In the Barrister's Bed Page 4

  The duke was now dead, and although James had been stunned by his grandmother’s announcement, he was prepared to inherit what he had believed belonged to Gregory all along. It had been two weeks since his father’s death, two weeks since the dowager duchess had confronted him in the Old Bailey, and James had yet to speak with Gregory.

  After the funeral, Gregory had immediately left London to visit a maternal aunt and no doubt deal with the astonishing news of his loss of the dukedom in private. James had not pursued him. They would both return to London soon enough to face each other.

  James had left his grandmother at the London mansion and had departed to track down Redmond Reeves and settle the matter of Wyndmoor Manor. He’d had every intention of purchasing the property quickly and returning to London within the week, but then he hadn’t counted on confronting Bella Sinclair.

  His lips curved in a smile. There was no question that the lady was hiding secrets. It had been a long time since James had felt challenged by a woman, and a country widow like Bella Sinclair did not stand a chance against him. He estimated she would be out of the house and his life in a week’s time.

  Bella paced her bedchamber, tucking in the loose curl of hair that had escaped her knot and trying not to think of how Blackwood had touched the strands moments ago in the drawing room.

  “Thank goodness you prefer this smaller chamber, luv. At least there’s no need to fight over the master’s chambers,” Harriet said as she folded Bella’s clothes and tucked them in the wardrobe.

  “He’s fortunate indeed I chose this room.” Bella had fallen in love with the rose-hued wallpaper and canopied bed. Across from the master’s chambers, it faced the back of the house, and she had a splendid view of the sun rising over the back gardens.

  “I agree. Knowing how determined you can be if you had chosen the other room, I suspect you’d both be sleeping in it now,” Harriet said.

  Bella stopped pacing and whirled around. “Harriet! As if I would ever consider sharing a meal with that man, let alone a room!”

  “He’s a handsome one, he is,” Harriet said.

  “So was Roger, remember?”

  Harriet’s brow pulled into an affronted frown. “Do not believe for one instant that all men are like your deceased husband in disposition. As for looks, Roger was twenty years your senior and fair-haired. The duke looks nothing like him and can only be in his early thirties—”

  “Outer appearances aren’t everything. He shares his same black heart.” Bella didn’t want to think of Blackwood as handsome. His dark hair, deep blue eyes, and strong profile could only be regarded as haughty and stubborn.

  Liar, her inner voice cried out. The mere touch of the duke’s hand in her hair had sent an unwelcome surge of excitement through her. And when his breath fanned her face, her skin had tingled uncomfortably. He was a dangerous man—one who wielded both power and virility to his advantage.

  “What makes you think he has a black heart?” Harriet asked.

  “He all but ordered me out. When I refused to do his bidding, he insisted on staying here. He also claims he’s legally entitled to Wyndmoor because he recorded the deed even though I was first to purchase the place and first to move in.”

  “Perhaps you should seek the services of a barrister, but I doubt there is one in the village. We may have to travel to London,” Harriet said.

  Bella bit her bottom lip. “I know it’s a good idea, but the matter cannot go to court. Should my character arise, people may question the circumstances surrounding Roger’s death. They may look into his unsavory business ventures. What if Blackwood went to Plymouth to question people about me?”

  Harriet stepped close and touched her shoulder. “Don’t fret, Bella. You would only be seeking a legal opinion to be certain he’s telling the truth. Besides, Blackwood’s a duke. Surely he has responsibilities in London? Mayhap he won’t want to stay here long.”

  “He was a barrister in London, too,” Bella added. “I am betting the country life will bore him to tears. We, on the other hand, have lived in the country for most of our lives.” Plymouth was a shipping town, but still far from the exciting pace of London.

  Harriet’s brow furrowed. “If he thinks the country boring, then why would he bother to buy the place?”

  “He claims fond memories of the manor as it belonged to his late father. But I’m certain he hadn’t a hand in caring for the place. How long will it take before he expires of boredom? Before he misses the challenge and excitement of London, the Season, and his legal cases?”

  Harriet measured Bella with an appraising look. “If he’s looking for a challenge, then he best prepare to battle you.”

  Chapter 5

  Bella decided she should go about the rest of her day as if the duke had never arrived. She had scheduled interviews to meet with a local cook, a parlor maid, a head gardener, and most importantly, a steward. Harriet would oversee the staff as head housekeeper. As Bella had no plans to entertain, she decided to postpone hiring a butler.

  Bella left her room, straightened her shoulders, and marched down the stairs. There was no sign of Blackwood, but a second coach had arrived with more of his belongings; his servants were busy carrying trunks from the coach into the house.

  The duke had arrived with five servants in all, and they presented themselves courteously, although not as if she was the lady of the house. She learned Coates was Blackwood’s manservant, and he was clearly in charge, ordering the two footmen and the driver to carry the duke’s belongings to the master’s chambers. The fifth was a small scrap of a boy with red hair and freckles named Bobby, who was the stable boy and responsible for Blackwood’s prized horses.

  The amount of baggage was substantial, and the men took turns passing trunks to each other and up the stairs like busy ants.

  Coates bowed. “Pardon the intrusion, Mrs. Sinclair. We shall not be much longer. Most of the baggage is for the master’s chambers.”

  Bella forced a smile, feeling as if her face would crack from the effort. “I’m sure His Grace has found his room temporarily suitable.”

  “I’m certain, Mrs. Sinclair,” Coates responded. If the man heard her sarcasm, he showed no outward reaction.

  The door knocker rattled, drawing her attention. The door remained open as the duke’s servants continued to unload the coach, and a portly man with fleshy jowls stood on the front step, his brown eyes wide as he noted the activity.

  “Good afternoon. My name is Sigmund Gibbs, and I’m here to apply for the position of steward. I had no idea residents would be moving in today.”

  “Thank you for arriving on time, Mr. Gibbs,” Bella said. “I’m Mrs. Sinclair, the owner of the manor, and the place is in need of a steward.”

  Ignoring Coates’s inquisitive gaze, she steered Sigmund Gibbs around a particularly large trunk and into the drawing room. Motioning for him to take a seat on a leather chair, she sat on the settee opposite him.

  Folding her hands in her lap, she looked at the man expectantly. “Tell me, have you experience as a steward, Mr. Gibbs?”

  He nodded, and the folds of skin above his tightly tied cravat reminded her of an elephant’s wrinkled hide. “I’ve some, but not for a manor as grand as Wyndmoor.”

  Bella frowned. Wyndmoor Manor was small compared to most country estates. The hundred acres surrounding it were beautiful and had been meticulously kept, but there were those estates that boasted thousands of acres with many tenants to oversee. The size of Wyndmoor was one of the reasons Bella had been drawn to it. It was small enough to manage and with the rents from Wyndmoor’s tenants she could afford its upkeep.

  “Tell me exactly what experience you do have.”

  “Well, I’ve—”

  The door to the drawing room burst open and in strode Blackwood. His well-groomed appearance exuded masculinity and authority at once, and a powerful swirl of energy surrounded him.

  “What’s this I’m told, you are interviewing for the position of steward?
”

  She feigned a smile, and remained seated. “I am. Wyndmoor Manor is in need of a steward unless, of course, you are volunteering for the position, Your Grace.”

  He laughed, and the lively twinkle in his blue eyes only incensed her more. “I would, my dear, but the manor already has a steward.”

  Sigmund Gibbs’s jaw dropped, and he jumped to his feet. “Your lord ... I mean Your Grace, I meant no disrespect.”

  “Sit down, Mr. Gibbs,” Bella said. “His Grace is mistaken. There is no steward.”

  “Oh, but there is, Mrs. Sinclair,” Blackwood drawled in a deep-timbered voice. “Gideon Jacobson has been Wyndmoor Manor’s steward for twenty-six years.”

  She grit her teeth. “May I have a word with you in private, Your Grace?”

  “Of course.” He turned to Mr. Gibbs. “Thank you for coming today. We will send word to you should another position become available.”

  Sigmund Gibbs bowed to Blackwood and nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to leave the room. The door closed on his way out.

  How dare he! she thought.

  She whirled to him. “I meant for us to speak privately in another room.”

  He sat on the arm of the settee, his long legs crossed at his booted feet. “I do believe we got off on the wrong foot. Please call me James. I find the title tedious.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “That would be most improper.”

  He arched a dark eyebrow, not bothering to hide his amusement. “And living together is proper? You are full of contradictions, Bella.”

  “It’s Mrs. Sinclair.”

  “That’s a dreadful waste. Bella is such a beautiful name. It fits you.”

  He gave her a smile that sent her pulses racing. She was struck by how devastatingly handsome he truly was, and combined with his flattering words, the man could be utterly charming when he chose. She imagined the women of London flocked to him in droves. An uneasiness rose in her that she fought to hide.

  What on earth was his game?

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to distract me from the topic at hand?”

  “Is it working?”

  “It is not. As mistress here, I am in charge of the servants.”

  “That is debatable.” He held up a hand to stop her from arguing further. “However, I only ask that you hear me out before passing judgment. The position of steward is most important. I find it difficult to believe any other would have the same number of years as experience. Gideon Jacobson loved this place until Redmond Reeves unjustly dismissed him. As I said, it was Jacobson’s home for twenty-six years. Can you say the same for your Mr. Gibbs?”

  She could not. From what she had heard the man barely had any experience.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “You have already brought in five of your servants. I only have Harriet. I refuse to have every other servant under your influence.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Fine. I assume there were others you were planning on retaining. I’ll leave them up to you.”

  She was surprised by his easy manner. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “It’s James, remember?” He stood to leave, then turned. “By the way, will you dine with me this evening?”

  He was trying to charm her. “There’s no cook.”

  He winked. “Then hire one today.”

  James did not have time to consider whether Bella would accept his dinner invitation. As soon as he stepped out of the drawing room, Coates sought him out to tell him his fellow barristers had arrived and were waiting for him in the library.

  James heard their voices as he walked down the hall. He had invited his friends to visit Wyndmoor Manor for a short holiday before he had left for Hertfordshire. James had been under the mistaken impression that the business of purchasing the country property would go smoothly, and he had looked forward to spending time with his friends away from their chambers and their hectic dockets. He had not expected a merry chase throughout Hertfordshire, searching for Sir Redmond Reeves to sell him Wyndmoor Manor.

  As soon as James opened the library door, two of his colleagues, Anthony Stevens and Brent Stone, rose to greet him.

  “Hello, Devlin,” Anthony drawled. “Or should we call you ‘Duke’?”

  James rolled his eyes. His friends had always referred to him by his surname, Devlin, and he had no desire for them to start addressing him by his new title.

  “Don’t even jest about it. It’s bad enough that I will have to leave Lincoln’s Inn.” James knew it to be true. He couldn’t handle the vast responsibilities he had inherited, sit in the House of Lords, and continue to practice as a barrister.

  “Where’s Jack?” James asked.

  Jack Harding was the fourth barrister in their chambers and the most successful in the courtroom. Known as the smooth-talking “jury master,” Jack was the only married barrister in their chambers, having wed his pupilmaster’s beautiful daughter, Evelyn Darlington, five years ago.

  “Jack’s with Evie. He has an upcoming trial and they plan to arrive as soon as he’s free,” Anthony said.

  “It will be the first time they’ll leave little Phillip to travel together. I suspect their new nanny will have her hands full with that mischievous three-year-old boy,” Brent said.

  James laughed. “Let’s drink a toast to your arrival then.” He went to a sideboard, poured three glasses of whiskey, and handed them out. “I’m glad you’re both here. I need some advice.”

  Anthony and Brent lowered their glasses.

  “What’s amiss?” they asked in unison.

  James sipped his whiskey before answering. “I arrived here only to find the place occupied. A sharp-tongued widow who claims she purchased the property three days prior to me from the same man, a Sir Redmond Reeves.”

  “Have you seen her deed?” Anthony asked.

  James nodded. “I have, and as far as I can tell it is not a forgery.”

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Brent said. “As a barrister, I’ve heard of it, of course. With the increase of population in debtors’ prison, swindlers and thieves have grown desperate and bold. There are others out there selling properties to numerous owners in short amounts of time and then fleeing before they can be held accountable.”

  “I’ve assumed as much,” James said dryly.

  “I take it you already recorded the deed?” Anthony asked.

  “I did. She did not.”

  Anthony shrugged. “Then technically the place is yours.”

  “Wait,” Brent said. “She purchased it first, you say?”

  “By only three days,” James said.

  “But she was also first to occupy the manor?” Brent asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then the matter may not be so cut and dried. She may have an arguable case. What of the old adage possession is nine tenths of the law? If I was her barrister, I would paint her as a sympathetic widow and argue she has the winning side. It would be up to a judge and a jury to decide. Quite simply, there is a possibility, albeit small, that you could lose,” Brent said.

  Anthony frowned in exasperation as he turned to Brent. “You tend to favor the lady?”

  “I’m only giving a legal opinion. Yours tends to be skewed against women,” Brent said.

  Anthony laughed bitterly. “What the devil do you know about women? You’re celibate, for Christ’s sake.”

  Brent’s lips thinned with irritation. “Your legal practice has turned you into a jaded man, Anthony. One day a woman will get the best of you.”

  “Sod off, Brent,” Anthony growled.

  James rolled his eyes. Even though Brent and Anthony were longtime friends they often mercilessly baited each other.

  “You two bicker like old magpies. I don’t desire fisticuffs on your first day here.” James refilled their glasses, leaned against the sideboard, and eyed the pair.

  Anthony was a tall, muscular man with massive shoulders. When not in chambers, he spent his free time at Gentleman J
ackson’s. An experienced pugilist, Anthony’s size did not hinder him in the ring, and James had witnessed Anthony’s agility and fast footwork firsthand as he beat a seasoned boxer in the first round.

  As for Brent’s comment that Anthony was jaded when it came to women, it was true. Anthony specialized in marital matters and had successfully obtained what few barristers dared attempt—the highly desirable divorce. Requiring an Act of Parliament, divorce was close to impossible to obtain despite the fact that marital strife was commonplace among the beau monde.

  But Anthony had managed to obtain divorces for three wealthy, titled men—all by proving the adultery of the wives. Anthony had become an overnight success, one of the richest barristers in Lincoln’s Inn, but the dark side of his practice had a price. Anthony had a hard, cutthroat manner about him, and he scoffed at the notion of love.

  Brent Stone, on the other hand, was cut from entirely different cloth. His tawny hair and blue eyes had always attracted attention from females. Yet Brent showed little interest in women. His practice focused on obtaining letters patent for wealthy and oftentimes eccentric inventors. Brent rarely set foot in a courtroom and spent long hours drafting patent claims in their chambers at Lincoln’s Inn. To James it seemed like a tedious, unbearable existence, but Brent thrived upon it.

  James had never seen nor heard of Brent with a woman. The man claimed to prefer the fair sex, but as far as James was aware, Brent had never had a mistress or lover. At times the difference in their approach strained their friendship, as James had numerous affairs without commitment, and Brent claimed to be searching for a lady with whom he could have a long-lasting relationship.

  James’s thoughts returned to his own predicament, and he considered Brent’s argument in favor of Bella Sinclair.