In the Barrister's Chambers

by Tina Gabrielle

  He followed her up the stairs, discarding articles of clothing as he went. His cravat, his jacket, his waistcoat.

  Her rounded hips swayed before him, and he could make out the full globes of her buttocks and the crevice between them.

  They reached her bedchamber. Dozens of candles had been lit. It was clear she had been waiting for him, waiting and ready. She let the gown slip off her shoulders, and it swished down her abundant curves to fall to her feet. She had shaved herself, and the V between her legs was shockingly bare. She sat on the edge of the bed, and provocatively raised her legs to give him a full view of her glistening mons.

  She was a skillful courtesan, a sexual creature. Everything a man could want to slake his lust.

  But she wasn’t Evie.

  Could never be Evie.

  The truth was Molly Adler was the antithesis of the blond innocence and intelligence that had tied his guts in knots.

  He tried, damn it. But the mahogany hair was all wrong, and the round dark eyes were far from the slanted Persian blue that were imprinted on his brain.

  He closed his eyes and tried again, tried to focus on his body’s needs, but instead a vivid picture of Evelyn grew ever clearer in his mind. Her flawless skin, her long golden hair like strands of lustrous glass, her eager response to his kiss. She was refreshingly honest and innocent, without contrivance, and the complete opposite of the woman before him.

  He opened his eyes and looked at Molly, her legs splayed open on the edge of the bed. She licked a finger and rubbed the swollen flesh between her legs.

  His lips twisted in distaste, and his arousal deflated like a punctured balloon.

  Christ! What had he ever seen in her practiced sexuality?

  His friends would never let him live this down. Devlin and Anthony would laugh. Brent would shake his head and tell him he told him so.

  But the truth was far worse than his friends’ anticipated ridicule.

  If he couldn’t exorcise his lust for Evie with another woman—an eager and experienced whore at that—then what was he to do?

  Chapter 26

  Two days after their encounter with Viscount Hamilton, Hodges delivered a letter to Evelyn. She reached eagerly for the envelope on the silver salver, thinking it was from Jack.

  Letting the cream vellum stationery flutter to her desk, she read the letter, her distress mounting with each word.

  Dearest Evelyn,

  It was wonderful seeing you again both at my home and at my mother’s costume ball. I cherish our renewed friendship and do not want to wait as long as in the past to spend time together. I am having friends at my home Thursday afternoon for tea and some insightful feminine conversation. I would be thrilled if you would attend. My mother will be away attending Lady Borrington’s soirée.

  Your friend,

  Georgina

  Evelyn knew how she was going to respond, but she wasn’t comfortable with her decision, having never acted the coward in the past.

  Evelyn closed her eyes as a sickening sense of despair knotted in the center of her chest. She liked Georgina. She admired her kindness, her sense of humor, and most of all her insistence on being her own person and not succumbing to her mother’s marriage demands. Georgina’s invitation—although vaguely worded—was clear to Evelyn. While Viscountess Hamilton would be away Thursday afternoon, Georgina would have her feminist friends over for some rollicking conversation.

  Under different circumstances, Evelyn would have loved to attend. She was sympathetic to their cause and agreed with many of Mary Wollstonecraft’s opinions.

  God only knew how many times she envied the male pupils that had passed through her father’s Lincoln’s Inn chambers. They had the opportunity to study and become barristers when she could do no more than sit by and voraciously read her father’s books. They had thought her a funny little girl whose nose was always buried in a book. They were completely oblivious to the notion that a female should crave more education than how to play a few chosen tunes on the pianoforte, properly pour tea, and thread a needle.

  Despite her fondness for Georgina and her desire to attend her Thursday gathering, Evelyn would be forced to decline. She felt like a traitor, for never could she forget the sight of a fervid Maxwell Stanford, Viscount Hamilton, on his hands and knees as he pried up a floorboard in Bess Whitfield’s bedroom.

  Georgina’s father was most likely a killer.

  How could she ever face her friend again?

  She couldn’t tell Georgina what she knew. It would devastate her friend to learn that not only had her father had an affair with an actress who went through lovers the way a dandy tossed aside used cravats, but that Hamilton may have murdered Bess Whitfield.

  Evelyn knew enough of the law to understand that the evidence against Hamilton was circumstantial at best. Jack himself had said all they had discovered was that Hamilton and Bess were lovers. It seemed as if half of London had been in Hamilton’s position.

  But now, combined with Hamilton’s presence in Bess’s home, it was even more unnerving for Evelyn. They couldn’t very well go to Bow Street with what they had witnessed since they had illegally broached Bess’s home themselves. Even if a constable did believe their story, it still did not prove Hamilton was the killer, only that he wanted to unearth the diary before it was found by another and released to the newspapers.

  Her thoughts, as always of late, turned to Jack. It had been two days since she had strained to watch him from the window of a hackney cab as he had returned to Bess’s home to search for the blasted diary.

  Had he found it? Or heaven forbid, had Hamilton returned when Jack was inside?

  Her face burned as the memory of Jack’s kiss came back to her, of his chest pressed so firmly against hers. Even though they both had been fully clothed, she had felt the heat of his body as though nothing had separated them. She had been acutely aware of more than the pleasure of his kiss, but of his familiar, alluring fragrance, his tall, muscular frame so different from Randolph’s.

  Despite the imminent danger—of both Viscount Hamilton and public discovery—she had been fascinated. It had been Jack who had withdrawn, reminding her of their surroundings. She dared not think of how far she would have allowed him to go if not for his restraint. It dawned on her that the more time she spent with Jack, the more perilous to her heart he was becoming.

  Evelyn laid her head in her hands, feeling a wretchedness of mind she’d never known before. She bit her lip until it throbbed like her pulse. She needed to prove Randolph Sheldon’s innocence, but at what cost?

  Three days later, Evelyn refused to wait any longer for Jack to contact her. She had never been a patient person and the waiting had her stomach churning with anxiety and frustration. She had to know the outcome of Jack’s search of Bess’s home. Perhaps he had found the mysterious diary. Her mind whirled with images of Jack squirreled away in his chambers, avidly reading its illicit content at his leisure.

  It was late afternoon by the time she arrived at Lincoln’s Inn.

  Stepping through the oak doors, she walked through the Tudor-style Gatehouse Court, only this time she did not spare a glance for the impressive architecture of the tall turrets or fragrant flowerpots. She headed for the Old Buildings, which housed the professional accommodations of the barristers. She strode down the halls, scanning the brass nameplates on the doors until she came to the one she sought.

  Reaching for the handle, she swept inside and ran straight into a solid body.

  “Oh!” she cried out.

  A firm hand steadied her. “My apologies, miss. Are you all right?”

  Evelyn looked up into the sinfully dark face of a tall man. Carrying a hat in one hand and a litigation bag in another, he was clearly on his way out when she had rushed inside.

  She cleared her throat. “I’m fine. Just a little stunned.”

  He smiled, and she couldn’t help but notice he was quite attractive with blue eyes, dark, curling hair and lean, strong features.
“I apologize again. I was in a hurry and had no idea such a beautiful lady was on her way inside. May I help you?”

  “I’m here to see a barrister.”

  “Then it is your lucky day since I am quite a competent barrister.” He bowed low and said, “James Devlin at your service. Your wish is my command.”

  She smiled at his charming demeanor. “You misunderstand, Mr. Devlin. I’m here to see a certain barrister.”

  “Who is the lucky one, may I ask?”

  “Mr. Harding.”

  Amusement flickered in his cobalt eyes. “You must be Lady Evelyn Darlington.”

  “Yes, how did you know?” Her voice rose in surprise.

  His grin turned to a chuckle. “Jack and I share chambers.”

  “I’ve met your other two colleagues, Mr. Anthony Stevens and Mr. Brent Stone,” Evelyn said.

  James Devlin leaned close and whispered in her ear, “Let me tell you a secret, Lady Evelyn. I’m better than all of them.”

  She pulled back and met his sharp gaze. Despite his outrageously inappropriate and flirtatious behavior, she couldn’t help but find him amusing. “No doubt the ladies find you hard to resist, Mr. Devlin, but I require Mr. Harding’s services.”

  James shrugged matter-of-factly. “Should you tire of Jack, I’m always available. My docket’s not as full as his, you see.” He winked, put on his hat, and walked out the door.

  Evelyn shook her head. Were all of Jack’s fellow barristers such characters?

  Putting James Devlin out of her mind, she turned the corner and came to the common room of the chambers. Just like her last visit, the clerk, McHugh, was bent over his desk, writing on a lengthy legal document. Stacks of paper were piled on all four corners of his desk, and Evelyn surmised one of his tasks was to file legal correspondence in the dozens of file cabinets that lined the walls.

  McHugh glanced up as she came close. His bushy brows knit, and with ink-stained fingers he pushed his spectacles farther up the bridge of his pinched nose.

  “Lady Evelyn,” he said. “I assume you are here to see Mr. Harding?” He made to reach for the appointment register.

  “I’m afraid I do not have an appointment.” Evelyn held her breath, expecting him to protest, but unlike the last time she had shown up unexpectedly, McHugh rose and motioned for her to follow.

  “Right this way, my lady.”

  They passed three closed doors, and Evelyn read the brass nameplates that identified Brent Stone’s, Anthony Stevens’s, and James Devlin’s offices.

  McHugh noticed her interest. “The other barristers are at the Old Bailey. You are fortunate that Mr. Harding did not have any courtroom appearances this afternoon and is in chambers,” he said, a note of censure in his voice.

  Evelyn bit her cheek to keep from smiling. Despite his seemingly polite behavior, the clerk made no effort to hide his disdain for unannounced client visits.

  They reached Jack’s door, and McHugh knocked.

  “Enter.”

  The clerk cracked open the door. “Lady Evelyn is here, Mr. Harding. If you do not need anything else from me, sir, the chambers are empty, and I’d like to leave for the day.”

  “Of course, McHugh.” She heard Jack’s voice from behind the door.

  Seconds later the door opened, and she stepped inside Jack’s office.

  Chapter 27

  Jack tossed Evelyn’s cloak on a chair and motioned for her to sit on the settee next to his desk. He casually leaned against his desk, one booted leg crossed over the other, and leveled his gaze upon her.

  Without a jacket, waistcoat, or cravat he looked magnificent. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing the corded muscles of his neck and a sprinkling of hair on his bronzed chest. It was clear he hadn’t expected company and had discarded his formal business attire to work privately in his office for the remainder of the afternoon.

  “I take it you couldn’t wait until I contacted you?” he asked.

  Despite his teasing tone, she lifted her chin. “You must know I’m anxious to find out what occurred after you returned to Bess’s home.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  He grinned, and her heart gave a little jump. Don’t be a fool, Evelyn! You must keep your wits about you and not succumb to his easy charm.

  She was reminded again of all the female clerks and wives of clients at Lincoln’s Inn that had practically swooned when Jack Harding had entered the room. The years had only honed his rugged appeal. Hadn’t the barmaid at the infamous Cock and Bull Tavern in Billingsgate eagerly displayed her enormous breasts for his viewing pleasure?

  No, she must not let childhood fancy pervade her thoughts. She was a woman now, fully in control of her faculties. She had to focus on her goal of marrying a man who valued intelligence and independence in a woman. Such a male was an anomaly, and the arrogant Jack Harding did not fit this description.

  She craned her neck and peered at his desk. “Did you find the diary or not?”

  He arched a dark brow. “Do you expect I’d keep it out on my desk if I did?”

  “Don’t tease me, Jack. I have thought of little else since fleeing Bess Whitfield’s home.”

  His face grew serious, and he pushed away from the desk and walked over. Sitting beside her on the settee, he cradled her gloved hands in his. “I’m sorry if my teasing distressed you, Evie. I never found the diary, and I’m convinced Bess moved it before she was murdered.”

  The heat of his hands seeped through her gloves. His thumb caressed her palm in a circular motion through the thin kidskin, and her pulse skittered alarmingly. Looking into his handsome face, she felt an unwelcome surge of excitement, and she knew without a doubt that her conflicting emotions were dangerously close to melting her firm resolve to keep Jack Harding at a safe distance.

  Why did he have to be the most attractive and compelling male she knew?

  Fighting an overwhelming need to be close to him, she stood and stepped to his desk, her back to him as she struggled to compose herself. She looked down and noticed the thick book of statutes open on his desk.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Research.” He stood and followed her to his desk.

  The book was open to the criminal code and a thought occurred to her. “You’re doing legal research for Randolph’s case?”

  “I’m looking into defense theories should he be tried for the murder.”

  “Do you think it will come to that?”

  “It’s my job to be prepared, and truth be told, Randolph lacks the funds and savvy to hide from Bow Street forever.”

  She spun to face him. “I can assist you,” she blurted out. “I’m highly proficient at legal research and have already come up with several theories of defense. And if Randolph is forced to go to trial, I can help you prepare for the courtroom as well.”

  He held up a hand. “Wait a minute, Evie. I work alone. I’m quite aware of how proficient you are at research. But book knowledge and practical lawyering in the courtroom are completely different.”

  “What on earth do you mean?”

  “I mean you cannot learn in university how to handle a twelve-man jury.”

  “But the statutes and rules of evidence and hearsay, they all must apply.”

  “They are just the basics, Evie. But how you deal with people, how you present a case in a favorable light, it’s all something you must learn by practical experience. It’s just as important, if not more, in influencing the outcome,” he said.

  “You’re an actor.”

  He shrugged, not in the least perturbed by her accusation. “Perhaps that is the best description.”

  She changed tactics. If a logical argument wouldn’t move him, then revealing her true plight might. “Please let me do something, Jack. My mind is awhirl, and I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks.”

  He sighed with exasperation and ran his fingers through his hair. “Very well.” He turned the book aro
und and pushed it across the desk. “You start by looking into the statutes. I’ll check the case law to see if anything relevant appears.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Would you like wine?” he asked. “It’s the end of the day, and I had planned on having a drink before you arrived.”

  She nodded, and Jack went to a sideboard in the corner of the room.

  Evelyn pretended to read, turning the pages in the book, as she stole glances at him as he poured two glasses. Without his jacket, his broad shoulders appeared a mile wide, his muscles rippling beneath his white shirt. The latest men’s fashion allowed for padded jackets, but Jack would never need such artifice like most men of the ton.

  He returned to the desk, handed her a glass and raised his. “A toast,” he said. “To the most beautiful research assistant I’ve ever had.”

  “To finding what we need,” she added as she raised her glass to his. “I’m quite proficient at this, you know.”

  His gaze caught and held hers. “You always were, Evie.”

  She sat on the settee with books spread around her. Jack sat behind his desk. They worked together for over an hour. They shared ideas and theories until Jack was comfortable that they had not overlooked anything relevant for Randolph’s anticipated defense.

  The wine heated her blood, and Jack’s conversation eased the tightly coiled knot in her stomach that had been present since walking into his chambers. He discussed his prior murder cases, and how he had struggled with those clients whom he knew were innocent, but the evidence was stacked against them.

  Then there were the other cases—the ones where the defendant was truly guilty of the crime—but Jack gave them the best representation he could. She sat enthralled as he spoke. Unlike the many male members of society that she had encountered, Jack did not talk entirely about himself. He was truly concerned with providing the best legal representation for the clients who so desperately depended on him, no matter how difficult the case.

  He had an air of efficiency about him, and she was fascinated by his keen intelligence and strategic ingenuity in the courtroom. She made suggestions for Randolph’s case, and took delight in Jack’s positive response to several of them.