In the Barrister's Bed (11 page)

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Authors: Tina Gabrielle

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The women were led to the back of the shop, past tall shelves stacked with bolts of cloth. Silks, satins, muslins, and linens spilled onto the floor in a splendid burst of color like an artist’s palette. Beyond the stocks of fabric they entered a tiny back room cluttered with baskets of sewing materials and discarded bits of cloth strewn about the floor. The dressmaker helped Bella remove her gown and try on the amethyst silk. Bella stepped onto a pedestal and gazed in the cheval glass mirror.
She blinked, scarcely recognizing her reflection. A low neckline with tight under sleeves emphasized the swell of her breasts. A band of ruched silk detail trimmed the hem and matched the lining of a long, embroidered stole.
Mrs. Fisher pulled the tape measure from around her neck and measured Bella’s waist and hips. “You look exquisite. The amethyst suits your fair skin and highlights the red in your hair.”
The shop’s bells chimed, announcing the arrival of a new customer.
“Pardon, I’ll be but a moment.” Mrs. Fisher put down her tape and rushed from the room.
Evelyn walked close and looked at Bella’s reflection in the mirror. “James will fall at your feet. Before long, he’ll gift you with Wyndmoor.”
Bella’s cheeks burned in remembrance of James’s bone-melting kisses and her fierce, eager response to his intimate caress. “I don’t believe it. He has shown no signs of relenting. I fear I need the name of the solicitor in London you had mentioned.”
“I’ll give it to you, of course. But know this—deep down James is not a bad man.”
Bella thought of Wyndmoor’s tenants. James had promised not to raise their rents and to spend his own funds to repair their roofs and build a new cottage. She thought of him fighting their way out of the violent bar brawl at the Black Hound and the strength and warmth of his arms as he held her in the carriage. Had his comfort been a ruse to gain her trust? Or had he truly been concerned for her well-being?
“Of all my husband’s friends, I am the closest to James,” Evelyn said. “I know him well, and he acts differently around you.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Bella asked.
“When you walk into the room, his attention is riveted. You are beautiful, yes, but James has had his fair share of beautiful women throwing themselves at him. You challenge him, Bella, and it is driving him to distraction, making him helpless. You oppose him on two fronts, your claim to Wyndmoor Manor and your resistance to his charms.”
“It has been less than a week,” Bella pointed out.
Evelyn waved a hand dismissively. “Any other woman would have tumbled headlong into his bed after two days’ time. But you have managed to resist him entirely.”
Not entirely,
Bella thought. “It’s not me he wants, but the manor, and he foolishly believes seduction is the way to get me to relinquish the property.”
Evelyn regarded her thoughtfully. “No, you’re wrong. He may have started out believing that nonsense, but he is drawn to you and it is playing havoc with his plans.”
A thrill raced down Bella’s spine. James Devlin drawn to her? It felt delicious and wonderful to have such a virile, masculine man find her attractive. Roger’s berating had made her feel inadequate as a woman.
On impulse, Bella stepped down from the pedestal and picked up a pair of black silk hose and frilly garters from one of the baskets. The hose were completely sheer and light as butterfly wings. Roger had never allowed such sensual undergarments. He had preferred she wear wool hose, even in the heat of the summer.
When the dressmaker returned, Evelyn held out the black silk. “I’ll take these along with the dress. When will it be ready?”
“The dress needs very little tailoring. You’re as slender as a reed, and I certainly do not need to let out any of the seams as I must for many of my customers. A nip here and a tuck there ought to suffice.”
“I want to visit the haberdashery for my husband,” Evelyn said. “Will the dress be ready by the time we return?”
“I’ll work on it straightaway, my lady,” the dressmaker said.
Bella and Evelyn left the shop and walked arm in arm to the haberdashery. Shoppers strolled down the street, stopping to look at displays of merchandise in the windows. Bells chimed as shop doors opened and closed. They passed a toy store, and a small child tugged on his mother’s sleeve and pointed to a hand-carved wooded train in the window.
For years Bella had longed to casually stroll the shopping district of Plymouth without strange stares and whispers behind her back, and most certainly, without the fear of her husband’s wrath upon her return home.
The redolent aroma of fresh baked bread wafted from a bakery across the street. Bella strained to read the shop’s small, hand-printed sign when she spotted the man outside the door. A sudden image of the fair-haired smoker outside the Black Hound came to her.
He was looking at them, Bella realized with alarm, but when he realized she returned his stare, he averted his gaze. Unlike the man in the Black Hound, he was dressed in a fine frock coat with a flared skirt and a tall-crowned hat, and from this distance she could not make out his hair color, yet she could swear it was flaxen. He held a cheroot in his gloved hand. Icy fingers trickled down her spine.
Was the same man following her?
Nonsense. She had stayed to watch as the last shovel of dirt had covered Roger’s grave. Her imagination was running wild, a result of years living in fear with a demented fair-haired man.
Bella trailed behind Evelyn as she opened the door to the haberdashery. She wandered around the shop aimlessly, her mind a mixture of anxiety and confusion as she picked up cravats from a table and put them down without really seeing them. She resisted the urge to look out the shop’s bay window and see if the man was still outside the bakery.
A half hour later, Evelyn spotted a beaver hat with a wide brim and held it up for Bella. “This is perfect for Jack. Let’s pick up your dress and go home. I want to see the sparks fly when James spots you wearing it.”
Chapter 12
Bella returned from St. Albans to learn from Coates that a letter had arrived. Handing her packages to Harriet, Bella went to the small table in the center of the vestibule and picked up the envelope. Her heart pounded in anticipation when she saw the return address was from the
Times.
It had arrived! Had the editor liked her political article?
Bella held the envelope in her hand, trying to judge by the weight and thickness whether it was a rejection or an acceptance. She held it up to the light. Nothing.
Slipping the envelope into her skirt pocket, she rushed to the library, where she intended to rip it open and read it in private. She burst into the room and stopped short at the sight of James seated behind the massive oak desk. Bobby sat beside him with an open book between them.
“Pardon my interruption,” she said, startled. “I had no idea the library was occupied.”
James leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Nonsense. You are not interrupting.”
“The duke is tutoring me in Latin,” Bobby said.
Bella frowned, bewildered. “Latin?” Why would a duke’s stable boy need to learn Latin?
“I want to be a barrister just like Blackwood,” Bobby said. “The duke has been tutoring me for over a year now, ever since I came into service for him. He says I’m too smart to remain in the stables forever.” Bobby’s face lit with idol worship as he looked at James. “We are preparing for a mock court.”
“A mock court?” she asked.
“You’re just in time, Bella. For us to successfully conduct Bobby’s first mock court, we need more than two people.”
“I’m not certain I’m suited for—”
“It’s simple,” James said. “A mock court is a practice courtroom procedure, only Bobby acts as the barrister and we act as his witnesses.”
She eyed him speculatively. “Don’t you need a judge?”
“How astute you are, Bella. And you had claimed to know little of the legal system.”
“Even a layperson knows a judge is required, Your Grace.”
“Well then, we are fortunate indeed that my colleague Anthony Stevens has not yet returned to London and is in the billiard room as we speak.”
“There is no billiard room at Wyndmoor,” she pointed out.
There was a trace of humor around his mouth and near his eyes. “Have I forgotten to mention that I had a snooker table delivered this morning while you were out shopping with Lady Evelyn? You needn’t fear. I purchased it with my own funds.”
She arched an eyebrow. “ ’Tis a shame you will have to leave it behind when you return to London yourself.”
A smile remained on his extremely handsome face, and a humorous gleam lit his cobalt eyes.
She knew he was enjoying himself, enjoying their banter. The trouble was so was
she.
“Bobby, go fetch Mr. Stevens and tell him we are in need of a judge,” James said.
Seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room, Bobby departed.
“I do enjoy you, Bella,” James said.
His voice, deep and sensual, sent a ripple of awareness through her. “I’m glad I can entertain you, Your Grace.”
She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips, for his eyes raked her form as if she wasn’t fully dressed, but naked for his pleasure.
The door opened and Anthony Stevens arrived with Bobby.
“A pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Sinclair.” Anthony’s pitch-black eyes studied Bella. “I was told you are in need of a judge.” Anthony started forward, and Bella noticed that despite his tall, broad-shouldered frame, the barrister moved like a panther across the room.
James rose; Anthony occupied the chair behind the desk.
“Anthony sits in the judge’s perch.” James moved a small chair beside the desk. “And this is the witness stand, where you are to sit as the first witness.” He held the chair for Bella.
“What am I to do?” she asked.
“Pretend I am on trial for a crime,” James said. “Let’s say theft and burglary, which occurred two months prior.”
“That will not be difficult.”
“Good. You are to play my lover.”
“I will not!”
“You are
acting,
Bella. This is for educational purposes, remember? To help Bobby.”
Bella liked Bobby, and from the excited, eager look on his young face, she could not refuse without disappointing the lad.
By the mischievous grin on James’s face, he knew it as well.
Evelyn’s words came back to Bella:
You challenge him, Bella, and it is driving him to distraction, making him helpless.
Bella smiled a secret smile. She’d love to drive James to distraction and make him helpless right now.
Bella nodded her consent. “All right, Your Grace. We shall be lovers. For Bobby.”
From the judge’s perch, Anthony Stevens chuckled.
James’s smile cracked a bit. “As I was saying. I’m on trial for theft and burglary. As my lover, you are my alibi at the time of the crime. Bobby is my defense barrister.”
“He is not the Crown’s prosecution?”
“No. As defense barristers, our job is to present the best possible defense for our clients and to ensure a fair trial against the Crown’s prosecution. Bobby is to obtain testimony showing that we were together at the time of the crime. You are Mrs. Lovelace, and I am Mr. Smith.”
Bella sat up straight and folded her hands in her lap. “Very well. I’m ready.”
Bobby walked up to the mock witness stand and cleared his throat. “Mrs. Lovelace, is it true you are Mr. Smith’s lover?”
James jumped to his feet. “Remember what I taught you, Bobby. You are not permitted to ask leading questions on direct examination of your own witness. Leading questions are allowed on cross-examination only. A good prosecutor would object.”
“I’m sorry. I forgot,” Bobby said.
“It’s all right, lad,” James said. “Think of another way to ask the same question of your witness.”
Bobby cleared his throat again and looked at Bella. “Mrs. Lovelace, what is your relationship with the accused, Mr. Smith?”
“We are lovers,” Bella answered. “We have engaged in all types of sordid and lustful acts.”
“I see,” Bobby said. “And as lovers, how much time do you spend together?”
Bella batted her lashes. “Ah, well, we used to spend every night together. But I’m afraid Mr. Smith’s performance has declined over the past three weeks. To be delicate about it, his advanced age has affected his manhood’s performance, you see, and as a woman of great appetites and urges, I’ve had to supplement my bed sport with younger, more virile men.”
There was a roar of laughter from Anthony Stevens.
Bobby stared, agape.
“You’re diverging from your script,” James snapped.
Bella gave him a look of pure innocence. “I wasn’t aware of any script, merely that we are lovers.”
Anthony pounded his fist on the desk. “Let her be, James. Her speech is perfect, just the sort of unexpected and damaging testimony barristers are often faced with from their own witnesses on the stand. It’s a good exercise for Bobby. See how the lad handles it.”
Bobby snapped to attention and continued with his line of questioning. “So your testimony is that you have taken other lovers because of Mr. Smith’s”—Bobby pointed to James—“lack of performance?”
“Oh, yes,” Bella said.
James looked like he wanted to throttle her.
Perfect.
If a challenge could unnerve and distract him, then she needed every advantage.
“But your testimony is that you have only recently taken other lovers over the past three weeks, correct?” Bobby asked.
“Yes.”
“And the alleged crime had occurred two months ago. So were you with Mr. Smith that night?”
“Yes, I must have been.”
“Bravo!” Anthony Stevens shouted. “See how well you turned Mrs. Lovelace’s damaging testimony around? You still showed that she is a solid alibi for your client.”
Bobby’s face spread into a smile like a child given a new toy. “I hope to be half as good a barrister as both of you one day,” Bobby told James and Anthony.
James slapped Bobby on the back. The lad departed with Anthony, leaving Bella alone with James in the library.
“You tutor Bobby. Why?” Bella asked him.
“You mean why would I waste my time on a servant?” James said.
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Bobby’s a bastard whose father never gave a fig about him. I believe the status of one’s birth shouldn’t dictate his life. He’s a bright boy with a lot of potential.”
“You see yourself in the lad.”
James shrugged nonchalantly. “I suppose.”
Bella wasn’t fooled. He had to feel greatly on the matter to take the time to tutor the boy. Was he reminded of his own father’s abandonment?
“I’d like to help,” she said. “I’m not fluent in Latin, but I am a solid writer. I can tutor Bobby in grammar.”
“You are full of surprises, Bella. What do you write?”
The letter from the
Times
was still in her skirt pocket. She had briefly forgotten about it when she had walked in the library, but now the urge to tear it open and read the editor’s response was overwhelming.
He was studying her intently, as if her response meant a great deal to him, and she found herself wanting desperately to confess her secret. What was it about this man that unnerved her so?
He took a step closer. “You’re fidgeting. I’ve had years of practice reading witnesses’ physical responses, and I suspect there is something of the utmost importance you are bursting with the need to tell me. Please do not leave me in a state of suspense.”
She stared into the blue enigma of his eyes and wondered if he knew the effect he had on her. Taking a breath, she spoke in as reasonable a voice as she could manage. “I’ve written a political piece and submitted it to the
Times.
”
“On what topic?”
“The Cotton Factories Regulation Act that was passed on February seventh of this year. The act sets forth that children aged nine to sixteen years are limited to working twelve hours per day—seventy-two hours per week. No system was devised, however, to enforce the Act.”
“Go on,” he said.
At the eager gleam of interest in his eyes, she gained confidence to continue. “My article points out that there is not much difference between this act and the Factory Act of 1802. The working hours imposed on our young children are abominable. Without the benefit of schooling, the children will never better themselves and will continue to be slaves to the factory owners. Most importantly, without governmental inspections to enforce conditions or internal supervision to ensure the laws are followed, how can parliament expect any factory owner to follow the law?”
“Fascinating,” he said. “Utterly fascinating.”
She eyed him warily. “The truth is I’ve never been published.”
“So?”
“You do not think it inappropriate for a woman to write such a political piece?”
“To the contrary, I think it commendable,” he said. “I also find the fact that you had the courage to submit your work to the
Times
admirable. Many writers are plagued by self-doubt and rarely send out their work for fear of rejection or criticism. So you must tell me, did they agree to publish it?”
She felt a thrill of joy at his words. Whatever hesitation she had felt at reading the letter in his presence vanished. She pulled the envelope out of her pocket. “I received the editor’s response today, but haven’t opened it yet.”
“Well? What are you waiting for?”
“I had hoped to read it in private.”
“I shall leave at once,” he said.
“No. Stay. If it is a rejection, I’d like to share a drink with someone.”
His voice was calm, his gaze steady. “I have faith in you.”
She tore open the envelope and read out loud.
Dear Mr. Adams,
Upon reading your submission, we would like to publish your article in our opinion section. I am enclosing a draft in the amount of ten shillings, our standard payment for a first article. We would also be interested in seeing any future opinion pieces. It is my understanding that your health prohibits you from traveling to our London office. Kindly advise in writing if pursuing an arrangement with our newspaper would be open to discussion.
 
Ludlow Harper, Editor-In-Chief
“It sold!” Without thinking, she threw herself in his arms and kissed him on the cheek. As she stepped to move back, his arms tightened around her, and he held her against him. Her breath caught in her throat at the hardness and warmth of his embrace.

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