In the Barrister's Bed

by Tina Gabrielle

  “He was going to kill you. I had to act.”

  “No. I was watching and knew their intent. You could have been gravely injured.”

  “But—”

  “Promise me that you’ll never do that again. That you’ll never disobey a direct command and risk your life again,” he said.

  She bit her bottom lip, a nervous habit he now recognized. He curbed the impulse to shake her until she agreed.

  “I was never good at taking orders, but I’ll try.”

  James laughed; he couldn’t help himself. How could he stay angry at her when he wanted to kiss her?

  Tightening his arms about her, he kissed the top of her head. “Then that will have to do for now. Rest, Bella. I’m taking you home.”

  Lady Blackwood, the dowager duchess, was in the midst of one of her intimate parties. Forty guests—all influential members of the beau monde—stood around a long table in the silver drawing room, where a mesmerist, Master Ormond, was in the process of hypnotizing Lady Booth, who had volunteered for the task.

  Her ladyship was well aware that her intimate soirees were the talk of the ton and that many would sell their souls to garner an invitation. She prided herself on serving the finest champagne, exquisite food prepared by her own highly sought-after French chef, and offering the most unique entertainment via the mesmerist. When Lady Booth barked like a dog, the guests collectively laughed, then clapped.

  But the dowager knew the excitement behind tonight’s soiree had nothing to do with any of these offerings. The thrumming excitement and tangible curiosity of the gossips was not due to the talented mesmerist but the shocking discovery of the new Duke of Blackwood. The guests lingered, requesting more and more outrageous tricks from Master Ormond, all in the hopes of catching a glimpse of James.

  Lady Caroline was in the thick of the crowd. The dowager knew Lady Caroline’s game as she herself would have played the same way had she learned her betrothed was no longer first in line for the title, but a penniless younger son. Lord knew Gregory had his faults—the drinking, gaming, and the opium dens—but Caroline had never given Gregory’s addictions a second thought.

  Until now.

  If Lady Caroline wanted to become a duchess, she had no other choice than to set her sights on James. Caroline had tried. The dowager knew, of course. Her personal servants were as efficient as the Regent’s top spies when it came to eavesdropping. The dowager couldn’t blame Lady Caroline for trying, but still ...

  Gregory was her grandson. She may not have wanted him to inherit the dukedom, but she felt a tinge of sympathy that he would lose both the lady and the title.

  For Caroline would never have Gregory now.

  But neither would she succeed in snaring James.

  The dowager knew this deep in her bones. James Devlin was his own man. He had ruthlessly carved out a career as a successful barrister when many illegitimate sons would have spent their lives begging for every shilling from their wealthy relations.

  But not James Devlin. He had lived life on his own terms, accountable to no one.

  His life had changed overnight with his father’s deathbed confession. He’d have to marry and produce an heir. Despite his irritation when they had last spoken on the subject, James was shrewdly intelligent and fully aware of his duty. As a boy he had sought his father’s approval—even his acceptance—like a puppy begging for his first bone.

  Life was ironic indeed. Now that James had his father’s title and wealth, he exhibited not gratitude at his fortune, but disdain.

  She should have anticipated his cynicism. James had been a barrister and a rogue his entire adult life. His exploits with women were as well known as his success in the courtroom. As far as she was aware, he had never fathered a child and had never desired to have a family. Now duty required it.

  When James had failed to return from Hertfordshire, the dowager had inquired and had learned a lovely, young widow by the name of Bella Sinclair was in residence. Knowing James, the dowager had understood why he had tarried.

  The truth was the dowager desperately wanted grandchildren and the sooner the better. At eighty-two years old, her time was running out. The chest pains that had plagued her over the past year had increased in intensity and frequency. Yet she refused to succumb before ensuring the future of the dukedom before she died. If Lady Caroline was not to his liking, then James must choose another and quickly.

  The dowager was considering which ladies from titled and wealthy families she would want to bear her grandchildren and strengthen the dukedom, when the drawing room door was kicked open with startling force and James stalked in with a young woman in his arms.

  The guests spun from the mesmerist, mouths gaping open at the sight of the tall, sinfully dark and imposing man who glared down at them with an ominous expression.

  The dowager came forward, and James’s blue gaze snapped to her. “Who are all these people?” he asked rudely.

  The woman in his arms started to struggle. “James, let me down. I’m fine now.”

  His arms only tightened around the lady. She appeared dazed and cradled her cheek with her hand, but she was strikingly beautiful with rich auburn hair and green eyes.

  “Pardon,” she said. “I’m Bella Sinclair. We were alone in James’s carriage when we were waylaid by highwaymen on the way here, and if he hadn’t acted swiftly, we’d both have been gravely harmed.”

  The guests stared agog; a group of young ladies in the corner giggled behind their fans. Master Ormond stomped his foot. “Enough! My demonstration is ruined!”

  James’s fierce countenance silenced the temperamental mesmerist.

  The guests followed in fascination as the new Duke of Blackwood spun on his heel out of the drawing room, calling for Stodges to summon a physician. Then James carried the woman across the marble vestibule and marched up the grand staircase.

  Lady Caroline’s eyes narrowed as she placed her hand on the dowager’s sleeve. “His first social appearance as duke and he brings a harlot into the house,” she spat.

  The dowager felt her chest tighten. “Watch your tongue, Caroline,” she admonished. “The lady is not a harlot.” She just may be this house’s salvation, and the answer to my prayers.

  Chapter 30

  Bella woke when a cool hand brushed her brow. She opened her eyes to foreign surroundings and a strange-looking man standing by the bedside looking down at her.

  “I’m Dr. Sterling. You were struck cruelly across your face, Miss, but I suspect the pain you’re no doubt experiencing is more from indulging in too much wine than the blow.”

  Bella raised her hand and felt a bandage on her right cheek. She rose on her elbows, then sat up with the doctor’s aid. Her stomach flip-flopped, and her head felt as if an elephant had sat upon it.

  Sterling poured a glass of water and offered it to Bella. She took it and obediently drank.

  “The dowager wants to see you after I complete my examination.”

  Bella coughed and handed the glass back. “The Dowager Duchess of Blackwood?” she croaked.

  “Yes.”

  Bella’s gaze darted across the elegant room. It was done in shades of light peach from the matching coverlet and canopy of the four-poster to the drapes, to the spray of peach flowers in the Oriental carpet. The furnishings were made of exquisite rosewood, and there were delicate lace runners atop the nightstand and the bureau—

  Her eyes flew back to the bureau and the silver-handled brush and comb resting upon it. Her brush and comb.

  She looked closer and spotted her mother’s trunk with its curved, decorative top besides two others. When on earth had her belongings been delivered? She had been with James....

  Memories of last night rushed back with a vengeance. She had been famished and there had been the rabbit stew at the Harvest Post. Then there had been the delicious warmth and strength of James’s arms in the carriage, only to be interrupted by the frightening highwaymen, and afterwards ... dear Lord, she had humili
ated herself before the dowager and all of her guests.

  She looked at the physician. “Is His Grace well?”

  Sterling nodded. “His Grace was uninjured in the attack. He has been quite persistent and has spent most of the night pacing outside your door. I insisted he leave so that you could rest.”

  “I see,” she said.

  “Allow me to finish my examination.” Sterling came so close she could see her reflection in his pupils. He looked into each of her eyes, had her follow his finger from side to side, nodded once, then stood straight.

  “Normal,” he said. “You shall suffer no ill effects. You may rise and dress, but do not venture from the house.” He snapped his medical bag closed. “If you need me, I can come by tomorrow afternoon to check on you.”

  He opened the door to leave just as a maid entered carrying a breakfast tray. She was followed by a short, elderly woman with steel-gray hair, who swept into the room with the bearing of a queen. Her blue gaze settled on Bella sitting in the great bed.

  Blue eyes strikingly similar to James’s.

  Bella instantly comprehended.

  The Dowager Duchess of Blackwood.

  “Your Grace.” She struggled to rise, the tangle of bedclothes and her throbbing temples making the task exceedingly difficult.

  The dowager raised her hand. “Stay. I’d rather you not exert yourself.”

  Bella’s arms sagged from the effort, and she nodded in compliance. “I must beg your pardon for last night.”

  The dowager’s chin rose a notch, and it was immediately clear that she was a formidable woman who was unaccustomed to having her authority challenged. Bella recalled James’s story—that this woman had harbored no affection for the motherless bastard of the old duke.

  “Last night was unexpected,” her ladyship said. “The most important members of society were present. They always attend my parties, you see. I know of you, Mrs. Sinclair. You were married in Plymouth. Your husband was a wealthy merchant and landed gentry. Was he not?”

  At Bella’s stiff nod, she continued. “After his death you went to Hertfordshire, where you ran into James at Wyndmoor Manor, correct?”

  Bella nodded mutely. It appeared the dowager knew the bare facts.

  “It’s important I know everything. Is there anything else?”

  Nothing I would ever admit to. “No, Your Grace.”

  “Good. James has seen fit to move you into this house along with your former nursemaid. As if a servant could stand as a proper chaperone.” The dowager tsked. “That won’t do. That won’t do at all.”

  “Please forgive my intrusion. I shall leave immediately,” Bella said.

  “Leave! You shall do no such thing, young lady,” the dowager snapped. “I realize you have spent your life in the country, but you must understand the gravity of the situation. I had considered other candidates, mind you, but James is quite headstrong. I may be old, but I’m not blind. I saw the way he acted toward you last evening. Heavens, all of society saw. If I want to see his duty done before I depart this earth, then I’ll not complain how he chooses to do it. Understand?”

  Bella had no idea what the old woman was rambling about, only that her headache had slid to the base of her skull, where it throbbed with a vengeance, and so she found herself nodding for the third time.

  The dowager marched to the window and threw open the drapes. Bella’s hand immediately came up, shielding her eyes from the bright light.

  “It’s already midmorning. Time to dress. Jenny shall see to your needs.”

  The maid that had been silently standing in the corner holding the breakfast tray jumped to attention.

  “But Harriet sees to my needs,” Bella protested.

  “Jenny shall serve you this morning,” the dowager retorted in clipped tone that forbade any argument.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Bella asked, “Is His Grace home?”

  “He departed quite early to meet with the constables regarding the criminals that had waylaid you; although I believe there’s little chance they will be found. The back roads have been swarming with such vermin.”

  “Is he expected home soon?” Bella asked.

  “Do not worry, my dear. With you here, I’m certain he’ll return shortly. I expect he’ll want to set the details, of course.”

  Bella wanted to ask what details the woman referred to, but with her head pounding and her stomach churning, she needed a moment’s peace to compose herself.

  Bella held her tongue, and the dowager marched out of the room.

  With the maid’s help, Bella dressed, nibbled on buttered toast with a light layer of jam, and washed it down with three cups of weak tea. Her stomach settled and her headache subsided. The maid bobbed a curtsy and a footman arrived to escort Bella through the labyrinth of halls to meet the duke.

  As Bella ventured down the staircase she couldn’t help but notice that the mansion was truly stunning—the grandest she had ever set foot in. The marble vestibule was gargantuan in size with gleaming black-and-white Italian marble. Resting upon a center pedestal table sat an Oriental urn with dozens of fresh, cream-colored roses.

  The library, she learned, was in the back of the house, and she followed the footman past no less than three drawing rooms, each decorated in their own color schemes and styles of Greek, Roman, and Chinisoire décor. The dining room was furnished with Chippendale chairs in the Rococo style, a table which could comfortably hold fifty guests, and a magnificent chandelier with crystal prisms like a shower of diamonds. They continued onward, past a music conservatory, complete with a polished pianoforte, harp, and two violins resting upon chairs before music stands.

  At last they reached the library, and the footman opened the door for her to enter.

  James was standing before a tall mahogany bookshelf, studying the colorful spines of the volumes. He turned at her entrance, his hawklike gaze traveling her figure, then resting on the bandage on her cheek. He frowned and stepped forward.

  “How do you feel today, Bella?” he asked.

  “Better now.”

  He motioned to a settee, and then sat beside her. His stare was bold as he assessed her frankly. “The physician said you are not to exert yourself.”

  She smoothed her skirts, immediately conscious of her appearance. The maid had shaken out her gowns and hung them in the wardrobe. She was wearing a demure navy gown with long sleeves and pearl buttons down the front. Her hair was brushed and pulled back into a knot. Save for the bandage, she looked as acceptable as an applicant for a governess position in a fine household—completely different from the disheveled and intoxicated woman of last night.

  Unnerved by his scrutiny, she looked to the bookshelves that had captured his attention moments ago. “It’s a fine collection. Is it yours?”

  A smile curled the corners of his lips. “No. I’ve had little time to move my collection from my Lincoln’s Inn chambers here. These,” he said, pointing to the books, “belonged to the old duke. He had a voracious hunger for knowledge and was quite intelligent.”

  “Like father, like son,” she blurted out.

  He stiffened, and she feared she had struck a nerve.

  “It is of no consequence now, is it?” he said.

  She had the maddening urge to reach out and touch him, tell him that his father’s abominable treatment had been wrong, that he had been worthy of love as a boy and that she loved him as a man.

  She cleared her throat, and said instead, “Your grandmother came to see me this morning. She said you were meeting with the authorities regarding the highwaymen. She believes it’s unlikely they’ll capture the criminals.”

  “Do you believe that?” he asked.

  She considered his question. “You wounded two. I saw one go down with my own eyes. Can the authorities not find him?”

  “His accomplices must have taken him with them. When I returned last night—”

  “You returned?” she asked incredulously.

  “I had to
see to you first. After you were settled and the physician called, I went back with Coates. The wounded highwayman was gone.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “Oh, my. The dowager said highwaymen have been plaguing the back roads.”

  “The constable told me the same thing. I, on the other hand, do not hold with his opinion.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I do not believe they were local criminals.”

  She sucked in a breath. “You think Rupert Sinclair was involved?”

  “What did you see last night, Bella?”

  She hesitated, her thoughts filtering back. “It was dark outside. One of the highwaymen remained apart from the others, and he struck me as the leader. He was cloaked, and I couldn’t identify him as Rupert. But he gave a slicing motion with his hand across his throat, and I knew he had signaled his accomplice to kill you.”

  She frowned, allowing her subconscious thoughts to surface. “Thinking back, it makes no sense. Why kill the victim if you had already robbed him? They knew you were a duke by the crest on the carriage. Murdering an aristocrat would have sealed their doom, for the authorities would scour the area until an arrest was made.”

  His mouth was tight and grim. “That’s right. I believe Rupert hired them to commit murder.”

  Her hand fluttered to her breast. “Are you trying to frighten me?”

  The intensity of his gaze unnerved her. “I’m drawing logical conclusions. Now do you see why I want you under my roof? I was furious when that criminal struck you and threw you to the ground. I was also scared to death that you had been hurt. I’ve never had such a beautiful guardian.”

  She was taken aback by his passionate admission.

  At her silence, he prodded. “Bella, what do you recall of last night after the attack?”

  Other than making a complete fool of myself ? she thought.

  “We walked in on your grandmother’s party.”

  He chuckled. “That is quite an understatement. Not only did we walk in on the festivities and interrupt her pompous mesmerist, but we simultaneously became the main entertainment. You introduced yourself by name to the dowager and all of her guests and admitted to having an illicit affair.”