Katie Rose (11 page)

“I am sorry.” Jared stood before Charles’s desk, holding a file of papers. “You know you are the only man here who can handle it. Not only do I not have the time, it would ruin me.” At Charles’s questioning look, Jared shrugged. “I cannot prosecute a woman. No girl in New York would be seen with me after that.”

“So that is the real truth,” Charles said sarcastically. “You are afraid to convict a woman of attempted murder because it would ruin your social life.”

“Yes,” Jared admitted. “Ask one of the married lawyers to take it. It cannot possibly harm them.”

“Are you joking?” Charles asked incredulously. “Their wives would kill them. Oh, leave it here. I will do it.”

His voice with thick with disgust and resignation. Jared slapped the file down on his desk, gave Winifred a jaunty look, then strode out of the office, whistling.

“What was that all about?” Winifred asked, puzzled.

Charles handed her the file. “The Black case. The woman accused of trying to poison her husband.”

“I was just reading about that!” Winifred said in excitement. “That was the complaint I had researched. The woman was arrested before they could even prove there was poison—just on her husband’s word.”

“There is no question now.” Charles’s voice had an odd, disapproving note. “The tests came back positive for arsenic. Mrs. Black undoubtedly tried to murder her husband.”

Winifred frowned, then began looking through the documents. “Does she have a lawyer?”

“Horace Shane,” Charles replied. “She just hired him this morning.”

“Shane,” Winifred repeated. “Well, that’s good. He is known to help women.” Putting the file down, she faced him directly. “Charles, you cannot possibly mean to prosecute this woman. She was arrested without due cause, the evidence seems inconclusive, and her husband sounds like a wretch!”

Charles gazed at her in outrage. “Winnie, I have to prosecute her. No one else here wants the case. And how can you say the evidence is inconclusive? The man comes home, the woman gives him his tea, and within an hour, he becomes sick. They test the tea, and it is full of arsenic! How much more conclusive would you like?”

Despite his anger, Winifred locked eyes with him. “This woman will never get a fair trial. How can she? Where is a jury of her peers, when the entire jury is male? No one will see her side. Poor Mrs. Black!” His face turned an interesting shade of purple. “Winifred, there is no ‘Poor Mrs. Black!’ This woman tried to murder her own husband in cold blood! There is no excuse for that whatsoever! The law is the law!”

“She is ‘alleged to have tried,’ ” Winifred corrected him. “You are not the jury.”

She tossed her head tartly, and Charles swore under his breath. Taking a step closer, he grabbed the documents from her. “Stay out of this, Winnie. This woman is a murderess, not a cause célèbre for women’s rights or a noble heroine. She is a ruthless, cunning woman who slipped arsenic into her husband’s tea.”

“And if it had been the other way around, would
anyone be batting an eyelash?” Winifred demanded hotly. “Why the male outrage, Charles? Because one woman stood up and tried to free herself the best way she knew how?” At his appalled expression, she continued self-righteously, “After all, marriage only benefits the man in our society! A woman loses all power. Maybe Mrs. Black was trying to regain hers!”

“By killing her husband?” Charles stepped closer, and Winifred backed up against his desk until her bustle stopped her. “Winnie, so help me God, you should be grateful for society’s rules concerning the treatment of women. They are particularly convenient for you at a time like this!”

His eyes blazed hellfire, and Winifred swallowed hard. She’d seen him angry before, but never like this. Drawing herself up to her full five feet three inches—which still left her far short of him—she gave him her best icy stare.

“I can see that we disagree on this case, Mr. Howe,” she said stiffly. “Perhaps it would be best if we did not discuss it in the future.”

“I think that is a fine idea,” he agreed, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He looked as if it were taking everything he had to maintain his composure and keep himself from throttling her.

“And I am sure you will understand what I have to do.”

Winifred turned to leave his office—but she did not count on Charles moving faster, or closing the door firmly to block her way.

“What are you talking about?”

She felt the courage leaking out of her as if she had just sprung holes. “I have to try and help her,” she said calmly, nearly flinching at the fire that burned anew in his eyes. “I am going to see Horace Shane and
offer to assist the defense. I understand he is sympathetic to women’s rights and will, no doubt, accept my help.”

“Winnie,” Charles spoke softly, his voice deadly, “you will do no such thing. I forbid it.”

“I am afraid you cannot forbid anything,” she said softly. “You are, after all, neither my husband nor my father. Unlike Mrs. Black, I am a free woman.”

His eyes blazed, but he held himself in firm control. “Winnie, listen to me. You cannot do this. This trial will get a tremendous amount of publicity. You know it, and so do I. To assist in Mrs. Black’s defense would destroy your credibility.”

“Certainly the case will get publicity,” Winifred said calmly. “But I am not afraid of that. If the papers want to call me a radical for women’s rights, so be it. That will only help my cause. Charles, you are not going to talk me out of this. My mind is made up. I will not abandon this woman in need.”

“I see,” Charles said, seeing all too clearly. Fury swept over him as he realized he had been a fool ten times over. “Had you planned to do this all along?” The possibilities filled his mind, none of them flattering to her.

“Charles, you are being ridiculous,” Winifred said flatly.

“Am I?” His indignation brimmed over, as his male ego took another bruise. “Were you just using me and my office as a way to learn the prosecution’s case against her, so you could take that information to the other side? I must congratulate you, Miss Appleton, you have been extremely clever. Was it all just part of the game? Perhaps even our night together was part of your scheme—to keep me interested long enough to plot something like this?”

Winifred straightened abruptly. She felt as if he had slapped her. “I know you are angry, but there is no cause for these suspicions. None of this is personal.”

“Isn’t it?” Charles looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. Some of the anger lifted from his face, and his brows came together. “So that is what this is all about.”

“What?” she asked, less sure of herself now.

“Last night. You do not want to work with me here, in this office, because you are afraid you will be tempted once more to make love to me.” She started to sputter a denial, but he took her by the shoulders and continued fiercely. “You are afraid of even more than that. You are scared that I might start to mean something to you, that a man might become as important to you as your precious cause!”

“That is ridiculous,” she protested, even though her conscience nagged at her. “I have no idea what you are talking about!”

“Good, I will be happy to show you.” He slid his arms around her waist and yanked her into his arms.

None of this is personal
. Her words had hurt him more deeply than he would ever admit. No one knew better than he just how personal their relationship truly was. With a muffled curse, he ignored her look of surprise and covered her mouth with his own.

He had a fragmented glimpse of her eyes getting impossibly wider, but he didn’t care. Winifred whimpered, making a soft sound in the back of her throat as his lips possessed hers. It was an exciting kiss, filled with all the apprehension of two warriors doing battle, and two lovers undeniably attracted to each other. Charles deepened the kiss, refusing her half-hearted protests, deliberately arousing her and forcing her to
admit that their relationship was indeed personal. Coaxing her lips apart, his tongue met hers, teasing at first, then plunging inside to take full possession of her sweetness. Winifred rose on her toes to meet him and melted into his arms, surrendering completely.

“Ah, so it wasn’t all just an act,” Charles said knowingly when he eased his mouth from hers. Her confused blush delighted him. “And it is not just all on my part. But I am warning you—I have no intention of reverting back to a friendship with you. I will not be tossed aside at the first provocation. I am more attracted to you now than ever, and I will win you, come hell or high water!”

Winifred’s mouth dropped open, but he continued ruthlessly, shaking a finger in her face. “If you continue with this Mrs. Black folly, you will regret it. And if you think for one minute that I will go easy on you in the courtroom because of our relationship, you are badly mistaken. I intend to bring out all the big guns. This woman is a criminal, who committed a heinous crime. I will prosecute her to the fullest and put her behind bars where she belongs. Do you understand me?”

“Certainly, Charles.” Winifred had regained her composure.

Charles had to hand it to her—never had he met a woman who was so clearly his equal, a thought that would appall his male counterparts. Something sparkled in her eyes, and he recognized with a sinking feeling, that it was a challenge—prosecution versus defense, male versus female—in a battle to the finish. Winifred, far from being intimidated or nonplussed by his kiss, was clearly invigorated by it. Yet in that moment, she looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her.

“I would not expect anything else,” she continued. “Give it your utmost, Charles, as I certainly intend to do. May the best attorney win.”

With a flourish, she turned and stormed out of the room.

C
HARLES STARED
at the slammed door in chagrin. What in God’s name had just happened? He had started that morning thinking the world was his oyster, and now he had lost the pearl.

Even after that incredible kiss, Winifred had dumped a bucket of ice water on him and shown him quite clearly that she did not need him at all. And now she would work on the Black case—against him! He groaned as he envisioned the circus the papers would make of this. Winifred’s involvement in the case would only fuel that fire. Why did she not see that he was trying to help her find real happiness?

Because she was Winifred
, a voice inside of him responded. And to be truthful, he would not be nearly so attracted to her if she were any other way. It was that fire inside of her, that passion for her cause, that had made him take notice of her to begin with. And it was her other passions, the ones that he felt when he kissed her, that made her impossible to forget.

There was but one thing he could do, he reasoned, a strange calm coming over him. He had to win the Black case. He had to show Winifred that he was right. Then she would see that courtroom life was not for her. She would surely lose, and the press would rip her to shreds. And when they did, he would be there to catch her fall. Hurt and disillusioned, she would turn to him for comfort, and he would provide it—and so much more. She would forget the law, dismiss her futile ambition, and come running into his arms,
filled with love and gratitude. Then Winifred would finally be his.

“Crocker, get in here,” Charles called, opening the door Winifred had slammed. “Call a meeting. We have a case to prepare—the case of a decade.”

W
inifred marched back to her desk and began to pack up her things. Her hands were shaking, but she determinedly piled her books into a box.

No matter what happened at Horace Shane’s office, she could not work here anymore. Charles had no respect for her principles whatsoever. He could never understand why she objected to his prosecuting Monica Black. How could she have made love with such a man! The only thing he seemed to admire was her body, not her mind. The more she thought about it, the more she fumed. His smug assurance that he would seduce her again only inflamed her. He obviously intended to pick up right where he had left off.

Winifred paused. The case against the woman was, well, black, but Winifred could see a world of possibilities. The case would generate tons of negative journalism, but ultimately she could use it to an advantage. She would paint a picture of a distraught wife shackled to her brutish husband. What were her choices? she would ask the jury. Divorce was unthinkable, as were other legal resources. The woman had no
other option but to submit to her husband, to give him control of her property and her own person. Poison, seen in that light, was the only way out. She had fought back the only way she knew how.

Winifred’s eyes sparkled. It would be sensational, the talk of the country. And if the defense played the press right, and if they tried the case correctly, she could help expose the plight of women everywhere. In the process, she could help free Monica Black.

Picking up the box, she headed for the door.

T
HE DRIVE
to Horace Shane’s office was a short one. As Winifred alighted from the carriage and climbed the thirteen stairs to the prestigious law firm, she mentally reviewed everything she knew about this man.