Katie Rose (7 page)

“No, of course not.” His father looked deeply offended. “I am simply stating the obvious. Marriage, in your case, involves more than just personal satisfaction. And Elizabeth Billings would be a good political wife. It is something for you to consider, Charles. That’s all.”

Charles rose from his seat.

“Are you going?” his father asked. “We have not had dessert yet. I believe your mother ordered your favorite, apple pie.”

“I haven’t much appetite,” Charles said. “Give
Elizabeth my best. As the state’s attorney, I have work to do.”

He strode out the door, missing his father’s scowl.

“E
XCUSE ME
, Miss Appleton.”

Winifred glanced up from her work to see Edgar Whitcomb standing at her desk. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he looked extremely uncomfortable. She waited patiently for him to speak.

“I could not help but admire your remarks during our meeting the other day,” he said, squeezing out each word as if it pained him. “And I noticed the work you did on the Black complaint, as well as the research you provided Mr. Howe. You seem to have an uncommon grasp of the law.”

“Thank you,” Winifred said uncertainly.

“Not that I think women are not capable,” he continued quickly, patting his shiny vest. “It is just that I agree with the Court’s ruling, that women were destined by nature to bear children and maintain hearth and home.”

“I see,” she said politely, trying not to show her impatience.

“But still …” The elderly man tugged on his curled mustache, as if trying to figure out just how to say what was on his mind. “That is, one can make exceptions—”

“Mr. Whitcomb, did you need my help with something?” She sweetly cut through his stalling.

At her offer, the man quickly thrust a large envelope toward her. “Would you be so kind as to look through that case and see if there is a legal angle that comes to you? Nothing too difficult, of course. Would do it myself, except my caseload is overwhelming this week.”

“Of course,” she replied, placing the envelope on top of the papers she had piled on her desk.

The man sagged with relief. Putting on his polished hat, he was about to leave when he turned and gave her a conspiratorial wink. “You will not tell anyone about this, will you?”

“No,” she said, a smile curving her lips, “it will be our secret.”

“Good. Very good. Not that there is any reason you should not help. I just would not want anyone to get the wrong idea, if you know what I mean.”

“I think I know exactly what you mean,” she replied. “Good morning, Mr. Whitcomb.”

The door closed, and Winifred chuckled softly to herself. The old guard was finally beginning to come around. Not that she had any complaints, for she much preferred this kind of work to dusting the library or filing. Still, it amused her that the old gent would rather be caught dead than accepting advice from her.

She was about to return to her work, when another knock sounded on the door. This time Drew McAlister stepped in, giving her a brisk nod. Winifred put aside her pencil and waited patiently.

“Miss Appleton,” he began, pausing in front of her desk. “I had a chance to review some of the work you have done. I thought your research was … very well thought out for a woman.”

“Thank you.” She tried not to bristle.

“I can tell you have done quite a bit of reading before you ever came here. Either that, or you have had excellent tutoring. I know Mr. Howe has been helping you, and frankly, I am amazed.” He waited for her comment, and when none was forthcoming, he pretended to study his walking stick thoroughly.

“Mr. McAlister, I am sure you did not stop by just to discuss my work,” Winifred said softly.

“Yes. I mean, no. Of course not,” the man said, pacing the room once more. When he finally stopped, he stared at her uneasily, as if unsure of how to approach her. “What I mean to say is—”

Winifred took pity on the man. “Mr. McAlister, could you possibly have something you would like me to research?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” With that, he deposited another fat envelope onto her desk. “One of Tweed’s associates is up on charges. It would not do at all for him to slip out of the rope, yet I feel some of the evidence is lacking. If you could just pinpoint, maybe make some notes …”

“I would be happy to.” She smiled.

The man flushed in gratitude, then suddenly seemed to remember the time. “I really have to run. I will look for the work tomorrow. By the way—”

“I would not think of mentioning it to a soul,” Winifred finished the sentence for him.

The man flushed again, then quickly dashed out, closing the door behind him.

This time Winifred really laughed. Fingering the envelopes, she saw that between the two cases, she easily had a week’s work. More importantly, the attorneys’ stealthy actions indicated that she had taken a step toward acceptance, a real step. And the education she would earn was priceless.

She had one man to thank for it all, Winifred thought. Charles Howe. He had done the unthinkable and given her a chance. The press had continued its relentless coverage of her presence in the state’s attorney’s office, and he had to be getting a lot of grief for hiring her. Still, he never let on that she caused him any inconvenience, and he only seemed proud of her achievements. There weren’t many men who would put themselves in such a position, especially for a
woman. Charles, Winifred realized, truly was a man among men.

And in addition to being a good friend, he was rapidly becoming something more. He continued to send the flowers and occasionally added little gifts, such as bonbons or poetry. Winifred refused to acknowledge them, finding herself in a verbal quagmire whenever she did, but his thoughtfulness was having an effect on her. A sexual tension ignited between them at every encounter, and her fantasies lately were becoming more and more explicit. She had trouble sleeping, tossing and turning all night, dreaming of his kiss, of him touching her, arousing her, teaching her far more than the law.…

Shaking her head, she forced herself to return to her copying, but her sensual ruminations still intruded. Legal work, which had always fascinated her, proved pale in comparison to thoughts of Charles. Good Lord, something must really be wrong with her! They had to remain friends, she reminded herself. Anything else would jeopardize what she had worked so hard to achieve.… Grimacing, she dug her pencil into the paper.

A few hours later, she had done a good amount of the research. Although the hour was very late, she had promised herself she would get to her studies that night; and she planned to do exactly that. Picking up her books, she buried herself in the study of torts, writing out answers to the essay questions in the dim light.

“You look beautiful when you are working.”

Winifred jumped, then breathed a sigh of relief as Charles stepped into the room.

“I did not hear you come in. How long were you standing there?” she asked.

“Long enough,” he said, delighted with her disconcerted manner. “What are you doing here so late? Looks like you have been busy.”

“Thanks to you,” Winifred said quickly, indicating the paperwork. “I have become quite an underground success.”

“I thought that might happen.” Charles chuckled, eyeing the bulging envelopes from the other attorneys. Looking past them, he saw the pages where she had been writing, and the books open at her elbow. “More legal work?”

“These are my essays. The ones you recommended I try,” Winifred said. He picked up one of her papers, and she held her breath as he read the first few sentences. As she waited for his reaction, she felt extremely vulnerable.

A few minutes later, he looked up at her and smiled in surprised approval. “Winifred, this is good.”

“Really?” Her heart beat faster. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, quite certain. There are a few little changes needed, a few places where you could expand, but otherwise, it is good. The writing is crisp, the references clear. It is excellent. Do you mind?” he asked, picking up her pencil.

“Mind? Charles, I would be so grateful! But you really shouldn’t—you have done so much.”

“Miss Appleton, I do not do anything without expecting a reward, and I am anxiously anticipating this one.” Before she could respond, he indicated her work. “This paragraph is really well thought out. I think you need to expand on the ideas here, though.” He stepped behind her, then reached lower to show her his notes. Winifred turned, and their faces were barely three inches apart.

“I think …” she breathed, deeply affected by his nearness, “your grasp of the legal concepts here is
quite … seductive. I mean, impressive.” Her mouth dropped at her own gaffe, and a heated rush spread through her skin.

“I see,” Charles said a moment later, his eyes twinkling. “Well then, you will find this even more enthralling. Rewrite the third paragraph. It does not do you justice.”

“Charles!” she looked up at him, exasperated. “You are teasing me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I admit it.” He put down the paper and sat once more on her desk, laughing freely. “Don’t look so horrified, Winifred. What is wrong with that? You could use a good teasing. You are entirely too serious.”

“Is that so?” she said frostily.

“Yes, that is so. And I am certainly the one to do it, if I choose to,” he said, earning another indignant look. Unable to resist, he softly touched her cheek with a gentle caress. “Do not worry,”—laughter was apparent in his voice—“I have a lot of teasing in mind for you.”

A wave of hot anticipation shot through her. How did this man, with a few caresses and comments, make her feel like a complete idiot? She rose and faced him squarely.

“Mr. Howe—”

“Charles,” he said softly, turning so that she stood within his grasp.

“What are you doing?” Alarm filled her, mixed with pleasurable anticipation, as he took her into his embrace. She tried to sound indignant, but somehow it didn’t come out that way at all.

“I did promise not to seduce you while you were working here,” he said, his voice a husky promise. “But Winifred, it is after hours now.”

She inhaled an excited breath. Before she could launch into a dozen reasons why their relationship had
to remain platonic, he was kissing her, a soft brushing of his lips.

It was softly compelling, a kiss meant to question as much as to seduce. Winifred sighed. She had waited too long, wondered too long, wanted for far too long. Sliding her hands inside his coat, she felt the crispness of his shirt beneath her fingers, the smooth satin of his vest, and the firmness of his hard, muscled body.

She leaned closer into his embrace, hearing his groan, feeling his hot, hard desire for her. Never would she have guessed it was so pleasurable to be kissed like this. The kiss they had shared at the Rutherfords’ ball had been different, startling them both, but this one was even more potent in its tenderness.

Feeling her response, Charles turned her in his arms, determined to fully enjoy his plunder. He had meant simply to stake his claim, to move their relationship to the next level, but somehow things had already gotten out of hand. Winifred was surrendering—every inch of her body was pressed against his. The buttons of her prim dress were hard against his chest, while her soft breasts teased him alluringly. A hot, throbbing arousal pounded within him as he realized his student was more than ready for the next lesson.…

When he raised his head, he saw her dreamy expression, the confused wonder in her hazel eyes, and slight flush of her cheeks. “We really should not,” she tried. “Someone might come in.”

“You know, you are absolutely right.” With that he disengaged, smiling at the disappointed look on her face. Instead of walking out, however, he simply reached inside a Greek urn that stood on top of the barrister cases and retrieved a shiny gold key. Locking the door securely, he turned to her with a wicked grin. “I am glad Chambers is so organized.”

“You know that is not what I meant,” she said reprovingly.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked softly, taking her once more into the warmth of his embrace. “If you really do, I will.”

“I do not think …” Winifred protested, but he was placing scorching kisses on her neck. Her fingers dug into his jacket, even as she tried to resist him. “It’s not a good idea—”

“Most things worthwhile in life are not.” Charles kissed her once more, this time deepening the kiss, slipping his hands through the prim knot on the back of her neck, and releasing her carefully constructed bun. Golden hair spilled out onto her shoulders, and hairpins tinkled to the floor. The smell of her, the scent of that wonderful hair, went straight to his head, as did the feel of her, all soft, warm, willing woman.…

Any last hope of restraint was gone. “Winifred … my sweet Winifred …” He cupped her breast through the stiff fabric of her dress and felt the nipple harden beneath his fingers. As he stroked her through the coarse cotton, her eyes flew open.

“Oh, Charles!” was all she could say as he lightly touched the fully aroused tip of her breast, then her fingers dug deeper into his back as he kissed her once more. His tongue took full possession of her mouth, plunging inside to taste her sweetness, even as the warmth of his hand cupped her. When he finally eased from her, she clung to him, her beautiful hazel eyes filled with longing. “Charles, that feels so wonderful.… I don’t know what to think.…”

“I know,” he said softly, though his voice was pained. “If I don’t stop now, I won’t be able to. As it is, I will have a wretched time walking back out into that hall.”

Perplexed, her eyes traveled downward, then flew back up, mortified. He chuckled, touched her cheek softly, and gave her one more admiring look before resignedly kissing her forehead.

“I much prefer you looking like this, all disheveled, with your hair loose and full. Too bad I have a meeting tonight. Is your carriage outside, or do you need a ride?”

“No, Egbert is waiting. Do you have to leave?” she asked softly.

He nodded regretfully. “Unfortunately, yes. Besides, Miss Appleton, I think you have had enough lessons for one day. We have to leave something to study later.”