In the Barrister's Chambers

by Tina Gabrielle

  “Georgina confided in me that her father, Viscount Hamilton, had gambled away a fortune after Bess’s death. His behavior has altered as well. He’s moody and unstable.”

  Jack’s eyebrow rose a fraction. “When did you learn this of Hamilton?”

  “Georgina came to visit me the other day. I forgot to mention it because of my excitement with the experiment you had conducted on the shirt, and then later when you . . . when you—”

  “When I offered marriage?” he asked.

  At her silence, he strode to his desk and opened the top drawer. Withdrawing a small square box, he walked to stand before her. He dropped to one knee and looked up at her. He opened the lid to reveal a stunning emerald the size of a walnut surrounded by brilliant diamonds nestled in red velvet.

  Heat throbbed in her cheeks, and she felt light-headed.

  “I realize I started off on the wrong foot, and I had planned to visit you at your home tomorrow. But now that you are here, I want to seize the moment. Evelyn Darlington, I would be honored if you would be my wife.”

  She looked at the magnificent ring, then at the handsome man on his knee before her. Her mind whirled; the blood rushed through her veins like an avalanche. “Jack, I don’t know if—”

  “Shh. Don’t answer yet, sweetheart. I want you to think about it.”

  He rose and slid the ring on her finger. “I’ve missed you, Evie. I want to show you how much. May I kiss you?”

  Yes, she thought, a thousand times yes.

  He did not declare his undying love for her, but he cared enough to buy her a betrothal ring and properly propose on his knee. Her firm resolve to hold out for nothing less than his heart weakened, and she seriously considered his proposal. The truth was she wanted to be his wife, wanted to spend the rest of her days gazing at him, sharing his bed, waking up beside him . . .

  At last his mouth lowered, and she rose up on tiptoe to meet him. Their lips fused, their tongues caressed, and the hot tide of passion surged through her like fire to dry timber. He pulled her into his arms, and her soft curves molded to the contours of his hard body. He moaned.

  Or was that she? Nothing was certain when he held her.

  His lips seared a path down the column of her throat and he kissed the sensitive skin above the lacy edge of her bodice.

  “For once I’m glad you came without your maid,” he said in a hoarse tone.

  Every nerve ending hummed in her body. He raised his head and looked in her eyes. His nostrils flared, and she realized he saw the lust that surely must be visible in her own eyes.

  She wanted him. She was tired of caring about propriety and her tattered virtue, tired of living her life worrying incessantly about others—first her father, then Randolph. She yearned for joy and happiness of her own.

  “I had not fully considered the consequences of arriving here alone, but I now believe it was for the best.”

  Satisfaction lit his eyes. “Good, because I can’t keep my hands from you.”

  He swept her into his arms and carried her to his desk. When he sat her on the surface, her eyes opened wide.

  “Jack, what are you doing?”

  “I’ve dreamed of making love to you here.”

  With a wide sweep of his arm, papers, books, and paperweights flew to the floor.

  Reclaiming her lips, he crushed her to him. Whatever control she had shattered beneath the hunger of his kiss. Fierce and vivid desire coursed through her like an awakened river. She wound her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. Her passion was equal to his and she met him kiss for kiss.

  His nimble fingers made fast work of the hooks of her gown and her breasts were free. She had what she wanted then as his lips and mouth ravished her aching breasts. She worked the buttons of his shirt, and he impatiently ripped it from his body and tossed it aside. His hands went under her skirts and he cupped her mons. He pulled her hips to the edge of the desk and her gown slipped off her legs to the carpet. Next went her drawers, leaving her clad only in her silk stockings and garters.

  She raised her arms, expecting him to come to her, but instead he sank to his knees and positioned her buttocks closer to the edge of the desk. Confused, she rose on her elbows, then was shocked as he spread her thighs and blew his hot breath on her sensitive mons.

  Sweet heaven, could a man do that to a woman?

  He lowered his head and licked her core, once, then twice, then over and over. She cried out and grasped fistfuls of his hair as intense pleasure spiraled through her. Her legs tensed, her heels digging into his back. She was powerless to protest, completely at the mercy of his lips and tongue. Her hips arched off the desk, her head thrashed from side to side and her mouth formed an O as she climbed toward a pinnacle, then was hurled beyond.

  Completely sated, she lay sprawled and panting on the desk. Opening her eyes, she was startled by the savage, possessive look in his eyes as he hovered above her.

  He may not love me, but he is consumed with need for me.

  Her heart swelled in her chest, and she raised a hand. “Come to me, Jack.”

  It was all the encouragement he needed. He shed his clothes and reached for her. He gently raised her to sit on the edge of the desk, stepped between her spread legs, and sheathed himself inside her with one powerful stroke.

  They both cried out. Her body melted against his and the world was filled with him. Not just where he physically touched her, but deep within her pounding heart. He thrust into her and together they found the tempo that bound their bodies together. Roused to the peak of desire, a moan of ecstasy slipped through her lips and she gave in to the wild wantonness.

  Jack went rigid above her. He closed his eyes, and for a heartbeat she sensed his utter vulnerability as he poured himself inside of her.

  He brushed a tender kiss across her forehead and carried her to the thick carpet before the fireplace. He stretched out beside her and gathered her into his arms.

  Papers from his desk littered the carpet around them and she laughed. “Will we never make love in a bed?”

  “After we marry, we can spend half our lives in the bedroom.”

  She stilled. “Jack, you said I could think about it.”

  He made a show of looking at the long-case clock in the corner. “You’ve had an hour, my lady. Please say yes.”

  She smiled, certain now of her decision. “Yes, Jack. I will marry you, but I do not want to officially announce our engagement until after Randolph’s legal troubles are resolved.”

  He grinned in conquest.

  She felt an instant’s panic. He is so used to winning that he never doubted my answer.

  He was a dominant, predatory male, one who thrived on challenge and conquest. After they married, would he file her away and forget her like one of his many trial victories? Or would she be the unforgettable adversary and make him love her?

  Chapter 38

  The following morning, Jack decided to return to the Drury Lane Theatre and speak with Mary Morris. He found her in a dressing room, hemming a costume of Henry VIII. A royal red cape with fur trim, a velvet doublet with jeweled buttons, and knee high boots were spread out on a nearby table.

  Jack stood in the open doorway. “Pardon, Mrs. Morris. Do you remember me?”

  Mary looked up, her lips puckered with annoyance at the interruption. Jack knew the moment she recognized him for her sour expression changed.

  “Aye, I remember ye. Yer the fancy barrister askin’ questions about me Bess Whitfield. Where’s the pretty blonde ye were with before?”

  “I’m alone today.”

  “Ye bed her yet?”

  Jack grinned. No sense lying to the perceptive old woman.

  Mary nodded and set down the costume and needle. “I was right. Ye did. I can tell a randy male a mile away.”

  Jack laughed. He supposed he had appeared randy the last time Mary had seen him. It was an instinctive reaction every time Evelyn was near.

  Jack’s mind turned to last night. Evel
yn had agreed to marry him. He had kissed her good night and for the first time in his life he had wanted a woman to spend the night. But he knew that wasn’t possible and so he had allowed her to depart in her carriage.

  Despite his overwhelming desire, Jack had the good sense not to follow her. Getting caught sneaking into her father’s home in the middle of the night a second time would not sit well with Lyndale. If she returned alone, no one would question her whereabouts and the household would assume she had stayed at Lady Jersey’s ball.

  “What do ye want from me now?” Mary asked.

  “We can’t locate the diary. We know of two of Bess Whitfield’s last lovers—Viscount Hamilton and Earl Newland, but you had mentioned a dark-haired commoner. A man named Sam.”

  “Funny ye came today. Sam was just here to see me. Askin’ about the diary too.”

  “He was here?”

  “Aye, an odd sort if ye ask me. ’E tries hard to blend in, but old Mary can see behind ’is mask. Soulless eyes that one ’as. Never did understand what Bess saw in ’im.”

  “When did he leave?”

  “He asked to look in Bess’s old dressin’ room. I didn’t care as I had searched it myself after ’er death and found nothing.’ He may still be there—”

  “Where is it?”

  “Down the ’all. Second door to yer right.”

  Jack sprinted out of the room and down the hall. He threw open the door to Bess’s old dressing room.

  Empty.

  Then he heard it. Footsteps outside the open window.

  He flew to the window and saw a dark-garbed figure running down the back alley.

  “You! Stop!”

  The man stopped, turned. The low-crowned brim of his hat concealed his features. He moved automatically, and a pistol emerged in his right hand as if from thin air. Jack froze as the man raised the pistol and took aim. Then instinct kicked in and Jack leapt to the side, pressing his back to the wall just as the glass window exploded and a potted plant on the windowsill shattered like a projectile. Jack sprang forward and jumped from the second-story window.

  He bent his knees, preparing for the impact, and the air rushed out of his lungs with a great whoosh. By the time Jack looked up, the man had taken off. Seconds later, Jack was on his feet in a flat-out run.

  The man had a solid head start, but Jack was fast. The man knew the neighborhood well for he kept to the desolate backstreets. He looked back twice, but beneath the hat Jack couldn’t make out his face.

  Jack pumped his arms and legs, shortening the distance between them until he was within a yard of him. Then, gathering his energy, Jack leapt on the man’s back.

  They hit the cobbled street hard. Jack jarred his elbow and his ankle burned. The gun appeared in the man’s grasp, and Jack got a good look at it.

  Christ, it’s a double-barreled pistol! A rarity that carried one more shot than a standard pistol.

  Jack lunged for the pistol, and the pair rolled and grasped in a macabre dance of death for control. The man’s hat flew off, and Jack’s breath stalled as pulse-pounding recognition struck him.

  “Simon!”

  Jack’s grip slipped, and the pistol fired. White-hot pain shot through his upper arm.

  Simon Guthrie wrested the gun away and scrambled to his feet.

  “You couldn’t leave it alone, could you, Harding? I’ll have to kill you like I did Bess.”

  Voices sounded at the end of the alley. Simon jerked around, and Jack took advantage of the distraction. He rolled to the side, prepared to tackle Simon’s legs and bring him to the ground. But he never got the chance. Simon swung the pistol and struck Jack on the temple.

  “Will you help me shelve these books, Evelyn? I just received a new set of treatises discussing the merits of tort law.”

  Evelyn took a thick book from her father’s hands. “I’d be delighted to organize them.” She studied her father’s features and frowned. There were deep shadows under his eyes, and his shoulders slumped forward in fatigue. “You’ve been up all night preparing for your next lecture. You should rest and let me take care of these.”

  “You are a treasure, Evelyn. I am pleased that you have accepted Mr. Harding’s proposal. He is a good match for you.”

  She had told her father this morning of her decision to marry Jack. “We agreed not to announce the betrothal until after Randolph’s trial.”

  He shook his head regretfully. “Don’t wait too long, my dear. You must seize every happiness life offers you.”

  He spoke with such uncharacteristic sadness, that Evelyn assumed he was thinking of her mother.

  “I’m worried about you,” she said.

  “Don’t trouble yourself. I deserve what God has in store for me.”

  Whatever did that mean? He needed to rest. Now.

  “You should rest. I’ll tell Hodges not to disturb you.”

  Thankfully he didn’t argue and dutifully left the library.

  Evelyn turned back to the crate of books on the floor. Seven treatises in all. She would look through them at her leisure another time. Perhaps even discuss the contents with Jack.

  Her thoughts cast back to last night, her memories vivid and clear. Jack had done such glorious, wicked things to her body, and the degree to which she had responded stunned her. Her heart had swelled with love, and she had agreed to marry him. She knew he cared for her and that he desired her, but she wanted more.

  Could she make Jack Harding love her?

  She sighed and forced her attention to her father’s crowded bookshelves. Where in the world would she put the new ones? She’d have to reorganize and move some of the existing books.

  She noticed a set of old treatises that took up eye-level space on the center bookshelf. A thin layer of dust covered them, and she knew her father hadn’t touched them in quite some time. She decided to move them one by one to a higher shelf. As she retrieved the last one, it was much lighter than the others. Curious, she opened the cover and was surprised to find that it was a false binding.

  Stunned, she stared at a cut-out slot with a smaller, black book nestled inside.

  She removed the small, leather-bound book and opened it.

  Dear Diary,

  Maxwell Stanford came to my bed last night. He was voracious with his sexual demands, wanting me to straddle him and hold down his arms and legs as I impaled his shaft. Who would have thought the great Viscount Hamilton desired to be dominated?

  Dear Lord, it’s Bess Whitfield’s diary! Evelyn thought. What on earth is it doing in Father’s library? Fascinated, she read on.

  Dear Diary,

  Newland acted more crazed than usual tonight. Crawling around on hands and knees, howling like a hound, begging for forgiveness. I’ll demand nothing less than a diamond bracelet for his antics.

  As if in a trance, Evelyn turned the page and continued to read.

  Dear Diary,

  Lord Lyndale insists I call him Emmanuel as when we first met ten years ago. I could not have asked for a more generous benefactor and lover. His health is failing, and I fear our time together is running out. Newland is a disappointment, but Emmanuel insists I marry the crazed earl to protect my future.

  A cold wave entered the room, and Evelyn’s body stiffened in shock.

  Lyndale, her father? Her father was Bess Whitfield’s longtime lover and mysterious benefactor?

  She stumbled back and grasped a chair for support. She felt sick, nauseated. She forced herself to breathe, to understand.

  Throughout the years, she had overheard her father’s friends argue that he should have a lover, a companion. Evelyn’s mother had died when she was an infant. She knew it was unrealistic to have expected him to remain faithful to a dead wife.

  Still, the pain of betrayal was raw and sharp.

  Her bewildered thoughts veered like quicksilver, and a feeling of dread pierced her brain. Did his affair have anything to do with his insistence she not marry Randolph Sheldon? After all, Randolph was Bess’s co
usin, her only living kin. Father knew they had been frantically searching for the diary.

  Did he know it was hidden in his library all along?

  A knock on the door startled her, and she jumped. The door opened and Hodges stood in the doorway. She recognized the taller figure standing behind the butler.

  “Mr. Simon Guthrie is here to see you, my lady. He said you have been expecting him.”

  Chapter 39

  “Jack! Wake up, man!”

  Jack’s eyelids cracked open. A lamp was brought close, and he winced in pain. Despite the pounding in his head, he forced his eyes to remain open. Anthony, Brent, and Devlin hovered above him.

  He was lying on a settee, his head resting on a rolled-up coat. Jack struggled to rise, but Anthony placed a large hand on his shoulder and pushed him down.

  “Easy, Jack.”

  “Where am I?” he demanded.

  “Your office in chambers. Dr. Astor has been treating you.”

  “I was at the theater. I was shot.” Jack’s arm throbbed, a different pain than in his head. He glanced down and saw a thick bandage wrapped around his bicep. His shirtsleeve was cut.

  “You were lucky. The bullet just grazed you. An inch to the left and it would have shattered the bone,” Brent said.

  “How did you find me?”

  “Shots were fired and people came running from the theater. They found you unconscious in a back alley. Mary Morris sent a note here. We came as soon as we heard and sent for Dr. Astor,” Devlin explained.

  Jack’s memory returned with a vengeance. “It was Simon Guthrie. He shot me. He murdered Bess Whitfield.”

  “Guthrie? Randolph’s friend?” Anthony asked.

  “Yes. He was known as Sam and one of Bess’s last lovers. He must have been searching for the diary.”

  “Do you think Randolph knew his friend killed Bess?” Anthony asked.

  No, Jack didn’t believe Randolph knew. “I think Simon duped us all, Randolph included.”

  But Simon was still free and he was dangerous. There was no doubt in Jack’s mind that Simon would have killed him if he had the opportunity. Simon had to know that Jack would hunt him down. Simon would be desperate. He would go to Evelyn.