In the Barrister's Bed

by Tina Gabrielle

  “She can handle herself.”

  “She’s dying.”

  That stopped him. “It’s her heart,” she whispered. “I witnessed it myself.”

  “Just like my father, the old duke?”

  Bella nodded. “The family name is important to her. Let her keep its integrity.”

  Gregory started wailing. “There’s so much blood.”

  “He needs a doctor,” Bella said. “I don’t want my future husband and the father of my child to be tried for murder.”

  Anthony and Jack jumped to attention. “You’re to be a father?” they asked in unison.

  “We’ll talk later,” James said.

  The pair bound Gregory’s arm and lifted him onto Jack’s horse. “The ball will be over by now; it should be safe to return to Park Street,” Anthony said. “I’ll ride ahead and call for a doctor.”

  James lifted Bella onto Maximus and mounted behind her. They reached the house where the dowager came charging outside demanding to know where the guests of honor had run off to. She stopped short when she caught sight of Gregory cradling his bloody arm close to his chest.

  Entering the house, James ushered all to the drawing room, where they told the dowager everything. After listening intently, she marched up to Gregory and slapped him full across the face.

  “To murder your brother and his betrothed! How could you!”

  “I couldn’t let them marry! The baby would be the next duke. The title is rightfully mine!”

  “No,” she snapped. “It never was. And I’m thankful for that fact.”

  “What do you want to do with him?” Jack asked.

  James looked at the dowager. “It’s no secret Gregory’s a slave to the opium. There are facilities to help addicts. They are not pleasant, but the results can be positive and they’re confidential.”

  “I’d rather rot in prison!” Gregory shouted.

  “Don’t tempt me,” James said.

  Anthony arrived with the doctor, and the dowager directed her footmen to carry Gregory upstairs and barricade him in one of the bedchambers.

  “I think it best to avoid a scandal, Your Grace,” Bella said.

  The dowager paused, her lips pursed. “Yes. Once Gregory is able to travel, he can be admitted into a facility under a doctor’s care. As for you two,” she said, glancing at James and Bella, “I shall tell everyone that you ran off to marry at the end of the ball. It will be the romantic gossip of the decade.”

  “I’ll agree to that,” James said. “I want to marry now. I’ll not wait a minute longer to marry the woman I love.”

  The dowager clasped her hands together as she hurried to the door. “I shall have to wake the priest.”

  Finally alone, James found Bella staring up at him with wide, jade eyes.

  “Did you mean what you said?” she whispered.

  There was no reason to ask what she was talking about. He gently held her hands in his. “When I learned Gregory had taken you, I nearly lost my mind. And when I saw him holding a knife to your throat, my world came crashing down upon me, and the truth in my heart became clear. I love you. I’ve loved you for so long now, even before I woke up to find you by my bedside after I was shot. Looking back, I started to fall under your spell that very first night I stepped into Wyndmoor Manor and you came close to splitting my skull in two, then accused me of being a burglar. You were a fiery challenge who turned into a passionate, intelligent woman that I cannot live without.”

  “Oh, James,” she breathed.

  He kissed her forehead, both eyelids, and brushed his lips across hers. Her mouth was warm and sweet, and when he pulled back she breathed lightly between parted lips.

  He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Forgive me for not speaking the words sooner, darling. I foolishly feared to love, to open my heart and risk rejection.”

  Love meant bearing his soul, risking emotional pain, and he’d spent his entire adult life barricading himself from that danger. Since his family’s rejection, he had learned not to trust or to need, and he had looked back upon his lonely childhood years in the boarding school as a form of weakness. After becoming a successful barrister, he had sworn never to be weak again. As a result, he had buried his feelings for Bella. He had justified his actions of wanting to keep her close in order to protect her when he had been too frightened to admit the truth to himself. It was time to take a leap of faith.

  “I love you with all my heart, Bella. Nothing else matters—not my career or the dukedom and all the fortune that comes along with it—if you are not by my side. I want to marry you, have children with you, and grow old with you. After all that’s happened tonight, will you still have me?”

  Crying out with joy, she threw herself in his arms. “I love you too, James. Yes, I’ll have you today, tomorrow, forever.”

  The dowager had been right. They did have to wake the priest. Father Stevenson entered the church, his collar askew, and tufts of white hair sticking up from his scalp in disarray. If he resented being dragged from his bed in the middle of the night to perform a marriage, one stern look from the dowager turned his frown into a welcoming smile. All traces of annoyance dissipated as he opened his worship book. Clearing his throat, he began the marriage ceremony.

  Although the wedding was on short notice, it turned out to be a beautiful event. Lady Evelyn held Bella’s flowers and Brent stood as James’s best man. Harriet sat beside the dowager, and Jack and Anthony behind them.

  After the vows were exchanged and the couple pronounced man and wife, James pulled Bella into his arms and kissed her. He was still kissing her when the priest departed, followed by Jack and Evelyn, arm in arm. Brent slapped Anthony on the back, and on their way out Brent said, “I told him so a long time ago.”

  James would have kept kissing Bella, but she turned her head and blushed prettily. He followed her gaze and realized the dowager had remained behind and was watching them with a most uncharacteristic expression on her face. James could have sworn he saw a tear in her eye.

  “We’re married now, Your Grace. It’s sanctioned by the church,” James said.

  The dowager made a little huff and turned away, but before she departed, they heard her mutter, “True love. Who would have thought?”

  Epilogue

  Four years later

  Bella’s pen flew across the paper, and a thrill of excitement hummed in her veins as the story unfolded before her. It was always this way when her thoughts flowed freely, and she had a solid block of time to write. An imminent deadline always helped.

  Her editor at the Times had liked her proposal for her next piece, and Bella had eagerly accepted their generous offer.

  The door burst open.

  “Mama! Mama!”

  Bella looked up from her writing. Her four-year-old son, Alexander, and three-year-old daughter, Catherine, were standing in the doorway. James came up behind them.

  “They want to kiss you before they go down for their nap.”

  Bella scraped back her chair and gathered her children in her arms. “Would you like Mummy to read you a story first?”

  “Yes!” they cried out in unison.

  “You know your mother is working,” James said gently.

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You spoil them,” he teased.

  “I enjoy it.” She hugged both children before glancing up at James. “The dowager wants to take them on a picnic tomorrow.”

  “Can we, Mummy?” Bella smoothed her daughter’s red curls away from her face to reveal green eyes, the shade of which was identical to her own.

  Alexander smiled. “She promised me chocolate!”

  Bella’s lips trembled with the need to smile. No doubt the dowager had promised Alex chocolate. At four years old, Alex had his father’s dark hair, blue eyes, and lethal charm.

  James rolled his eyes, and Bella let out a burst of laughter.

  The dowager had lived to see her great-grandchildren after all. It was her stubborn will, James oft
en said, but Bella knew he was shocked by her interest in the children. As for Gregory, he had been released from a facility and remained under a doctor’s care. He had struggled to overcome his need for the opium, but she was hopeful. James no longer wished his half brother dead or imprisoned, but neither did he trust him around Bella or the children.

  The nanny came and James handed the children over. As soon as they were alone, James pulled Bella into his arms and nibbled the side of her neck. “Will you spoil me later?”

  “James! You are incorrigible!”

  “Yes, and you too from your behavior last night.”

  “James!”

  Bella fought the need to melt into him, then gave up entirely and did just that. “Oh, James.”

  He brought his mouth to hers. “I’ve been thinking. Now that the children are older, it’s time for us to get away. Wyndmoor Manor is beautiful in the spring, remember?”

  Oh, yes. How could she forget? It was spring when they had first met there.

  “Are you asking my permission?”

  He chuckled. “Last I recall, Wyndmoor Manor belongs to you, and I feel obliged to ask permission from the owner.”

  They had made a game of passing the deed back and forth between them for each wedding anniversary for the past four years. It was an unconventional symbol of their love.

  She smiled a secret smile. “I do believe the billiard room is still there. You never did teach me how to play.”

  He brought his mouth to her ear and whispered wickedly, “Your wish is my command, my duchess. I shall endeavor to teach you everything.”

  AUTHOR’ S NOTE

  The idea of two owners purchasing the same property from an unscrupulous seller first came to me in a real-estate-transactions course in law school. Before I started writing this story, I researched early nineteenth-century English property law. If two buyers disputed ownership, the first to record the deed was generally the owner.

  The idea of registering titles rather than deeds did not come about in England until the Royal Commission on Registration of Title in 1857, and was not officially in the statutes until the Land Registry Act of 1862.

  In the United States today, we have title insurance that protects the buyer against financial loss due to any defects in title, claims, liens, or taxes. With the invention of computers, buyers and lenders can more easily ascertain this information with a stroke of the keyboard.

  It was a pleasure to write this book, and I hope you enjoy the book as much as I have enjoyed writing it!

  If you enjoyed IN THE BARRISTER’S BED,

  please look for Tina Gabrielle’s other

  barrister historical romance:

  IN THE BARRISTER’S CHAMBERS

  Turn the page for a special excerpt.

  A Zebra mass-market paperback and eBook on sale now!

  Chapter 1

  April 5, 1814

  London, Old Bailey Courthouse

  Honorable Tobias Townsend, presiding

  “They ain’t whores!”

  “What would you call seven women who live under your roof then, if not a brothel?” Prosecutor Abrams asked, stalking forward.

  “Me lady friends, they are,” Slip Dawson explained.

  “All seven of them?”

  “Me mum always said I ’ad a way with the ladies,” Slip whined.

  “Did your mother tell you to freely share your women with all the men of the City of London?” Abrams asked sharply, giving the accused a stony glare.

  An imposing barrister at the defense table jumped up. “I object, my lord. The prosecution has not brought forth one man ‘from the City of London’ to testify as to bedding any of Mr. Dawson’s lady friends.”

  The judge sighed and rested his chin in hand, a look of complete boredom on his face. Four of the twelve-member jury rolled their eyes; others snickered.

  Evelyn Darlington sat perched on the edge of a wooden bench in the center of the spectators’ gallery. Her eyes never wavered from the defense barrister—the only man in the room she knew—Jack Harding. He was the reason she was here, witnessing this spectacle, along with all the other observers in the packed courtroom.

  The late-afternoon sun streamed in through the windows, raising the temperature in the crowded room by twenty degrees. Too many unwashed bodies in too small a space should have repulsed her.

  Instead, she sat in her seat completely enthralled.

  Jack Harding was precisely as she remembered him, as only a few lines near his eyes gave away the years that had passed since she had last seen him. He was tall—over six feet three inches—with chiseled features that gave him a sharp and confident profile. His eyes were a deep green that reminded her of the ferns that thrived during the summer months. His lips were curved in a smile, but she knew they could be either cunning or charming, or both.

  Beneath his barrister’s wig, she knew his thick brown hair had an unruly wave that he had often impatiently brushed aside when he was concentrating on a legal treatise. He was dressed in a black barrister’s gown that would make the complexions of most men appear sallow, but the dark color only served to enhance his bronzed skin.

  But perhaps his most fascinating appeal was his attitude of complete relaxation as if he were unperturbed by the judge, jury, prosecutor, and even the audience sitting in the courtroom staring at him. He was infused with a confidence that made one hang on every word that fell from his lips. Without a doubt, Jack Harding probably had women, from all stations in society, swarming around him.

  A snort beside her drew her attention. “ ’E’s got ’em by the throat, ’e does.”

  Evelyn turned to look at the man seated to her left, a squat fellow with beady eyes and fleshy jowls. The overpowering stench of onions wafted from his skin. He smiled, revealing no teeth and swollen gums.

  She shifted inches to the right only to brush up against a heavyset woman with a bloodstained apron, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and work-roughened hands. A butcher’s wife, no doubt.

  “’Tis a matter of time till old Abrams gives up.” The woman laughed and rubbed the calluses on her hands. “Ain’t nobody can git past that Jack Harding.”

  Just like old times, Evelyn thought. Jack Harding could charm the habit off a nun and cunningly argue the most complicated legal points while doing so.

  But that’s why she was here, watching him ... waiting for him. For the years, it seemed, had only polished his raw talent.

  The rest of the trial went as expected. Prosecutor Abrams argued about Slip Dawson’s entourage of female inhabitants. Jack countered each argument by pointing out the prosecution’s distinct lack of evidence followed by a number of witnesses who testified as to Slip’s “stellar” character and good standing in the community.

  Exactly eleven and a half minutes after the start of the trial, the judge cleared his throat, cutting off Prosecutor Abrams in midsentence.

  “As all of the relevant evidence has been presented,” Judge Tobias said, “I ask for the jury to deliberate on the charges and come to a verdict.”

  The jury, not bothering to leave the courtroom, huddled in the corner.

  In what must have been record speed, the foreman stood—his barrel-shaped chest puffed up with self-importance. “We the jury find Slip Dawson not guilty of keepin’ a brothel.”

  The spectators burst into cheers, turning the courtroom into a scene of chaos. Hands reached out to give Slip Dawson a hearty slap on the back as he proceeded out of the room—a free man.

  The pounding of Judge Tobias’s gavel was a distant thumping, completely ignored by the people.

  Evelyn stared as Slip passed, a cockeyed smile on his face, and she wondered how many of today’s observers were patrons of his “lady friends.”

  Her gaze returned to Jack Harding.

  Jack extended his hand to Abrams. The prosecutor looked like he had sucked on a lemon, sulking in defeat, but he shook hands with Jack nonetheless. Jack then bent to gather his papers and litigation bag from the de
sk.

  She waited until he turned to make his way out of the courtroom, then stepped into the aisle.

  “Mr. Harding,” she called out.

  He stopped abruptly, his gaze traveling over her face, then roaming over her figure before returning to her eyes. His lips curled into a smile.

  “I believe you have the advantage of knowing my name. How can I be of assistance, Miss ...”

  “Lady Evelyn Darlington.”

  His brow furrowed in confusion before his eyes widened in surprise.

  “Why, Lady Evelyn! I don’t believe it. You were a girl the last time I saw you. It’s been a long, long time.”

  “Ten years since you were a student studying under my father to become a barrister at the Inns of Court.”

  “Ah, yes, my pupilage. From what I remember, you always had a voracious appetite for the law. You often visited your father’s chambers, listening to his lectures. I have vivid memories of you following me around, taunting me with your extensive legal knowledge.”

  Heat stole into her cheeks at his words. “From what I recall, you needed the additional tutelage.”

  He laughed, a rich, pleasant sound. “Touché, Lady Evelyn. I probably did. Now please tell me, have you come today to watch the proceedings? Many do.”

  She shook her head, then looked up at him. “I’ve come to seek your services.”

  “My services? No one seeks out my ‘services’ unless they are in trouble. I cannot imagine you in trouble.” A sudden frown knit his brow. “Last I heard, your father, Emmanuel Darlington, inherited his brother’s title and is now the Earl of Lyndale. I understand he is currently lecturing at Oxford. Is he well?”

  “It’s not about my father, but a close acquaintance.”

  “Ah, I see. What crime has your friend committed?”

  “None! He’s been wrongfully accused.”