In the Barrister's Chambers

by Tina Gabrielle

  “Go now, Evie,” he said hoarsely.

  A probing query came in her eyes. “Jack, will what happened between us change anything?”

  Her question was clear, but it felt like a solid punch to his gut. “Nothing will change. I’ll be in touch regarding the case.”

  She nodded, unlocked the door, and fled the chambers.

  For long moments Jack stood still, staring at the door, as sweat beaded on his brow. He breathed in and out, willing his brain to resume control over his arousal. The seconds ticked by on the mantel clock.

  Sheldon, she wants Randolph Sheldon, he repeated the mantra over and over in his mind.

  It made things much simpler for Jack Harding, the jury master. But the problem was, now that he had tasted her, how was he going to walk away and watch her go to another man?

  How could she have misjudged things so badly? Some deep part of her had truly believed that being with Jack intimately would have put an end to the maddening attraction she had for him.

  But she had been terribly wrong.

  “Are you well, m’ lady?”

  Evelyn’s gaze snapped to Janet walking beside her. They were halfway down Bond Street, heading for the tea shop. Once again, Evelyn was on an errand for Lord Lyndale’s newest medicinal tea. This time she sought a blend to assuage the painful varicose veins that plagued her father of late.

  Her maid was looking at her curiously.

  “I’m fine, Janet. Ah, here we are,” Evelyn said as they came to the tea shop.

  Snapping her parasol shut, Evelyn opened the shop’s doors. The bells chimed, announcing their presence to the shopkeeper. The man waved from behind the counter, recognizing his frequent customers.

  Evelyn strolled around tables, perusing random tins of tea. Her mind was elsewhere as thoughts of yesterday returned. She had made it home without any member of the household suspecting her true whereabouts. She had immediately requested a hot bath and a dinner tray, and then went straight to bed.

  She had dreamed of Jack.

  She relived their brief time together. The warmth of his arms around her had been so male, so bracing, and she had soared higher and higher until she had exploded in a firestorm of sensations. And when he had touched her after they had already made love, she had wanted to do it all over again.

  As the erotic images flashed through her mind, her blood pounded and her cheeks burned. She looked up, acutely conscious of the people milling about the crowded shop.

  I must be a deviant, she thought, to have been so consumed by lust.

  How could she have allowed him to make love to her? Or more disturbingly: How could she have desperately wanted him to? Perhaps that’s what happened to women who waited too long to marry or to bed a man. Once they finally succumbed to passion they thought of little else.

  But she knew it had more to do with Jack Harding than her age and lack of experience. He was a rare type of male. Handsome, confident, intelligent, and slightly dangerous. The combination was irresistible. She was not the first woman to be drawn to him.

  She could blame the wine, but she was old enough to know better and to be honest with herself. She had been crazed with need. His power of persuasion in the courtroom had carried over into the bedroom. His seduction had been as ruthless as any legal campaign. He had stoked a growing fire within her until it had burst into flame, and her whole being had been consumed with wanting him.

  Then there was her subconscious. That nagging voice that had needled her into her final capitulation for she knew it was her only chance to be with him before the true murderer was found and Jack’s services were no longer required.

  And with that thought, an image of Randolph Sheldon crystallized in her mind.

  Dear Lord, what about Randolph?

  Crippling guilt squeezed her heart like a tight fist.

  Dare she tell Randolph what had happened? Although they weren’t yet officially betrothed, they had an understanding. Her father liked Randolph and had kept him as his University Fellow, but he didn’t approve of her marrying him. Evelyn had been confident that she could change her father’s opinion, but then Bess Whitfield had been murdered and all her well-laid plans had come to a halt—which had led her straight to Jack Harding.

  Jack had promised that nothing would change, that he would continue to represent Randolph and keep her apprised of the case. And then he had thrust her cloak in her arms and told her to leave. Her throat seemed to close up, and a new anguish seared her heart.

  What did she expect? That Jack profess his undying love for her?

  Jack had made no promises of affection, and why should he? She had repeatedly proclaimed that she wanted Randolph’s name cleared so that they could marry.

  And Jack was not the marrying kind.

  But the question was: Could she keep what had occurred on the floor of Jack’s office a secret forever and go through with her plans to marry Randolph?

  She knew she wouldn’t be the first woman to do so. Many were forced to marry men they didn’t like, men many years their senior, even men they feared. She had heard of women that had successfully faked their virginity on their wedding nights.

  But she had never wanted that for herself. She had thought she had found her perfect intellectual mate in Randolph. Could she have been wrong?

  Don’t be a fool, Evelyn, her inner voice warned. Despite her guilt, she feared giving up Randolph because of one reckless experience. There was no future with Jack. He would move on to his next female conquest, and she would be left with nothing.

  No Randolph.

  No Jack.

  Just spinster Evelyn.

  A heaviness centered in her chest at the dreadful thought. She didn’t want to be a spinster. Although she loved her father dearly, she wanted her own home, her own family. She didn’t want to spend the next decade organizing her father’s mountain of legal books on his library shelves, arranging his monthly dinners with the judges, or buying his medicinal teas.

  So what was she to do?

  “I found it, m’ lady!”

  Evelyn’s attention was snapped to the present as Janet approached clutching two tins of tea to her bosom.

  “Lord Lyndale is going to be pleased. This blend assures relief from varicose veins, and the other,” Janet said, thrusting forth a second tin in Evelyn’s face, “promises comfort from constipation by loosening the bowels.”

  Evelyn forced a smile, feeling as if her face would crack from the effort. “Splendid, Janet. Let us pay and be on our way.”

  Evelyn made the purchases and they left the shop. No sooner had the door closed behind them than did another cry startle her.

  Chapter 30

  “Evelyn!”

  Evelyn whirled around to spot Georgina Hamilton waving from three shops down. Wearing a vivacious orange walking dress and bonnet with matching ostrich feathers, Georgina rushed toward them, the plumes of her hat bouncing wildly.

  “I thought that was you, Evelyn. I missed you at my tea. Please tell me you are feeling well?” Georgina asked.

  Evelyn knew Georgina was referring to the illness she had faked in order to excuse herself from Georgina’s feminist gathering.

  “I’m feeling much better, Georgina. Thank you for inquiring. I hope you had an entertaining afternoon with the other ladies?”

  “I was concerned by your letter. Your condition sounded alarmingly like my uncle who suffers from incurable consumption.” Georgina turned a worried glance to Janet standing beside them. “Has a doctor seen Lady Evelyn?”

  Janet looked to Evelyn, then back to Georgina. The maid’s brown eyes were wide with uncertainty. Her mouth floundered open and closed.

  Evelyn quickly entwined her arm with Georgina’s and drew her aside. “Janet upsets easily. But I’m fine now, and I apologize for alarming you. Now tell me about yourself. Has your mother relinquished hopes of a match with Lucas Crawford?”

  The diversion worked, and Georgina’s face twisted with displeasure. “No, Mother has
invited his family to visit our country residence in Somersetshire next week. It’s not the thought of a full week of Lucas’s courtship that distresses me, but rather the dreaded anticipated scrutiny of two overbearing mothers!”

  “Oh, Georgina.”

  A glimmer of hope lit Georgina’s eyes. “Will you come with me to Somersetshire, Evelyn? It would be delightful to have a friend. Father wouldn’t mind.”

  Panic welled in her throat accompanied by an overwhelming urge to flee. A vivid image of Viscount Hamilton crouched on the floor of Bess Whitfield’s bedroom, prying up floorboards, blasted through Evelyn’s mind.

  Dear Lord, to sleep under the same roof as Hamilton! The notion was unfathomable. But worse yet was the thought that her friend’s father was their lead suspect in the murder of his own mistress.

  How could she ever confess such information to her friend?

  Evelyn held up her recent purchase from the tea shop. “I’m so sorry, Georgina, but I cannot leave Father and go to the country with you. He hasn’t been feeling well of late, and I am not free to leave him alone. I must return home now as he is waiting for his medicinal tea.”

  “I understand. Please send Lord Lyndale my best.” Georgina hugged her and waved as she stepped inside a carriage bearing the Hamilton crest.

  Evelyn headed back to where Janet waited. Sourness settled in the pit of her stomach, like an old wound that ached on a rainy day. There was no question, she was suffering from guilt.

  Guilt over her actions with Jack. Guilt over keeping secrets from Randolph. Guilt over her treatment of Georgina.

  The simple had become complex. She had started out seeking to protect Randolph from prosecution until the true murderer was arrested so that she could proceed with her marriage plans. Now, the lives of others she cared deeply for could be ruined and—solely because of her recklessness—her heart lay in perilous danger.

  It was a Friday evening in early June when Lord Lyndale’s monthly dinner party with the judges arrived. Evelyn’s father and the Lordships Bathwell and Barnes were comfortably seated in the drawing room, brandies in hand, engaged in a heated debate over the controversial Corn Laws while Evelyn rushed about seeing to the final details of the evening meal. She was just leaving the kitchen with Mrs. Smith when a knock on the door drew their attention.

  “Hodges is in the cellar fetching the wine,” Mrs. Smith said as she started for the door.

  Although Mrs. Smith’s large girth blocked Evelyn’s view of the doorway, the deep timbre of Jack Harding’s unmistakable voice washed over her like warm spring rain.

  It was the first she had seen him since they had made love in his chambers days ago. He stepped inside, and Mrs. Smith took his cloak. He thanked and smiled at the housekeeper, and the elder woman beamed at the attention and bobbed a curtsy. Then spotting Evelyn, his grin flashed briefly, dazzling against his bronze skin.

  Striking in his impeccably cut black-and-white evening attire, his tall, well-muscled frame moved with an easy grace as he approached Evelyn.

  “Lady Evelyn, my apologies. I had a court appearance that lasted longer than anticipated. I trust I am not too late.”

  Aware of Mrs. Smith’s presence, Evelyn politely smiled. “Not at all, Mr. Harding. The others are in the drawing room engaged in a lively discussion over the repeal of one of Parliament’s laws.”

  “Splendid.”

  She led the way to the drawing room, aware of the power that coiled within him as he walked beside her.

  Lord Lyndale rose to greet Jack.

  “Jack, you are just in time to set the record straight. Pray tell us your opinion of the Corn Laws.”

  Jack took an armchair between Lordships Bathwell and Barnes. Both judges eyed Jack with calculating expressions.

  Evelyn held her breath as she sat beside her father and wondered how Jack would handle himself with the two opinionated lordships.

  Bathwell, a squat fellow with beady eyes, had a ring of gray hair around a shiny scalp and small, yellow teeth that resembled a ferret’s. Barnes, on the other hand, was a brawny man with a thick neck and a chest as broad as an armoire. Seated between the two judges, Jack’s tall physique and commanding air of self-confidence distinguished him from a typical barrister.

  “I must confess I am agreeable to the growing movement of repealing the Corn Laws. They may have been useful in the past, but the market is changing, and the country would benefit from increased imports of wheat from the Baltic region,” Jack said.

  Lord Lyndale and Barnes nodded in agreement, while a cold, congested expression settled on Bathwell’s face.

  “I’m not surprised by your opinion on the matter, Mr. Harding,” Lord Bathwell said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “As a seasoned criminal barrister who has ensured the freedom of countless criminals at the expense of the Crown’s prosecution and the good citizens of London, I understand why you would favor the repeal of a vitally important law. Criminal barristers always do what’s expedient and in their best monetary interests.”

  Evelyn stifled a gasp. She knew Bathwell was hardhearted when it came to a defendant’s pleas at sentencing. Hannah Ware came to mind. The indigent widow had admitted to stealing. Her reasons for committing the crime—to feed her six starving children—wouldn’t have mattered if Bathwell had sat on the bench. The dogmatic judge would have denied Hannah benefit of clergy. But to accuse Jack of being a selfish criminal barrister, devoted to amassing his own wealth at the expense of the Crown and the citizens of London?

  Ludicrous.

  At one time, she had ignorantly thought the same. Now she knew better. Yes, Jack Harding did get paid to represent defendants accused of crimes, but he also selflessly volunteered his services for the destitute. His pro bono activities had spared Hannah Ware a harsh sentence, perhaps even the death penalty.

  Quiet descended in the room. Barnes and Lord Lyndale looked at Bathwell, then at Jack. Evelyn thought Jack would take offense to Bathwell’s inflammatory statement.

  What barrister wouldn’t?

  But Jack sat back in his chair, his mouth twitching with amusement. “I appreciate your sentiments regarding my success in the courtroom, my lord, but I can assure you this: Criminal barristers such as myself do perform a most valuable service for the Crown’s prosecution.”

  “What might that be?” Bathwell asked.

  “Top prosecutors would find how easily they would be able to obtain convictions tedious. They would leave in droves out of sheer boredom. Imagine what would become of the Crown’s prosecution then?” Jack said.

  Barnes guffawed at Jack’s outrageous statement. “A point well made, Mr. Harding.”

  Lord Lyndale chimed in. “There’s no more effective method of losing talent than through boredom and tediousness.”

  Bathwell nodded grudgingly. “I should have known better than to debate you, Mr. Harding. Despite my comments, I’m glad you decided to join us this evening.”

  The tight knot within Evelyn eased. Whatever anxiety she had about Jack Harding fitting in with the imposing judges was clearly misplaced.

  He’s a smooth talker, no matter the situation thrust upon him, she thought.

  Dinner was announced, and the men rose to follow Evelyn and her father to the dining room. Evelyn had carefully set out the seating arrangements, but at the last minute, Lord Lyndale altered her plans.

  “Evelyn, as our new guest, I would like Mr. Harding to sit beside me tonight. I’m sure Lordships Barnes and Bathwell will be amenable.”

  The judges nodded, affirming the decision, and Evelyn had no choice but to sit beside Jack. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought her father planned it that way.

  Nonsense. Father isn’t coy or overly subtle. If he wanted Jack Harding to sit beside his daughter, he would come right out and say so.

  Or would he?

  She frowned at her thoughts. She knew her father didn’t approve of Randolph as a future son-in-law, but that didn’t mean he wanted Jack Harding to step i
n and assume the role. Father had never suggested such a thing in the past. It was her overactive imagination.

  That and her mounting guilt over what she had done.

  She sat still as the first course of turtle soup was served. The legal discussions that had interested her in the past barely registered. Instead, she was highly conscious of the man seated beside her.

  The first course was taken away, and the second served. Droll conversation drifted around her, failing to penetrate her hazy senses. She stole sideways glimpses of Jack’s strong hands holding his fork, reaching for his wine goblet. Images of those hands stroking her breasts, the curve of her hip, and lower still . . . pervaded her mind.

  Jack turned to Evelyn. “Eat something, Evie,” he whispered in her ear. “Are you well?”

  Evelyn met his stare. His inquiring green eyes, serious face, and the clear-cut lines of his profile, were devastatingly handsome. His aquiline nose, square jaw, and firm sensual mouth would captivate the attention of any woman.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You don’t want your father to worry, do you?”

  She dutifully raised her fork.

  He placed his napkin on his lap, and his thigh brushed her skirts. The scent of his shaving soap—clean and masculine—reached her, and her reaction was maddeningly swift. A slow swirl grew in the pit of her stomach.

  The meal was endless. A footman took her dinner plate, but she knew dessert was yet to arrive—strawberries and Devonshire cream. She tried not to glance at Jack as he consumed the fragrant berries.

  At last her father set down his fork, and she sighed with relief as the dessert plates were cleared from the table. Coffee in the library, accompanied by cigars and port would follow.

  She stood, and the guests followed Lord Lyndale to his prized library. The judges and Jack took seats by the fireplace, her father sat in an armchair before his desk.

  Evelyn had always remained in the library in the past, serving coffee. Even though women never interrupted the men’s after-dinner cigars and port, her father was not conventional when it came to his daughter and had allowed her to stay. Barnes and Bathwell had known her since she was a child and were both accustomed to her father’s eccentricities. The fact that both judges were fond of their coffee—and she dutifully kept their cups full—no doubt aided her cause.