In the Barrister's Chambers Read online

  “Payment, Evie. What are you willing to pay if I take on Mr. Sheldon’s case?”

  She blinked, hoping that her senses would reappear. “As I mentioned before, you will be adequately compensated.”

  He trailed his finger down her cheek, stopping beside her lower lip, and she froze, every nerve ending tingling at his touch.

  “I’m not speaking of money.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “A kiss, Evie. I want a kiss as a retainer.”

  Chapter 5

  “A kiss?” Evelyn asked, dumbfounded.

  “Just between us. No one need know. Certainly not your Mr. Sheldon,” Jack said.

  She inhaled sharply, the fog that had previously shrouded her senses dissipating beneath his green gaze.

  “I’m not certain what type of woman you believe me to be, Mr. Harding,” she said sternly. “But rest assured I am certainly not like any of Slip Dawson’s strumpets.”

  “It’s Jack, remember?”

  Straightening her spine, she raised her chin a notch and gave him her best glare. “I remember, Mr. Harding.”

  He hadn’t moved, and her back was still to the window with him mere inches away. He was challenging her, she realized, waiting to see if she would step aside, but she refused to show any cowardice.

  “You’re so urgent for me to take the case. Why?” he asked.

  “I told you. Randolph and I are to be engaged. He’s innocent.”

  “I don’t think that’s the entire reason, Evie,” he said in a lower, huskier tone.

  “I don’t know what you are suggesting.”

  “That you were quite enamored of me once. You used to follow me around your father’s chambers and wait for me outside the Inn.”

  “That was years ago,” she blurted out. “I was little more than a girl.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized the thought to deny his accusations had never occurred to her.

  He grinned devilishly.

  Evelyn felt her skin grow hot. How could she forget that Jack Harding was a skilled cross-examiner? And yet despite his ability to evoke an admission, his smile had a devastating effect on her.

  It had always been hard to stay angry at Jack.

  A sudden thought occurred to her. “You’re jesting with me, aren’t you? You weren’t serious about a kiss in lieu of a retainer.”

  A predatory gleam flashed in his sharp eyes. “I wasn’t joking.”

  “You honestly mean to take on the case if I kiss you?” she asked incredulously.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “I’m perfectly sane, thank you.”

  “But I’m to marry another man,” she insisted.

  “So you keep saying. But where is he now? More importantly, where was he last night?”

  He stepped forward, closing what little distance there had been between them. She swallowed at his nearness, the scent of his cologne. His body so close . . .

  “That’s not fair,” she whispered. “You know quite well that Randolph could not come last night. He is in hiding. The Bow Street Runners would have arrested—”

  “If you were my intended, I would have been there.”

  His words touched upon a primitive need long-buried within her. When it came to Randolph, she had always had the more dominant personality. They had an intellectual connection that she treasured, but when important decisions needed to be made, she was inclined to take the lead and Randolph to follow. She had liked it that way, until Jack had pointed out the downside to such a relationship. She had needed someone to lean on last night, to take charge and make critical decisions, and Randolph had most definitely not been available.

  But neither could she abandon Randolph Sheldon. She had searched for years for a man she could have a deep intellectual conversation with, and Randolph was never intimidated by her intellectual ideas or pursuits.

  No matter how radical and unladylike such pursuits were viewed by the beau monde.

  Evelyn’s mind raced, and she came to a quick conclusion. What harm could one kiss do?

  She and Randolph had kissed, of course, and the brief encounters had not been entirely unpleasant. But neither had she been swept away by passion or had lost her head as many of the lovesick debutantes of the ton had frequently gushed about in the ladies’ retiring room at Almack’s.

  Looking up at Jack, she said, “Fine, Mr. Harding. A kiss. One kiss and you agree to represent Mr. Sheldon?”

  He nodded.

  Taking a deep breath, she tipped her head up and shut her eyes. “I’m ready.”

  Seconds passed and instead of the wet, smothering kiss she expected, she heard him chuckle.

  She cracked open her eyes.

  Jack stood still, his head tilted to the side. Slowly, ever so slowly, he reached out to touch her lips with a finger. “Just as I thought. Have you been kissed by your Mr. Sheldon?”

  “Of course.”

  “Hmmm.” The pad of his thumb ran leisurely across her full bottom lip—back and forth—and her breath caught.

  The urge to pull away was there, but not because his touch was unpleasant, but rather because it evoked a shivering along her spine.

  “We had occasion to be alone,” she breathed.

  “I see. Then you know what to expect.”

  “Yes.” No. Randolph had never looked at her the way Jack was gazing at her now, as if her mouth was a ripe strawberry waiting to be savored.

  She watched in fascinated thrall as Jack’s head lowered. She felt his lips touch hers like a whisper, and she marveled how his mouth—which had appeared chiseled out of fine Italian marble—could be so soft and gentle.

  His tongue traced the fullness of her lower lip, and when she gasped he slid past her teeth and swept inside. Gathering her into his arms, he held her against him. And then his kiss changed. His mouth covered hers more firmly, and his hands explored the hollows of her back.

  It was her undoing. Nothing had prepared her for the reality of the flesh-and-blood man. The feel of his chest—all hard muscle and sinew, so different from Randolph’s slim build—felt sinful and intoxicating. Her body tingled from the contact; her heart raced.

  Randolph’s kisses had been overeager and sloppy, and in her mind she had likened him to an overzealous and panting puppy. The heavy breathing and awkward gasping had never raised this kind of physical response in her, and she had always believed a man’s passions must vary wildly in degrees from a woman’s.

  Until now . . .

  She felt her knees weaken at Jack’s slow, seductive kisses. The tantalizing persuasion of his expert touch was as intoxicating as fine wine. He covered her lips with demanding mastery, and she was stunned by her response. In the deep recesses of her mind, she knew the kiss was wrong—the sensations coursing through her body were traitorous—and that she should end the embrace.

  But it was Jack who pulled back first, a frown marring his brow as he gazed upon her upturned face. “So the legal scholar does have hot blood in her veins. Who would have thought?”

  It was the last thing she had expected him to say, and the most damaging. Humiliation turned sharply into annoyance.

  Pushing away from the window, she walked into the center of the room. “You misunderstand. I felt nothing. I was merely upholding my end of the bargain. Now will you uphold yours?”

  Jack turned to face her. “Nothing, madame? I hardly call that kiss nothing,” he drawled. “Do you feel the same when Mr. Sheldon embraces you?”

  “You’re wrong,” she snapped. “And what I feel with Randolph is irrelevant.” A sudden fear ran through her that Jack may still walk away. “You will take the case?” she asked, hating the way her voice took on a desperate tone.

  His lips quivered. “Don’t worry, Evie. I shall represent him. Despite my full docket, my instincts are telling me there is something amiss here.”

  Relief coursed through her. “On behalf of Mr. Sheldon, I want to thank you.”

  Jack
’s expression hardened. “Make no mistake, Evie, I’m agreeing not because of your Mr. Sheldon, but because I owe your father my career, and I always pay my debts.”

  A coldness centered around her chest at his words. She was confused by her reaction. She should be happy, thrilled really, that Jack Harding had agreed to represent Randolph. Instead, she felt a loss at his words.

  Or more disturbingly, a loss at his touch.

  It must be the stress, she thought. Her life had been turned upside down since Randolph had stumbled into her home mere days ago, incoherently babbling of Bess Whitfield’s murder.

  “About the kiss . . . I don’t think it would be wise to do that again,” she said.

  Jack’s head snapped up. “Don’t worry. I wholeheartedly agree. I never mix business with pleasure. It always results in disastrous outcomes in the courtroom, and I take my trial record very seriously.”

  She met his stare with an effort, her voice wavering. “I understand.”

  “One last thing. Tell me when you have contact with Mr. Sheldon.”

  “But I told you, I don’t know where he is.”

  “No matter. He has no choice but to reach out to you. Inform me immediately.”

  It was a command, not a request. Evelyn nodded numbly. “I shall see my way out.”

  As she left his chambers, she had the odd sense that even though she had successfully achieved what she had come for, she had lost something as well.

  Chapter 6

  “What are you hiding from us, Harding?”

  Jack looked up from the stack of papers on his desk as the door to his office flew open. James Devlin and Brent Stone, two of the barristers that shared his chambers, strode inside.

  Jack turned to Devlin, the more outspoken of the two men. “I don’t know what you are talking about. It’s impossible to hide anything from either of you; I wouldn’t think even to try,” Jack said dryly.

  “Then what do you call the lovely lady that swept past us in the hallway on her way out of your office?” Devlin drawled. “The lovely unchaperoned lady, I might add.”

  Jack threw down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “She was here on legal business, nothing more.”

  Devlin and Brent exchanged a doubtful look.

  “Legal business?” Brent asked. “Since when do you take on female clients that look like her? That’s more in Devlin’s line.”

  Devlin punched Brent in the arm. “Are you insinuating I’m unethical when it comes to my female clients?”

  “I’m not insinuating anything, Devlin, merely stating fact,” Brent said.

  Devlin’s eyes narrowed at Brent. “Perhaps it’s been so long since you have entertained the thought of female companionship, your opinion has become skewed.”

  Jack suppressed the urge to laugh out loud as his two longtime friends and legal colleagues harassed each other. He also wanted them gone. He didn’t want to talk about Evelyn or what had just passed between them.

  “Enough, you two,” Jack snapped. “I have work to do. Taking on a new murder client is time-consuming.”

  That got their attention. Devlin and Brent turned to look at Jack. In unison, they asked, “She’s a murderer?”

  “Not her. The man she intends to marry,” Jack said.

  Their gazes remained riveted.

  “She’s marrying a murderer?” Brent spoke up first.

  “She believes he’s innocent. Thus, my representation,” Jack said.

  Brent stepped forward. “Which brings me back to my original point. You never work for beautiful women. They are a distraction in the courtroom, remember? Why now?”

  Jack sighed, his mind twisting with how much he should reveal. “She’s Emmanuel Darlington’s daughter.”

  Devlin’s jaw dropped. “You’re jesting?”

  “That’s the second time today someone has asked me that question.”

  “So you’re making an exception to your rule because you feel indebted to your former pupilmaster and mentor?” Brent asked.

  “I believe so, yes,” Jack said.

  “Have you bedded her yet?” Devlin asked.

  For some reason, Devlin’s remark grated on Jack, and he wanted to hit his friend square in the mouth. “Not all of us are like you, Devlin.”

  Devlin grinned. “I’ll take that as a no. But I believe she will try your self-discipline.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Jack,” Brent said. “If you focus on the case, you’ll have no time to think of her in a carnal manner.”

  Devlin’s eyes flashed in a familiar display of impatience. “Not all of us are self-imposed celibates like you, Brent.”

  Jack studied the pair. He didn’t have to be a woman to acknowledge that Brent Stone was a handsome man. With his tawny hair and blue eyes, Brent had always drawn the female eye. But for all his attractiveness, he hid a dark past behind his formal demeanor as a respectable barrister. As the Crown’s leading patent expert, he spent long hours at Lincoln’s Inn obtaining letters patent for wealthy, and oftentimes eccentric inventors. For reasons unknown, Brent Stone avoided the fair sex. Only once had Jack caught Brent with a woman. Jack had sensed Brent had wanted the liaison kept a secret from the rest of chambers, and so Jack had never mentioned the encounter to Devlin or Anthony Stevens, their other legal colleague and friend.

  James Devlin, on the other hand, had quite the opposite personality. He was the illegitimate son of a duke, and even though he had been well provided for, he had been socially shunned by his father’s family. He’d developed a thick skin and had been driven to succeed. Now that he was a successful barrister in his own right, Devlin enjoyed his wealth and freedom to act out his every whim—especially when it came to London’s courtesans—while avoiding the marriage-minded ladies of the ton. Devlin’s free-loving mind-set had gotten him into trouble in the past, but he had successfully fought more than one duel with a disgruntled husband. Dark, daring, and dangerous, women loved Devlin, and he adored them in return.

  Yes, James Devlin and Brent Stone were opposite sides of a coin, but they were good friends nonetheless.

  Devlin scratched his chin. “Wait till I tell Anthony. He’s not going to believe it.”

  “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to Anthony about the case,” Jack said.

  Devlin frowned. “Anthony handles matrimonial matters. What does that have to do with your murder case?”

  “He works with some of the best investigators in London. If a man’s hiding a secret, Anthony’s investigators can ferret it out.”

  “Even if that secret is a woman?” Devlin asked.

  “Especially if it’s a woman.”

  Devlin shrugged and turned to leave. “Perhaps Anthony can talk you out of this nonsense.”

  “I owe her father my career, Devlin,” Jack’s voice grated harshly.

  “Then do yourself a favor and get yourself a mistress. And the sooner the better, from the looks of Lady Evelyn Darlington,” Devlin shot over his shoulder on his way out.

  Brent waved his hand, dismissing Devlin’s speech. “No need for such measures, Jack. Working long hours will keep your mind off her. Just stay focused on the case.”

  Jack wanted to reassure his friend, but he held his tongue as Brent departed. As soon as the door closed, Jack let out a long held-in breath. Pushing his papers to the side, he stared at the surface of his desk as Evelyn’s image arose in his mind.

  He had initially wanted to kiss her out of need and simple curiosity. He had foolishly thought that if he kissed Evelyn, she would be stone cold—like a dried-out old book that had lingered too long untouched on the library shelf—and he would be able to get her off his mind and move on to focus on Randolph Sheldon’s case. But to his astonishment, she had been anything but frigid. She had been as passionate and hot as an inferno; the kiss had been as smoldering as the heat that joins two metals.

  It had also been just as jarring. His plan to satisfy his curiosity and quench his desire had failed. He had ended the kiss, knowing t
hat if he had allowed it to continue, his resistance would have been lost along with his logic and legal ability. For a brief instant, panic had pierced him, and he had fought to suppress the urge to usher her through his door and out of his life.

  But then cold reason returned, and he recalled his debt to her father.

  Jack had been undisciplined until he had entered his pupilage under Emmanuel Darlington at Lincoln’s Inn. Emmanuel had inspired Jack to learn and had taken him to task, but it was the taste of his first trial that had fully fired Jack’s ambition. A trial victory was like an addictive drug, luring him to continuously crave the next one. To be able to persuade twelve jurors with only his words and a few props that his side was the righteous one—no matter how damning the facts—gave Jack a feeling of invincibility.

  But it was not without cost. Jack worked long, unconventional hours, often leaving chambers with a heavy litigation bag and working well past midnight at home. He had longed for the next trial far more than he had longed for a wife.

  He had known of barristers that had tried for both—a heavy trial practice and a family. Many failed to deal with the stress and too often indulged in alcohol as a way to cope. Their wives were bitter, their children neglected.

  No, Jack Harding had sworn never to fall into the marriage trap.

  His work was the most important aspect of his life. He had always enjoyed women, just not the tangle of relationships or the typical hysterics that accompanied them when he sought to walk away from a woman—all of which could weaken his focus.

  He could work with Evelyn Darlington, he reminded himself. It would require that he keep a physical distance from her, but the fact that Evelyn was just as determined to maintain a professional relationship henceforth should aid his cause.

  Devlin’s and Brent’s advice rushed back to him. Jack would take both. It shouldn’t be hard to immerse himself in his work like Brent had suggested. His docket had already been full without the addition of Randolph Sheldon as a client.

  As for Devlin’s advice to take a mistress, the thought had a certain appeal.

  Jack’s prior mistress, Molly Adler, would welcome him back if he chose to pay her a visit. He had never officially ended relations with her; he had simply stopped calling. She had sent love notes, of course, but his interest had waned, and as an experienced London courtesan, she must have known to take another lover. But he had no doubt she would invite him into her bed if he chose to knock on her door.