He searched the face he knew so well—the embodiment of his greatest weakness—and felt lost on a continent of foreign tongue and poisonous endemic plants.
He turned on his heel and went to the window. Concentrate on the task at hand.
Examinations were almost entirely based on witness testimony and their reports of the accused’s history and character. Was there another way to prove her innocent?
“When you threatened to shoot Vaile, what did you use?” he asked.
“My lady’s flintlock.”
He grimaced. Perhaps if the firearm had never been triggered, they could cut off that line of suspicion.
Perhaps, but not likely.
A large black carriage turned onto the drive. The glossed door sported the marquess of Elmbrooke’s gilded crest. He frowned. If the magistrate had come in the Elmbrooke carriage, the implication was clear: Vaile’s family was supplementing the prosecutorial funds. If the marquess became convinced of Lavinia’s guilt, proving her innocent would become even harder.
Witnesses could, indeed, be bought.
Keeping Lavinia out of harm’s way could turn out to be the greatest challenge in his career—and cost him his control.
He sighed harshly. “I will make inquiries. I will try and uncover something that will work in your favor before the coroner’s court issues any warrants. If they find witnesses, false or not, a trial will be inevitable.”
He turned back to face Lavinia and everything else in the room faded—Lady Sophia, the duchess, the books, and the fire. He noticed the dark circles gathering under her bloodshot eyes. She looked like a woman in mourning…or tormented by guilt.
His breath grew short. You could have trusted me.
He’d buried the buzzing, relentless pain of the truth deep and yet she had managed to unearth all he had wished to hide.
He had known she did not betray him willingly but, hating helplessness, he’d held to believing her false and fickle. She had been in trouble and his hands had been tied—completely, irrevocably tied—by God’s law as well as man’s.
His hands were not tied now. This time, to keep her safe, he would do whatever circumstance demanded. She was his duty.
You could have trusted me.
He could not mend the past, but he had the present. In three long strides, he closed the distance between them. He cupped her face.
“For courage, love.” He placed a swift, firm kiss on her lips. “The magistrate is here.”
Chapter Six
Warmth borne of the pleasant shock of Max’s hot, dry lips flared in Lavinia’s stomach, giving her strength she had not possessed. She stood and faced the door.
“Lord Montechurch and Mr. Grimley, magistrate,” Sophia’s housekeeper announced.
The sound of Monte’s name made the blood in her veins slow like icy sludge. She curtsied her welcome while counting each heavy thud of her heartbeat.
Lady Sophia stepped forward. “Good morning, Lord Montechurch, Mr. Grimley. I am Lady Sophia and I welcome you both to my home. Though I insist you keep your business short. We’ve had terrible news, as I am certain you are aware.”
“Yes, my lady.” Grimley’s eyes were wide and his tone, obsequious. “I beg your patience.”
Lavinia forced a brittle smile.
With a sleight-of-hand that would have impressed a gaming hell dealer, Max touched the base of her spine. She softened her smile. She was not alone.
“Lord Montechurch, you know Lady Vaile,” Sophia said, “and Her Grace, the duchess of Wynchester. May I present Mr. Harrison?”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Montechurch,” Max said.
“This is not a social call,” Monte snapped. “We are here on matters of the court. Question her, Grimley.”
Grimley flushed. “Lady Vaile, let me begin by offering my condolences.”
“My thanks, Mr. Grimley.” She spoke without a tremor in her voice and oh, how she relished the surprise in Monte’s eyes. You see? I am not the malleable girl I was.
Grimley cleared his throat. “When, may I ask, was the last time you saw your husband?”
“I cannot say, exactly. A year, at the very least.” For once, she was glad of a talent she had learned with Vaile. Not knowing what would trigger his rage, she had kept her speech brief, bland, and vague.
“Grimley,” Monte said, “you did not ask the question properly. You should have asked: where were you last evening, Lavinia?” Monte drew out the syllables of her name. He removed his glasses and stepped close. His breath raised her neck hair. “Tell the magistrate you were not home. Tell him you murdered your poor husband.”
Bastard. “I did not.”
“Your wits are rattled, kitten. You yearn for confession’s purification and tire of guilt’s heavy burden.” He touched her cheek. “Did Vaile make you angry again? What did he do to make my little kitten protract her claws? You threatened him, did you not?”
Her skin shrank in tingling horror, but Lavinia held her ground against the tobacco-sodden stink of his breath. Monte knew she had threatened Vaile. Any answer would make her look guilty.
Max cleared his throat. “Lady Vaile answered Mr. Grimley’s question truthfully. She has not seen her husband in more than a year.”
“I addressed my cousin’s wife,” Monte said evenly. “Have you some claim that gives you cause to speak for her? Some reason, perhaps, she wanted her husband gone?”
Monte might as well have called her Max’s whore. Blood rushed to her cheeks.
“You have insulted the lady. Apologize,” Max said.
Monte stepped back and raised his chin. “I will do no such thing. She is a murderess.”
“I am not a murderess.” Of course, she’d expected the accusation, but to hear it spoken aloud was absurd—a scene from a blighted farce.
Max turned to Grimley. “Has the coroner’s court convened early and issued a charge?”
The magistrate shook his head. “The coroner’s court will not convene a jury until this afternoon. The surgeon will provide testimony as well as the servants who were in the home. It could take a day or more for them to issue a charge, if a charge is warranted.”
“Ah,” Max said. “As you can see, Lady Vaile has nothing to add by way of testimony.”
“Mr. Harrison is correct,” Lavinia said. “I have nothing to add.”
“Mr. Harrison, is it?” Grimley asked. “Mr. Harrison formerly of the high court of Calcutta?”
“Yes.”
Recognition lit the magistrate’s face.
Monte curled his fists. “What gives you the right to interfere?”
Lavinia opened her mouth to speak, but caught her words as Sophia shook her head.
Max addressed his reply to Grimley. “I hold shares in her late father’s brewery and am an old family friend. Knowing my past court experience, Lady Vaile’s mother sent an urgent message requesting I advise her daughter. I had only just returned from a late night, but I came straightaway. Lady Vaile’s family wishes both justice for Lord Vaile and respect for Lady Vaile’s time of mourning.”
“But of course,” Grimley replied.
The lies rolled smoothly off Max’s tongue, leaving Lavinia lightheaded. He had lied. Max had lied—for her. She was elated and terrified. Must she be boot polish, blackening everything she touched?
“I understood the lady to be estranged from her family,” Monte said.
“You understood wrong,” she answered, praying her mother would not counter the statement, if asked.
“I assume Vaile’s remains are in his home?” Max asked.
“The jury will view the body there.” Grimley exchanged glances with Montechurch. “However, at the marquess of Elmbrooke’s request, an undertaker will remove the body after and will quietly put the remains to rest in a Bunhill Fields vault.”
“Naturally,” Monte said, “my father wishes to avoid the morbidly curious.”
Grimley glanced at Monte with annoyance in his pinched, powdere
d face. “I must return to the court. I am deeply grateful for your time, ladies. Mr. Harrison, it was an honor to meet you.” He bowed before leaving.
Monte narrowed his eyes as if hatred thickened his lids.
The shadow of Max’s kiss lingered on her lips, and the echo of his touch warmed her back. “I am sorry for your loss, Lord Montechurch. I assure you I was not involved.”
“Lord Montechurch,” Lady Sophia said, “my housekeeper will see you out.”
“You and I both know you lie, Lavinia. This is not finished.” Monte radiated malice, and Lavinia’s skin shrank and recoiled. Even after he departed, his malevolent presence hung in the air the way noxious odor followed a mud lark.
Surely, she would be taken to Westminster and locked away to await the humiliation of a trial and conviction by a grand jury.
What cause had she to hope? No matter how healing Max’s touch, how determined his presence, his lies had been her only protection. Monte would pick apart her flimsy defense and make certain nothing expunged the scourge that blighted her soul.
…
Max considered Lord Montechurch’s insinuations as the door closed, weighing the damage his continued presence would cause against his desire to remain by Lavinia’s side. He had so many questions he wished to ask.
The way Lord Montechurch had behaved toward Lavinia had unsettled his nascent trust. Last time Max checked, kitten was not a cousinly endearment.
And yet, he had risked his honor with a blatant lie.
Apparently, he could not even trust himself.
In such a circumstance, he must observe propriety. If Grimley witnessed his departure, he’d seal his gains and bolster his “family-appointed advisor” falsehood. And, if he worked quickly, he could retain a surgeon to examine the body before Vaile was interred.
“I will take my leave as well.” He cradled Lavinia’s fingers, kissed them, and bowed. “Rest now, Lov”—he coughed—“Lavinia.”
Her eyes locked on his—red-rimmed and dazed.
He held her hand longer than was proper. “You know my direction should you require my assistance, day or night.”
Thea tsked in outrage, but Lavinia nodded.
“Thank you.”
Reluctantly, he stepped back. “I bid you good day.”
“Mr. Harrison,” Lady Sophia said with a dash too much cheer, “Allow me to show you to the stables, would you?”
“Certainly.”
“This way, then.” Lady Sophia smiled.
Together, they descended the front stairs in silence. He caught Mr. Grimley’s eye through the Elmbrooke carriage window and the magistrate touched his hat in acknowledgment.
Elmbrooke’s footman closed the carriage door and then heaved himself up onto the back rail. The coachman’s whip cracked through the morning air, and the carriage rolled slowly down the drive.
“Well,” Lady Sophia said finally. “Watching them go is quite a relief.”
“Indeed,” he replied.
“Good show, Mr. Harrison. I was impressed.”
He glanced sideways, having the distinct impression her compliment was meant to soften a forthcoming blow. “Why did you wish to speak with me?”
She frowned as the coach disappeared onto the main road. “Forgive my lack of delicacy, and remember I am a widow. Life has taught me not to waste time. My question is simple.”
“Yes?”
Her inhale was the sound of a flintlock’s mainspring stretched by a hammer. “What are your intentions toward Lady Vaile?”
And—bang—the flint hit the frizzen.
He whistled low. “My intentions, Lady Sophia, are none of your concern.”
Her friendly demeanor disintegrated. “She is vulnerable right now, and she needs legal counsel on which she can rely.”
“Ah. Well. Allow me to—”
“I wish to be assured,” Lady Sophia interrupted, “that you will remain by her side even if she should ask you to go.”
“You wish to be assured?”
“Yes. If you cannot provide such assurance, I will retain alternate counsel on her behalf. I will not see her abandoned midway through this mess when your male vanity suffers insult.”
What? “I have given Lady Vaile my word,” he gritted. “I intend to see her through this.”
“And after?” She lifted her chin. “What of her heart?”
The morning sun burned hot and uncomfortable against his dark jacket. Last night he had rushed here out of duty and in fear for Lavinia’s safety only to butt against the crude fortress around her hardened heart. He did not know if her walls were scalable, let alone if he should risk everything for a chance to try.
He was already risking too much.
“Yours is an extraordinary question.”
“I must speak things as I see them.”
He studied Lady Sophia. She was so collected, so serene, even as she hurtled blithe insults. Had she any idea how high Lavinia had stoked the flames of his private hell?
“Allow me to speak things as I see them, as well. You have taken in an as-good-as-divorced, gambling duchess on the verge of financial ruin and a lady who, though known to be ruthless with men’s hearts, is, in your judgment, somehow vulnerable to my male vanity.”
“The rumors are exaggerated. The duchess gambles to control chance—and wins more often than not. As to Lavinia’s ruthlessness, the hearts of spurned men are blind. A person of insight would work to discover the reason Lavinia shuns any man’s touch.”
“She allowed me to kiss—” he shut his mouth.
“Yes, I saw. Why do you think you have not been thrown from my grounds? If Lavinia has hurt others, it was because she was hurt. As to your male vanity,” She circled him in slow, deliberate steps. “Can you tell me you appreciate the challenges facing a woman alone?”
Her question tunneled under his conscience and nested. A married woman could not own property. Even widows often relied on male trustees. Laws, in truth, only worked when men behaved as gentlemen of honor and duty.
Lavinia had known no such male and so had turned to Lady Sophia.
He eyed Sophia askance. “Why is it, Lady Sophia, that you collect the wounded?”
“Not wounded, Mr. Harrison. Wounded implies a lack of capability. My Furies have been hurt but are determined to survive.”
“What about you?” Max raised his brows. “What is your purpose?”
“I have none but the happiness of my friends.”
Blarney. “Rakes fawn over you in hopes of gaining an invitation to your garden.” Max snapped his fingers. “I have it now. You want men at your feet.”
“Yes,” Lady Sophia’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “that must be it. I want men at my feet. And if they trip over their pride on their way down, my joy is complete.” She placed her fist on her hip and squinted. “You have been free with your opinion of me. I will return the favor. I believe you are enthralled. You may feel your position is unique, but I assure you, infatuation is not an uncommon reaction to Lavinia.”
“I am not infatuated.” Liar.
“Well, then. Answer my question: what of her heart? I have a right to know. Lady Vaile is family now.”
He gazed past Sophia to the house. Two women shadowed the library window.
Family. Pain twisted in his heart.
Lady Sophia had given Lavinia shelter. Lady Sophia had cared for and protected Lavinia. For those things alone, she deserved his gratitude and respect. Again, he had the sense that Vaile had placed Lavinia in a walking prison. Sympathetic recognition of her fate left a heated sheen on his brow.
“I have told you I will not abandon her. That is enough.”
“Know this,” Lady Sophia said, “If you are sincere, I will know by your actions and you will find an ally in me. If you are not, you will lament the day you stepped into my garden.”
He rocked back on his heels. “I do not envy the man who falls for you.”
“As do I, but do we understand each other?”
“Perfectly.”
“The hand you’ve been dealt is yours to lose.” Lady Sophia awarded him with a dazzling smile. “Good day, Mr. Harrison.”
Chapter Seven
Lavinia frowned as Sophia closed the library door. “Is Max gone?”
“Of course he is.” Thea examined her fingernails. “Did you think he’d stay?”
“Oh Thea, do stop,” Sophia scolded.
“Well, I find his air repugnant.” Thea tilted up her chin.
“You mean to say he did not spare you a second look,” Sophia rejoined.
Thea glared. “Honestly, Sophia.”
“I was teasing, though perhaps I should not jest,” Sophia said. “I do apologize, darling Decadence, however, your hostility toward the man is excessive. He enjoys your husband’s patronage. Could that be the cause, I wonder?”
Thea scowled and looked away. Sophia covered Lavinia’s hand with hers.
“Lavinia, Mr. Harrison had to leave in order to show the magistrate he wasn’t waiting around to sample your charms.”
Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
“And by leaving he accomplished this aim?” Thea huffed. “Mr. Harrison drooled after Lavinia like a hungry infant eyeing a shiny spoon. Montechurch was jumping with jealousy.”
“One requires a heart to feel jealous,” Lavinia said, shivering. “Monte has none, and now, he believes I am to blame for his cousin’s death.”
“He is powerless without witnesses,” Sophia said. “We will have to satisfy him by finding the real killer.”
“Monte is never powerless.” She rubbed her cheek where he had placed his finger. “Did you hear him? He talked to me as if I were his doxy—his terribly slow doxy!”
“Mr. Harrison put an end to Montechurch’s foolishness, did he not?” Sophia patted Lavinia’s shoulder, smiling like a cat with cream. “He is just the man to see you through this.”
Such certainty eluded Lavinia.
She drew her fingers lightly across her lips in a pale pantomime of Max’s kiss. How could he be at once familiar and completely strange? How could he inspire both yearning and dread? Was he a man she could trust, or a man she should fear?
“The magistrate knew him by reputation,” Thea said, “so I grant that he may have exceptional legal knowledge. I do not, however, see what you see in that man, Lavinia. He is nothing like the youthful things you usually entertain.”
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