Mrs. Strickland’s brow knit as she assessed the case they had been discussing. Out of the corner of his eye, Nathaniel noticed Charlotte watching his conversation out the corner of one of hers.
It was the most attention she had given him all afternoon. Her greeting and few words had been cool and formal, her smiles fleeting and blank. She acted as if the visit to his apartment had never happened.
He had not yet decided whether to allow her to pretend they had never kissed. Memories of her in erotic dishabille had invaded his mind for several days now, so he doubted he could be so noble.
“If her husband was a danger, she should have sought relief from the Church on the basis of cruelty, not killed him.” Mrs. Strickland spoke with severe righteousness.
“She was impoverished, and such appeals are expensive. Nor would she have found much relief. Her husband’s threats would not have sufficed as proof, nor would his thrashings of her. Only violence of a deadly nature gets much credit from most of those judges, although there have been some welcome exceptions lately.” He donned his most sincere expression. “I assure you it was self-defense. When arrested she still had the bruises on her neck.”
That only vexed Mrs. Strickland. No doubt, since she was married to an unusually pliable gentleman, she could not fathom the reality of men who were brutal.
A woman walked past them and Mrs. Strickland’s frown disappeared. As her sparkling eyes followed the passing figure, sympathy and confusion replaced skepticism.
Penelope, Charlotte’s older sister, had with her mere presence reminded Mrs. Strickland that bad husbands could be found in every stratum of society.
Mrs. Strickland noticed Nathaniel watching her. An embarrassed smile softened her face. She glanced meaningfully toward Penelope. “One hears things,” she confided.
“I regret to say that this time the gossip is true.” Normally he would not be so indiscreet, but things were being heard only because Penelope had revealed them for that purpose.
Not in a courtroom, however, and not for Charlotte’s cause. Penelope had let whispers tell her story only in an effort to save a man’s life. As a result, most of good society knew some very sordid details about the abuse she had experienced at the hands of her husband, the Earl of Glasbury.
Mrs. Strickland excused herself to chat with another man. Nathaniel wondered if she would eventually make her way to the table in the second drawing room where the petitions waited with ink and pens. Of more use would be some words spoken into an ear on a pillow near hers. Not Mr. Strickland’s ear.
He looked for Charlotte again. Her head was bowed to listen to the confidences of another woman. The meeting took the form of a social assembly, although Charlotte had made a speech about its purpose and pointed out the petitions. Now, as people chatted and drank punch, a gentler persuasion was under way.
Having given enough testimony for a while, Nathaniel made his way into the second drawing room’s relative quiet. He strolled over to peruse the petitions. There were two, one for men and one for women. While every citizen’s voice was important, the masculine ones would carry much more weight in Parliament.
“More men have signed than women,” a quiet voice observed.
Nathaniel turned to the dark-haired man who had arrived at his side. “Well, there are many men who would like divorce to be easier too. It was shrewd of Lady Mardenford and her allies to restrict this first petition to that matter. Was that on your advice, Hampton?”
Julian Hampton’s vague smile was in keeping with his reserved character. “I suggested that men might find sympathy on this issue, but that few would welcome a reform of the property laws that enrich them in marriage.”
Nathaniel gazed down the signatures. “Yours is not here, I notice.”
“I will sign discreetly on the fourth or fifth page.”
As discreetly as he attended this meeting, and observed from the walls instead of joining his lover in her conversations, Nathaniel assumed. Hampton and Penelope would marry sometime in the months ahead, when the heat of the scandal and notoriety surrounding them had cooled.
Hampton lifted the petition and checked the names. “Yours is not here either.”
“An oversight.” Nathaniel dipped a pen, bent, and scrawled his name.
He felt Hampton move, and sensed yet another presence. He straightened and turned. “Mardenford. Have you come to sign?” He offered the pen.
“Actually, I was looking to speak to you.” He addressed only Nathaniel. He had not greeted Hampton, but instead given him the cut direct.
Hampton noticed. With a wry smile, he excused himself.
“That was rude,” Nathaniel said.
Mardenford’s long face narrowed more as his thin lips pursed. “He should not be here. He and the countess should be more discreet.”
“They could only be more discreet if they retired to abbeys. The whole world knows they are in love and will marry. I think both the delay and discretion are stupid. It is refreshing that they do not bow to those who would have them do penance by withdrawing from society entirely.”
Mardenford shrugged as if it was of no account, but of course, to him, it obviously was. “My Beatrice would not have received either of them.”
No, his Beatrice would not have. She had been pretty and gracious and shallow. Nathaniel did not doubt that she would have proven incapable of doing a single thing that was not decreed as acceptable.
She had suited her husband well. The current Baron Mardenford was not so much dull as undistinguished. He was interchangeable in his interests and conversation with a hundred other men of his rank. He possessed neither a colorful appearance nor manner, and would never be memorable let alone eccentric. He was part of the wallpaper of the world into which Nathaniel had been born.
His elder brother, Charlotte’s husband, had been much the same, but more amiable. When Nathaniel had heard that Charlotte Duclairc was to marry Philip, Baron Mardenford, he had thought it an odd match. Philip was nothing like her brother Laclere, who commanded a room upon entering. Nor did he have anything in common with her other brother Dante, who could charm a snake out of its skin.
It struck him now, as he strolled to a window with Mardenford in tow, that perhaps that had been Philip’s appeal. She would have known all about the heartaches waiting for women who married charming wastrels like Dante. As for her elder brother, the Viscount Laclere, living with such a strong-willed man might put a woman off such a character. Especially if she was strong-willed herself.
“If you did not want to greet Hampton, you did not have to join us. He is my friend and I will not have him insulted while I converse with him.”
“I wanted to speak to you, and it required some privacy. I thought it unlikely I would find you alone again this afternoon,” Mardenford said. “I heard that you will prosecute Finley. I was relieved by the news, I will admit.”
“My father requested that I accept. Being a devoted son, I could not refuse.”
Mardenford appeared nonchalant, but there was worry in his eyes. “I trust he will not be allowed to speak lies about my family.”
“That will depend on his defense counsel to some extent.”
“I have heard he has none.”
Nathaniel’s gaze sharpened on the bland face masking a deep ill ease. “Will the judge refuse him one?”
“No lawyer will speak for him, the way I heard it.”
Nathaniel bit back a curse. The lords of the realm had done an excellent job protecting their own. With a coercive word here and an intimidating word there, they had ensured that no lawyer would take Finley’s defense.
And the only one who might have, simply in duty to fair play, the only one whose birth made coercion and intimidation ineffective, had been claimed for the prosecutor’s role.
“Well, it appears you have nothing to worry about.”
Mardenford’s eyes cleared at once. He beamed with relief. He might have been in the Old Bailey himself and just heard his own acquittal.
“I should rejoin the others,” Nathaniel said. “I think your sister-in-law expects me to cajole more ladies toward sympathy before we are done.”
He walked away with a simmering annoyance. He did not mind dancing to Charlotte’s tune for a few hours. He resented that he would soon be doing so to Mardenford’s.
He was not leaving.
As her guests drifted out, Charlotte could not ignore that Nathaniel was never among them.
His presence had unsettled her all afternoon. She felt him in the room. She had the sensation he kept looking at her, but every time she checked he was deeply involved in conversation with someone else.
He might at least be a little embarrassed upon seeing her again. She was so conscious of the awkwardness that she had become as taut as a tightly stretched string. It was really unfair that he appeared completely at ease.
Of course, that could mean that he had decided to pretend their last meeting never occurred. Maybe he would claim drink had obscured his memory.
Perhaps it actually had.
“It is a little rude to keep frowning at him.”
The lyrical voice jolted Charlotte out of her thoughts. Her sister-in-law Bianca’s wide skirt pressed against her own as Bianca leaned her blonde head close to issue the soft reprimand.
“It is even ruder to have been distracted from what you were telling me,” Charlotte admitted.
Bianca’s large blue eyes glanced over to Nathaniel. “Well, he is highly distracting.”
“And he knows it.”
“I realize the two of you do not get on, but you might look more kindly on him, as your sister does. You cannot deny he has been a great aid to her and to the family.”
Charlotte could not deny that. It made her beholden to Nathaniel Knightridge, however, and she did not care for being so. Especially now.
Yesterday she had discovered that she was about to become more beholden to him.
She had learned two days ago that James was to testify at Finley’s trial. The news caused a sick worry to lodge in her heart. She knew firsthand the horrors that blackmail could produce, and the way revelations could destroy a person’s life. It went without saying that Finley possessed no damaging secrets, but he could lie in court and many would wonder, would talk. There were men who would have paid him off just to avoid the destructive rumors.
When word came yesterday that Knightridge would prosecute, the chill of fear had left her at once, replaced by a secure sense of safety. Knightridge would know how to protect James and the family; she did not doubt that. He would not allow little Ambrose to be tainted by unfounded lies.
“It is just he vexes me so,” she muttered, sneaking another glance at him. He utterly commanded his corner of the room. Tall, lean, and broad-shouldered, he was immediately visible even with his golden head bowed toward Penelope’s earnest expression. His aristocratic manner and sartorial elegance did not completely contain the magnetism that overwhelmed a courtroom when he unleashed it.
That overwhelmed her, too, as she had learned to her dismay. She had never before been at such a disadvantage with a man, not even her husband. Philip had always inspired feelings of peace and comfort, not this annoying, confusing turmoil.
“I know all about men who can be vexing,” Bianca said with amusement. “Your brother and I did not like each other much when first we met.”
“The situation between you and Laclere was very different,” Charlotte said. “Mr. Knightridge and I truly do not care for each other.” She snuck another glance. “He is just so . . . so . . . so.”
Bianca laughed. “That you often cross swords proves that he is more so for you than for most.”
Yes, in more ways than one. That was the confusing part. There was much about the man she could not bear. His conceit. His damnable arrogance. The vaguely mocking note in his polite tone as he explained during their arguments how he was right and she was wrong.
So how could she have twice now succumbed to him in ways that would shock Bianca? It made no sense.
Of course, they had not been arguing during those inexplicable lapses. They had not been talking at all.
“Well, he has served your needs well, at least,” Bianca said.
Charlotte’s body tensed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“He has worked his charm on your behalf today. Come, let us go see the petitions. I have forced myself to wait although I wanted to count names every few minutes.”
Charlotte followed Bianca toward the second drawing room. When they passed Nathaniel, Charlotte could not resist glancing toward him again.
At the last second, just as she began to avert her gaze, he glanced to her in turn. For the smallest instant a very intimate power pierced her. He communicated no embarrassment with that look, nor apologies.
The effect was immediate, stunning, and worrisome. As she stumbled after Bianca on watery legs, warmth flushed her skin and sank deeper, lowering to where it ought not travel at a respectable political meeting. She barely composed herself by the time she reached the table with the petitions.
“Impressive,” Bianca said, running her finger down the list of male names on one petition. “It is a good beginning, with so many prominent signatures.”
“Now we must fill it with thousands more, from tradesmen and merchants and farmers.” Charlotte was grateful to escape into the practicalities of the cause. “Come fairer weather, I will make a progression through the nearby counties doing so. Sophia has offered to hold assemblies in Devon.”
Her voice faltered on the last few words. Even before she heard the evidence that someone was approaching them, she felt Nathaniel enter the room. Her blood hummed.
“Admiring the evidence of your triumph, ladies?”
Bianca greeted Nathaniel warmly. Charlotte felt her own smile stretch, as if someone squeezed her cheeks to force it.
“Your triumph, too,” Bianca said. She lifted the other petition and pointed to several names. “I saw you conversing with these ladies, and think your persuasion accounts for their signatures.”
“I am sure it was Lady M.’s speech that moved their hearts.”
“You are too kind, sir.” Charlotte took both papers. She turned and busied herself with laying them down very neatly. She fussed with arranging the pens and inkwell just so. She fought to quell her jumpy reaction to the masculine power enfolding her.
An awkward silence developed behind her.
“I must take my leave,” Bianca said. “I am sure that my husband has called for the coach.” She embraced Charlotte with one arm and moved her face close for a farewell kiss. “You are being rude again, dear. It is not like you and borders on inexcusable,” she whispered.
That settled her faster than a slap. She was being rude, and it was not like her. She collected herself and turned to see Bianca leaving the room.
Which meant she and Nathaniel Knightridge were alone.
Nothing changed in his manner or stance. Even his expression remained the same. She sensed an alteration anyway. A quickening in the tempo of time. An alertness in her essence. A myriad of reactions left her vulnerable to a new, essential intimacy flowing between them.
He remembered their last meeting; she did not doubt it. He had not been inebriated enough the other day to forget. The only question was how much he knew about their prior passion. Her conversation with Lyndale had not reassured her as she had hoped, but left the matter ambiguous.
She swallowed her discomfort on that point, and found some grace. “Thank you for attending, Mr. Knightridge. Your aid was most welcome.”
“Since you made such a special request, I could not refuse.”
That certainly made it plain that he remembered. Nor was he going to pretend he did not. She thought that ungallant of him.
“I have heard that you agreed to prosecute John Finley,” she said, thinking it best to speak of something other than the events surrounding that special request.
“That is true.”
&nbs
p; “I do not think you ever served as prosecuting counsel before.”
“I made an exception this time. It was the least I could do as an apology to you. One is due, for my bad behavior when we last met.”
He appeared sincere. There was not the slightest gloat or insinuation in his expression.
He was doing this for her, to make amends. That disarmed her. It also increased the aura of intimacy binding them.
“If my ignoble retreat from your home secured your talents on Mardenford’s behalf, I suppose I can overcome the embarrassment.”
“It was not your departure for which I sought to make amends, but your arrival. I realized later it was a very kind gesture to seek me out. A month had passed since the trial, and I do not think anyone else remembered what the day meant. For them, Binchley was dead already. His story had become a fading broadside. I regret that I did not appreciate your sympathy and instead treated you rudely when you arrived.”
A familiar irritation poked at her composure. He was drawing some rather peculiar lines in this apology.
“I do not mean to be ungracious, but I would think that if apologies are due at all, the latter part of my visit requires them more than the earlier events.”
“I disagree.”
She lowered her voice to a tight whisper. “Mr. Knightridge, perhaps your condition left you too befuddled to grasp what occurred. I visited you for the reasons you say, and you importuned me.”
“I think that you are exaggerating.”
“Exaggerating? You forced yourself on me, to be plain about it. I came close to being compromised due to behavior of yours that, in its badness, far exceeded your rudeness upon my arrival.”
“I do not remember it quite that way.”
“Since we have started down this sorry path, allow me to refresh your memory. You—”
Lady of Sin Page 4