to her derriere, pulling the small globes closer to his groin. At the same time his tongue teasingly tickled the corner of her mouth, savouring the taste of her, luxuriating in the feel of her body pressed against his, doing his damnedest to keep his impulses in check.

  Flick didn’t help matters. Her lips parted beneath his, allowing him ingress. He accepted the invitation and delved deep, their tongues twirling in an exotic dance as he deepened the kiss, crushing her mouth as raw carnality swept away all lingering traces of gentility. He longed for her, the physical ache almost too painful to endure. All the frustration of the Cuthbert case, the agony of seeing her every day and not being able to touch her, the compulsion to dispel her distress, found release in the incendiary kiss.

  A kiss that couldn’t continue. They were in the morning room at the Hall. Anyone might walk in on them at any moment. Darius reluctantly broke it and smiled at her.

  “I’ve never stopped admiring you, darling,” he said softly, reluctantly allowing a little—a very little—daylight to squeeze between their bodies but still holding her in his arms. “But I can’t do my job effectively if I’m worried all the time about what you might be getting up to.”

  “All right, I promise not to do anything before consulting you first. But in return, you must promise to keep me informed of everything that happens.”

  “That seems reasonable,” Darius said, making sure not to actually give his word. She absolutely didn’t need to know about Pallister’s threats against her family. Goodness only knew what steps she might then take to try and thwart him.

  “It will work out for the best,” he said, conviction and stark determination underscoring the words. “It simply has to,” he added, almost to herself.

  “A week after we arrive in town, there’s Lady Dannett’s ball. It’s the unofficial start to the season. If we’re unable to see one another before then, promise me you’ll attend.”

  “That,” he said, bending his head to again claim her lips, “I can guarantee.”

  “At least we’ll be able to dance together,” she said. “That’s something to look forward to.”

  “I already am.”

  Darius was unable to resist touching her just once more. He gently traced the curve of her face. She smiled at him, her heart reflected in her eyes, and he died a little inside, afraid suddenly that he would lose her. How could he, a humble barrister and son of a disgraced gambler, possibly win against such a formidable opponent as Pallister? As though sensing his unease, Flick reached for the hand still touching her face, lifted it to her lips and kissed his fingers.

  That simple gesture filled Darius with renewed determination. There must be a way to best Armstrong and prove his clients’ innocence. There was always a way if one only knew where to look. And if ever a man had an incentive to find it, it was Darius.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Perfectly.” Cuthbert looked thinner than when Darius had last seen him just before Christmas. His features were drawn and deathly pale as he stared at Darius and his solicitor across the small space that separated them in the accused’s cell. “This will save us, won’t it?”

  Most likely, but at what cost to the Forster Dynasty? “It will certainly cast doubt on your guilt, but that may not be enough.”

  “But surely—”

  “It will tell the jury that maybe only one of you were there.” Darius paused and fixed each man in turn with a gimlet gaze. “The question is, which one?”

  “Neither of us,” they said together.

  “We never left one another’s sight during the times of the robberies,” Cuthbert said, the aristocratic authority in his tone defying anyone to disbelieve him.

  Unfortunately Darius knew that many people would, most crucially the jury, since public opinion was already fixed against the young men. “Opposing counsel will expect you to say that and will quiz you in depth about your movements.”

  “We’ll be ready for him,” Baker said confidently.

  “I don’t doubt it.” Darius shifted, searching for but failing to find a more comfortable position on the uncomfortable bunk. “The difficulty is that if you weren’t together all the time, you can be sure that Woodard will find someone to attest to the fact.”

  “Someone planted by Armstrong’s father,” Cuthbert said bitterly.

  “Possibly, but you would be best advised to run through everything you did during those crucial times with me now.”

  Darius concentrated his attention on his clients, barely noticing the stench of decay or terrible sounds of human misery emanating from other areas of the grim establishment. He’d visited the place so many times that he’d nearly become immune to the barbaric conditions.

  “Well,” Baker said reluctantly, “perhaps we weren’t together absolutely all the time.”

  “Ah.” Darius sighed, not surprised to hear it. “Now we get to it.”

  Half an hour later, Darius and Bartlett left the prison and walked briskly back to Darius’s chambers.

  “What do you make of all that, then?” Bartlett asked. “Will it be enough?”

  Darius rubbed his chin. “Hard to say until I’ve had the opportunity to make more enquiries. Now that I know where they both actually were when the robberies occurred, perhaps we’ll be able to find some independent witnesses.”

  “You need to be swift with your enquiries, sir. Don’t forget that the trial is set for ten days’ time.”

  As if I can.

  “Still,” Bartlett continued cheerfully. “At least you’ve given the poor beggars some hope.”

  And that left Darius with a bigger dilemma. Thanks to Flick’s suggestion of speaking to the ostlers, his investigator heard the same story at every inn he visited. Darius could now prove that Lord Edward Armstrong had taken part in every one of those robberies.

  The only difficulty was, if he used that information to save his clients, he risked destroying the reputation of his intended’s family. Pallister knew something about Hal’s connection with the French during the war, and about that young man now apparently rotting in a cell beneath the Admiralty. It must be damning, or Pallister wouldn’t have revealed his hand since he couldn’t be sure whether Darius would warn Hal. Darius didn’t doubt for one moment that Pallister would use it if necessary, because Pallister was a vindictive man. If Darius destroyed his family then Pallister would return the favour, striking at the heart of Darius’s ambitions.

  No, damn it, at his very heart.

  Darius wanted desperately to ask Hal about it. If he was to use the information he’d obtained to acquire an acquittal then he would have to ask him before the trial started. He kept postponing the moment, hoping against hope that something definitive would arise to obviate the need.

  Bartlett bustled off to attend to other matters and Darius was left in his chambers, trying to decide how to proceed. His first and only consideration ought to be for his clients. If he failed to get them acquitted they would most likely hang. If he did get them acquitted, though, as he now felt confident he could by using the evidence against Armstrong, it wo
uld damage Flick’s family badly and he would probably lose her forever.

  Darius kicked violently at the leg of his chair. Damn it to hell!

  He’d spent his entire adult life trying to prove to a world that probably didn’t care that he wasn’t in the least like the irresponsible gamester who’d sired him. He’d diligently pursued his career and done everything he could to improve the lot of those employed on his estate, often at the cost of his personal aspirations. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything frivolous, or for self-gratification, with the notable exception of taking Flick to his bedchamber.

  And where had his implacable determination got him?

  Precisely nowhere.

  Most men in his position would put their own interests first. If he was skilful he could probably save his clients from the hangman by casting doubt on the identity of the highwaymen without actually naming Armstrong. What did he care if his clients were transported, their reputations ruined, along with those of their families?

  Except he did care, that was his entire problem. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t do the very best he could by them. Nor could he bear to see Pallister getting away with his bullying tactics.

  Perhaps Flick wouldn’t give him up if things turned out badly for the Forsters? Her love for him was deep and abiding—he had to believe that—as his was for her. Would it be so very bad if he told Pallister to go to the devil and warned Hal what he’d said about him? It almost certainly wasn’t true. Hal was no traitor. Even so, raising the subject with such an eminent man, especially one he was privileged to call friend, was a duty Darius would happily postpone indefinitely.

  He strode about the small room, feeling the strain more acutely than ever. The situation was so tenuous that it was almost unbearable. There must be another way to handle this problem that would avoid an embarrassing confrontation with Hal.

  Unfortunately, if it existed, it continued to elude him. Shaking his head, he flung himself into his chair and expelled an elongated sigh.

  “Stop trying to evade what you know must be done,” he said aloud.

  He picked up the papers relating to the case he was due to try that afternoon and tried to put Cuthbert out of his mind. He had to defend an obviously guilty client who’d been driven to steal out of sheer desperation. The man had six children and, having lost employment as a stevedore, no means of feeding them. How many times had he defended such men?

  “Excuse me, Mr. Grantley.” Phillips popped his head round the door. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but Lady Denby is here to see you.”

  “Leah?” Good heavens, whatever brings her to my door?

  “Er, the dowager Lady Denby.”

  God’s beard, that’s all he needed. Still, Darius’s curiosity was piqued and declining to see her wasn’t an option. Anyone connected to Flick’s family was of interest to him. Darius slipped his arms into the sleeves of his coat and fastened it.

  “Show her in, Phillips.”

  Darius stood when the door opened again and was hard pressed to hide his surprise. Cynthia Forster was still a very good-looking woman and well she knew it. She dressed in the height of fashion at all times and never missed an opportunity to show herself to her best advantage. But today she was wearing an all-encompassing dull grey cloak with the hood completely covering her head. Interesting. Whatever she’d come to tell him, she clearly didn’t wish to be recognized.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Grantley,” she said in what was, for her, a very subdued tone.

  “Please take a seat.” He held out the chair on the opposite side of his desk and waited until she was comfortably settled. “Can I offer you refreshment?”

  “No, thank you.” She finally lowered the hood of her cloak and regarded him as he resumed his own seat behind his desk. “This shouldn’t take long.”

  “How can I be of service to you?” he asked briskly. Darius didn’t bother to ask after her health or that of her children. He had too much on his mind to worry about whether or not he was civil to a woman he actively mistrusted and disliked.

  She cleared her throat several times but didn’t actually speak. She appeared to be nervous, which made Darius even more curious. He’d never known her to be anything other than forthright and full of her own self-importance.

  “I don’t wish to hurry you, madam, but I am due in court in a very short time.”

  “Yes, of course, I’m intruding. I beg your pardon.” She appeared to give herself a mental shake and finally met his gaze. “This is rather embarrassing but I might as well come right out and say it.”

  “That’s usually best.”

  “I believe Lord Pallister has made some infamous claims regarding my daughter’s parentage.”

  Darius was careful to keep his expression passive. It wasn’t easy because she’d genuinely surprised him. “What makes you suppose he did any such thing?”

  She expelled a short, nervous laugh. “Because he told me so himself.”

  “Well then, I—”

  “It’s an outrageous lie!” she cried indignantly. “My late husband was Julia’s father. He never doubted that and accepted her as his own.”

  “Then why does Lord Pallister suppose it to be otherwise?”

  “Pallister collects, among other things, information.”

  Darius showed no reaction, aware that she wouldn’t be any more specific, especially if her morals were as loose as he suspected. “And your vowels?”

  “Quite.” She lowered her eyes, apparently embarrassed. “He wishes to control the manner in which you conduct the defence of Cuthbert and Baker. He knows of your affection for my stepdaughter—”

  “How?”

  “How does he know that?”

  “Precisely. I can’t help wondering who could have told him.”

  “Well, I...that is...” She focused her attention on her hands, folded in her lap. “It might have come up during the course of conversation.”

  Darius had trouble containing his temper “Let me see if I have got this straight. You dally with a Machiavellian character like Pallister, repeat information that you think to be true, although you can have no way of knowing—”

  “You may not think much of me, Mr. Grantley, but I am a woman and we women are experts when it comes to matters of the heart. If a man, or a woman for that matter, is in love, then it’s always possible to recognize the signs.” She flashed a brief smile. “Flick has been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

  “She wouldn’t have told you that.”

  “She didn’t need to.”

  “All right. To return to the subject under discussion, Pallister has your vowels and has given me information about your daughter’s parentage that might or might not be true. If, however, it became public knowledge, it would greatly impair Julia’s chances of making a good marriage.”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “Forgive me, but I’m at a loss to understand what you expect me to do about it.”

  “Believe it or not, I’m here to try and help. Pallister has told me that if applied to I must confirm that Lord Denby was not Julia’s father. If I do that, he’ll tear up my vowels. If I don’t, then...” She spread her hands, not really needing to say anything more since Darius knew that Pallister wouldn’t hesitate to demand payment in full. If Cynthia Denby couldn’t pay—and he assumed that she could not—then she would be ruined. Nonpayment of debts of honour would make her persona non grata in polite society.

  “You find yourself in an unfortunate situation but I still fail to see why you’re telling me. I can’t believe that you expect me to advise you.”

  “Quite the reverse. I thought it might help you to know these things.” She flashed a brief smile. “There’s no need to look so startled. I realize you have reasons aplenty not to think well of me. Intimate as you are with my late husband’s children, who all dislike me. You have probably heard exaggerated stories about my conduct and take their side.�
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  “Allow me to disabuse you of that notion. None of Lord Denby’s children would stoop so low.”

  “Touché,” she said softly. “I may not be all that I ought. I have made mistakes, I’d be the first to admit it. I gamble and find it hard to break the habit. It’s ruining my life.” She looked directly at him. “But you have firsthand knowledge of how destructive that can be, don’t you, Mr. Grantley? It’s to your credit that you’ve risen above the shambles your father left behind and made a success of your life.”

  “This isn’t about me,” he said through tightly pursed lips.

  “No, indeed it’s not. What I wish to make clear to you is that I have standards, after a fashion, and will not allow Pallister to use my children to get what he wants.”

  Darius half rose from his chair. “Are you telling me that you won’t confirm his story if he puts it about?”

  “Yes, that’s the only reason for my visit. I don’t know if you’ve apprised Hal of Pallister’s threat but I thought it might help your case to know that I’ll refute his claim publicly if necessary.”

  “And your debts?”

  She shrugged. “Will be paid. Somehow.”

  “I see.”

  She stood. “I shall be in Brook Street with my friend Mrs. Clayton for the next week or two if you need to speak to me again.”

  Darius saw her out, trying to decide if there was more to her visit than an honest desire to do the right thing. Was it really just a case of a mother putting the welfare of her children above all else or was he missing something? By the time he left for the Bailey he still hadn’t decided.

  He did his very best for his client and then headed straight for White’s. Unless Hal had changed his habits, he was likely to find him there at this hour. He needed to tell him about Cynthia Forster’s visit but preferred not to call at Grosvenor Street, where he might encounter Flick. She didn’t need to know about this but Hal absolutely did.

  Hal and Rob were in the billiards room. One look at Darius’s glum expression and they abandoned their game, found a quiet corner and called for a bottle of port.