Love's Justice (Entangled Scandalous) (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

The conversation that followed was mere polite banter. Inane and inconsequential. No one spoke of Stanford again. There was much left purposely unsaid

When Henry and Edith, after exchanging a glance, chose to leave, Victoria was compelled to address a subject that had been haunting her over the past week. “I must speak with you on an urgent matter.” She touched Hugh’s jacket sleeve.

He looked over the room and, taking her arm, led her through an open door into the library. A fire had been started in the room, but none of the lamps had been lit. The flickering light gave the book-lined walls an otherworldly feel. A bit like the conservatory at Syon House, it became a place outside of reality.

He did not let go of her arm once they were in the room. He led her to a corner that was hidden from anyone in the ballroom. Even when they had reached this relative quiet spot, he did not let her go. They were only a foot away from each other. She was distracted by his touch.

Victoria sensed the danger of the moment and spoke to rectify the situation before she lost all her will. “I am concerned about my friend Emily and her husband.”

He nodded but didn’t speak and didn’t drop her arm. His hold was not tight. It would have been a caress had he moved it, but he didn’t.

“She is expecting a child. I’ve just found out.”

Still he didn’t speak, didn’t stop touching her. It was a distraction that threatened to overwhelm her.

“What can be done to stop Lord Whitney? Surely there must be something.”

Finally, he released her arm. He glanced down at the beautiful Aubusson carpet in the room and then looked back up.

“There is little to do.”

She reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “There must be something. You said yourself he could lose Emily’s fortune as he did his own. That would be a tragedy. Emily has done nothing to deserve such ruination. Neither has the child.”

When Hugh didn’t answer, she became emotional. “What is wrong with you people? You bow and curtsy and behave so correctly and yet it hides a cruelty too evil to be borne. You have no conscience when it comes to your wives and mothers.”

She hadn’t meant to lose control so fully. She was shaking and agitated beyond anything she thought possible. She was strong and could fight the injustices to herself. But Emily. Emily would be destroyed.

She turned to the fire and tried to calm herself. His touch, when it came, almost broke her heart. She wanted nothing more than to be taken in his arms and consoled and told there was an easy solution to all of this.

Instead, he remained behind her. His hands found her shoulders to steady her. He didn’t speak immediately. She could feel the warmth of his body along her back and his breath warming the base of her neck. She wanted to turn and press herself into him, but she couldn’t.

“Nothing is perfect. Things change, but often much slower than we would have them. People are hurt. Lives are changed for the worse. But you must not give up hope.”

She shook her head in denial of his words. “I feel like I am drowning. Nothing that has happened to me, to Emily, is just—even if it is legal. Can you understand that?”

“More than you know.” He moved a hand to the nape of her neck and let it settle there, slowly caressing her.

She was afraid she would melt to the floor. Dissolve in pleasure.

Neither one spoke. Neither one moved.

She would be happy just with this. His touch. His warmth. His concern.

But there was so much still between them.

“Please,” she begged.

“Please what?” His voice was raspy with passion and she was afraid she might lose resolve.

“Please don’t.”

He dropped his hand immediately and its loss echoed deep within her.

“What do you want of me, Victoria?” The question was filled with underlying nuances and loosely formed concepts.

She met his eyes. “I want you to explain to me how you can sit in judgment and rule unjustly even if it is legal. How you can do nothing as people, innocent people, are hurt by your rulings. How do you face yourself? How do you justify it?”

Even when the case was over, this would stand between them. It was impossible for her in her passion and conviction to understand or accept this.

…

Hugh strove for control. He wanted to take her into his arms and console her. He wanted to give substance to her words. To acknowledge with actions what had been only in their minds.

But he couldn’t.

He turned away. Afraid if he didn’t, he would fall prey to his own passions. Lose his way in her arms and her warmth. He could not drive from his mind the night he had held her.

He railed against the injustice of it. Not just the truth of what she said but the fact it stood between them—a barrier too serious to breach. Certainly to breach here and now.

“Justice isn’t always gained through the law. The law is a fickle thing. One time it awards what is right, another time it does not.”

He had taken several steps away from her. To safety. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Alive with passion for justice, of that he was sure, and perhaps a passion for him, he dared hope.

“You must understand my position. It isn’t always justice I administer. I must be true to the law and its intent.” While his words were well reasoned and quiet, it was what lay just beneath their surface that reverberated in the darkened space.

He was begging for her understanding. He couldn’t bear to have her think ill of him. To have her blame him if he ruled against her. That was an outcome he had to acknowledge was possible. To do otherwise would be to sell his soul, his integrity. He wouldn’t deserve her love if he did that. And he wanted to deserve it. Her intelligence and her passion enthralled him. Her beauty inflamed him.

There was something else that needed to be said as well. “Sometimes your stubbornness blinds you to progress even as it is occurring. You are impatient to the point of harming your own case. You can’t continue this way and expect to see a favorable outcome.”

…

“There you two are. I wondered where you had gone.” Henry stood in the open doorway. His initial exuberance quieted at the sight of the two of them.

There was a moment when no one spoke, an embarrassment of having violated and been violated.

Henry grew serious. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No, Henry. Please. There was nothing that warrants any embarrassment on your part,” Victoria said.

She walked past Hugh, trying to hide her passion and confusion, trying to calm her heartbeat and extinguish the faint possibility of what might once have been.

The price was too high to pay. Both acknowledged this. Now it would be easier to deal with each other. There would be no more awkwardness between them. No more passion put into words.

She could do this.

She had to do this.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“What was that all about?” Henry asked his friend. They had known each other far too long for secrets.

“She wanted to know if there was anything that could be done about Lord Whitney’s gambling. She is a friend of his wife’s.”

“Shame that. Lord Whitney, that is. Aside from his gambling, he is a nice fellow.” Henry walked into the room and warmed himself by the fireplace.

“Yes, I told her that before. It seems Lady Whitney is expecting a child and Miss Westwood is concerned.”

Henry rubbed his hands together in front of the fire. “I enjoy a good wager or two, but it seems there are those for whom the whole thing is almost an addiction. They don’t know when to stop.” He paused. “She’s a very interesting woman.”

“Who? Lady Whitney?”

Henry shook his head. “Victoria Westwood.”

“I’ve told you before that it is impossible. She is a defendant in my court.” Hugh strode toward the fireplace and turned his attention to the flames that licked at the oak logs.

“She won’t always be a defendant in your court,” Henry said cautiously.

“That may be the case, but she is now.” Hugh rubbed his hands together in the heat.

“You always want things to be black and white, Monty. Always concerned that everything is orderly and proper.” Henry paused as if waiting for Hugh to absorb this. “While this may be true in the law, it isn’t true in life. Life can be messy and gray, ill-defined and vague. The decisions we make in life cannot be appealed or later modified. There are no concrete laws that make the true path clear. I’m not telling you to abandon your principles. I wouldn’t want that. I’m only asking that you don’t ignore your heart because it is in revolt against your head.”

Hugh continued to stare at the fire. He stopped rubbing his hands but didn’t answer.

“You can’t mourn forever. You can’t curse your past and choose to wallow in your misery.” Hugh’s shoulders tensed. Henry was very close to overstepping the bounds of friendship. He obviously didn’t care because he kept talking. “Edith and I like Victoria. Except for this god-awful mess with Stanford, we would be pushing very hard for the match. She is not only beautiful. She shares your passion and your beliefs. She would be a good helpmate.”

“So you and Edith have been pondering my fate and have decided to make a match?” Hugh felt his temper rise.

“We’ve had only your best interest at heart.”

“Do you realize a relationship with this woman could cost me my position? Is that also what you and Edith want?”

“No, of course not.”

“Well then, stay out of it. You’ve meddled enough already.” Hugh strode out of the room.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Victoria was on her way to Emily’s, still concerned about her friend’s welfare. She was torn as to whether she should warn her or not.

Perhaps she was being unduly pessimistic. Perhaps none of what she feared would come to pass. Then it would be simply cruel to tell Emily.

Emily’s mother and father were with her. They might be able to help if they were made aware of Edward’s gambling. She weighed the pros and cons of telling them. They loved their daughter. Emily’s father could speak with Edward.

She resolved to do this. It was the better of the two options.

Victoria knocked again on Emily’s door. Still, no one had come to answer. It didn’t make sense. Even if Emily and her parents were out, certainly there would be the housekeeper or even a maid left to take cards from callers. She tried again, this time knocking harder than before.

The door flew open this time.

“Oh, miss,” the housekeeper said.

“What is it, Mrs. Pell?”

“You have come just at the right time.” Mrs. Pell turned back toward the inside of the house as if she were torn between explaining what was happening and attending to whatever the crisis was.

“What is it? You must tell me what’s happening,” Victoria said.

“Come in. Come in.” The housekeeper took a step back into the foyer.

“What is happening?” Victoria asked again growing more concerned.

“It is Lady Whitney. She’s in a bad way. It’s the baby. We’ve sent for the doctor. Her mother is upstairs with her but her father is out. We aren’t sure where.”

“What about Lord Whitney?”

“That’s it, miss. We must reach him.”

“I’ll go. Where is he?”

“We don’t know for sure. He left yesterday and didn’t return last night.”

Victoria had some idea where he might be. But there were many private clubs where gambling took place. She wouldn’t know where to begin.

A muffled cry from above agitated Victoria even more. Emily was in distress. She would have to try.

“Tell Emily I’ve gone to fetch him. Tell her he will be here shortly.”

The housekeeper nodded.

Victoria descended the steps and signaled for her carriage, which stood just down the street.

“Boodles. Take me to Boodles.”

If the driver thought it a strange request, his expression didn’t show it.

Beside Boodles, there was White’s and Brook’s, the Cocoa Tree Club, and God knew how many other places Edward could be.

Within a few minutes, she was at her destination. She went to the door and rang the bell.

A fully liveried man opened the door.

“I must know if Lord Whitney is here.” She almost screamed the name hysterically. But hysteria wouldn’t do.

“Wait here, miss.” The door was unceremoniously shut in her face.

After a few moments another man, this one a butler of sorts, reopened the door. “May I help you?”

“I must know if Lord Whitney is here. His wife is ill, and I need to find him.”

“I’m very sorry, Miss—”

“Westwood, Victoria Westwood. I am a friend of his wife.”

Recognition crossed the man’s face and a haughty look replaced his neutral one.

“We value the privacy of our members above all else. I’m afraid I cannot share any information on who is or isn’t currently in our establishment. If you would like to leave a message, I will see Lord Whitney gets it, should I see him.”

The man’s large figure barred the entrance. Victoria would have liked to force him out of the way and enter the “sacred abode,” but it was not possible.

“If you see Lord Whitney, tell him his wife is ill and he needs to return home immediately.”

“
If
I see him, I will tell him.”

She was summarily dismissed. The huge door closed within inches of her face.

She clenched her fists and stood angrily before the massive door. The door represented everything that was wrong about English tradition and the fact that it came down hard in favor of men. She racked her brain. She would have no better luck at any of the men’s clubs that dotted London. She needed help, and she needed it from a man.

Henry and Edith were at Syon House visiting until later in the week. Who else did she know that might help?

And then she realized who could help. She shouldn’t ask him. It might be inappropriate. She had promised herself to keep her distance. But she was desperate.

“Take me to the Royal Court of Justice on The Strand,” Victoria ordered the driver.

It took several minutes to cover the distance between Boodles and the new Justice Building. Victoria continued to rant against the stupidity of it all in the empty carriage. Any passerby would no doubt think her mad. She had worked herself into a state by the time she reached the Lord Chancellor’s office.

“I need to see the Lord Chancellor. It’s urgent.”

“Please, miss. Calm yourself,” Hugh’s clerk said.

“Will you tell him, or must I tell him myself?”

This got the clerk up from his desk and moving quickly to the door that gave access to the Lord Chancellor’s office. He discreetly closed the heavy oak door behind him after he had knocked and been admitted.

Victoria waited. Seconds passed into minutes. The wait was excruciatingly painful, both mentally and physically.

Finally the door reopened and Hugh appeared. “What is it? Dennison says you are extremely alarmed.” He turned back to his clerk, who scurried out of the office back to his own desk.

“Come in,” Hugh said. “What is wrong?”

Victoria had barely crossed the threshold when she burst out. “Emily is ill. Very ill, I gather, and no one can find Lord Whitney.”

They exchanged a look that said they both knew where he probably was.

“I’ve been to Boodles,” she said. “They won’t tell me if he’s there or not. I suspect that is the answer I will get at every private club in the city of London. I will never know if I’ve found him. I need someone who can actually get inside and look for him. Damn you infernal Englishmen and all your confounded rules.”

She shouldn’t have said this out loud. Hugh’s expression was inscrutable. Was he shocked? Horrified? At this moment she didn’t care what he thought of her.

“I’m afraid it’s the baby,” Victoria finally said.

Hugh took a step forward and reached to touch her, but he stopped short and remained, instead, awkwardly close.

“Don’t distress yourself. I’ll find Edward and drag him home myself if I have to.”

“Thank you.” It was all she could say. Relief washed over her.

“Let me see you to your carriage, and then I’ll start searching.” He took her arm, and she was grateful for the support.