Chapter 29
After using his handkerchief to gently wipe away the evidence of their lovemaking from Evelyn's body, Jack lay on his side, his hand resting on the lush curve of her hip. She curled into him, and he inhaled the intoxicating scent of lavender on her heated skin. Her eyes were closed, and she breathed heavily through parted lips. Gazing down at her, he couldn't help but marvel at what had happened between them.
There had been women in his past, but never had he experienced such a combination of physical and emotional satisfaction. When she knelt before him in all her naked splendor, his mind had drained of reason and his masculine instinct to claim and possess had raged through him like a beast. Her uninhibited response, her fierce climax, had been the catalyst that had heightened his own arousal.
He had no delusions as to what existed between them. She had hired him to do a job, to defend the man she wanted for her husband. Nothing that had occurred on the floor of his office, no matter how earth-shattering, had changed that fact.
She would leave here and go to Randolph Sheldon with the knowledge that no one would be the wiser as to what had transpired here. His jaw clenched, and a foreign stab of jealousy pierced his chest where his heart now felt like a lump of granite.
He should be grateful for her loyalty to another man because it served his purpose. He didn't want to feel this possessiveness for a woman, even if she was the precocious, but oddly charming girl from his past. He had always strived to maintain an emotional distance, as his career was the most important aspect of his life. If he had any sense, he would rise, help her dress, and send her on her way. Instead, his fingers lightly traced her breasts, her nipples firming under his touch.
She opened her eyes, and he was drawn by their mesmerizing blue depths. She pushed herself up on her elbows, and her hair, which had tumbled free from the knot she usually wore at her nape, curled over her shoulders and around the fullness of her breasts in thick golden waves. Dusky pink nipples thrust through the strands.
His cock instantly stiffened to iron as rampant need seared through him. His hot gaze traveled the length of her body.
Evelyn's cheeks flamed red, and she nervously bit her full, bottom lip. Reaching for her dress, she made to rise.
“Wait.” His hand snaked out to hold her arm.
She turned back. “I must leave.”
“Don't do this, Evie.”
“Do what?”
“Do not regret what happened between us.”
She glanced away. “It was wrong.”
“No, it was perfect.”
“You won't tell Randolph or my father?” she whispered several heartbeats later.
“I'll never breathe a word of what happened between us to anyone.”
She let out a long, audible breath. “Thank you.”
“Tell me, how did you come to be here without your chaperone?” he asked.
“I told everyone I was attending Lady Eaton's tea party. I arrived at your chambers by hackney.”
He grinned. “I trust this was much more enjoyable?”
Her lips trembled with a smile, and she laughed. “Jack Harding, how is it you can make light of anything?”
He shrugged. “It's part of my charm.”
He was relieved at the sight of her smile. He didn't want her distraught orâheaven forbidâwallowing in self-regret.
She stood and looked about for her undergarments. He had never bothered to remove her black silk stockings or garters, and when she bent down to retrieve her shift and drawers, he nearly groaned out loud at the tempting sight of her lush buttocks. She was perfectly formed, with the face of an angel and the body of a temptress. He had bedded her, and yet the need to bury himself deep within her again remained stronger than before.
She donned her undergarments and gown and gathered her hair in one hand across her shoulder. Turning her back to him, she said, “Will you help me with my buttons?”
It was an innocent request, and he knew she had no choice but to ask his aid as the tiny row of buttons ran down the entire length of her back. He stood and slipped on his trousers. Stepping close, his mouth watered at the sight of her creamy skin, and his fingers itched to delve inside the gaping fabric. He finished with the last buttonâand unable to resistâhe leaned down and brushed his lips over her neck.
She shuddered and turned in his arms. Thick lashes lowered and her attention riveted on his mouth. Her tongue licked her lower lip, wetting it. His already snug trousers grew painfully tight, and that was perilous. She needed to return home at once before he swept her off her feet, stripped her of her clothing, and made love to her again.
By sheer force of will, he stepped back and yanked her cloak off the chair and handed it to her.
“Go now, Evie,” he said hoarsely.
A probing query came in her eyes. “Jack, will what happened between us change anything?”
Her question was clear, but it felt like a solid punch to his gut. “Nothing will change. I'll be in touch regarding the case.”
She nodded, unlocked the door, and fled the chambers.
For long moments Jack stood still, staring at the door, as sweat beaded on his brow. He breathed in and out, willing his brain to resume control over his arousal. The seconds ticked by on the mantel clock.
Sheldon, she wants Randolph Sheldon,
he repeated the mantra over and over in his mind.
It made things much simpler for Jack Harding, the jury master. But the problem was, now that he had tasted her, how was he going to walk away and watch her go to another man?
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How could she have misjudged things so badly? Some deep part of her had truly believed that being with Jack intimately would have put an end to the maddening attraction she had for him.
But she had been terribly wrong.
“Are you well, m' lady?”
Evelyn's gaze snapped to Janet walking beside her. They were halfway down Bond Street, heading for the tea shop. Once again, Evelyn was on an errand for Lord Lyndale's newest medicinal tea. This time she sought a blend to assuage the painful varicose veins that plagued her father of late.
Her maid was looking at her curiously.
“I'm fine, Janet. Ah, here we are,” Evelyn said as they came to the tea shop.
Snapping her parasol shut, Evelyn opened the shop's doors. The bells chimed, announcing their presence to the shopkeeper. The man waved from behind the counter, recognizing his frequent customers.
Evelyn strolled around tables, perusing random tins of tea. Her mind was elsewhere as thoughts of yesterday returned. She had made it home without any member of the household suspecting her true whereabouts. She had immediately requested a hot bath and a dinner tray, and then went straight to bed.
She had dreamed of Jack.
She relived their brief time together. The warmth of his arms around her had been so male, so bracing, and she had soared higher and higher until she had exploded in a firestorm of sensations. And when he had touched her after they had already made love, she had wanted to do it all over again.
As the erotic images flashed through her mind, her blood pounded and her cheeks burned. She looked up, acutely conscious of the people milling about the crowded shop.
I must be a deviant
, she thought,
to have been so consumed by lust.
How could she have allowed him to make love to her? Or more disturbingly: How could she have desperately wanted him to? Perhaps that's what happened to women who waited too long to marry or to bed a man. Once they finally succumbed to passion they thought of little else.
But she knew it had more to do with Jack Harding than her age and lack of experience. He was a rare type of male. Handsome, confident, intelligent, and slightly dangerous. The combination was irresistible. She was not the first woman to be drawn to him.
She could blame the wine, but she was old enough to know better and to be honest with herself. She had been crazed with need. His power of persuasion in the courtroom had carried over into the bedroom. His seduction had been as ruthless as any legal campaign. He had stoked a growing fire within her until it had burst into flame, and her whole being had been consumed with wanting him.
Then there was her subconscious. That nagging voice that had needled her into her final capitulation for she knew it was her only chance to be with him before the true murderer was found and Jack's services were no longer required.
And with that thought, an image of Randolph Sheldon crystallized in her mind.
Dear Lord, what about Randolph?
Crippling guilt squeezed her heart like a tight fist.
Dare she tell Randolph what had happened? Although they weren't yet officially betrothed, they had an understanding. Her father liked Randolph and had kept him as his University Fellow, but he didn't approve of her marrying him. Evelyn had been confident that she could change her father's opinion, but then Bess Whitfield had been murdered and all her well-laid plans had come to a haltâwhich had led her straight to Jack Harding.
Jack had promised that nothing would change, that he would continue to represent Randolph and keep her apprised of the case. And then he had thrust her cloak in her arms and told her to leave. Her throat seemed to close up, and a new anguish seared her heart.
What did she expect? That Jack profess his undying love for her?
Jack had made no promises of affection, and why should he? She had repeatedly proclaimed that she wanted Randolph's name cleared so that they could marry.
And Jack was
not
the marrying kind.
But the question was: Could she keep what had occurred on the floor of Jack's office a secret forever and go through with her plans to marry Randolph?
She knew she wouldn't be the first woman to do so. Many were forced to marry men they didn't like, men many years their senior, even men they feared. She had heard of women that had successfully faked their virginity on their wedding nights.
But she had never wanted that for herself. She had thought she had found her perfect intellectual mate in Randolph. Could she have been wrong?
Don't be a fool, Evelyn,
her inner voice warned. Despite her guilt, she feared giving up Randolph because of one reckless experience. There was no future with Jack. He would move on to his next female conquest, and she would be left with nothing.
No Randolph.
No Jack.
Just spinster Evelyn.
A heaviness centered in her chest at the dreadful thought. She didn't want to be a spinster. Although she loved her father dearly, she wanted her own home, her own family. She didn't want to spend the next decade organizing her father's mountain of legal books on his library shelves, arranging his monthly dinners with the judges, or buying his medicinal teas.
So what was she to do?
“I found it, m' lady!”
Evelyn's attention was snapped to the present as Janet approached clutching two tins of tea to her bosom.
“Lord Lyndale is going to be pleased. This blend assures relief from varicose veins, and the other,” Janet said, thrusting forth a second tin in Evelyn's face, “promises comfort from constipation by loosening the bowels.”
Evelyn forced a smile, feeling as if her face would crack from the effort. “Splendid, Janet. Let us pay and be on our way.”
Evelyn made the purchases and they left the shop. No sooner had the door closed behind them than did another cry startle her.
Chapter 30
“Evelyn!”
Evelyn whirled around to spot Georgina Hamilton waving from three shops down. Wearing a vivacious orange walking dress and bonnet with matching ostrich feathers, Georgina rushed toward them, the plumes of her hat bouncing wildly.
“I thought that was you, Evelyn. I missed you at my tea. Please tell me you are feeling well?” Georgina asked.
Evelyn knew Georgina was referring to the illness she had faked in order to excuse herself from Georgina's feminist gathering.
“I'm feeling much better, Georgina. Thank you for inquiring. I hope you had an entertaining afternoon with the other ladies?”
“I was concerned by your letter. Your condition sounded alarmingly like my uncle who suffers from incurable consumption.” Georgina turned a worried glance to Janet standing beside them. “Has a doctor seen Lady Evelyn?”
Janet looked to Evelyn, then back to Georgina. The maid's brown eyes were wide with uncertainty. Her mouth floundered open and closed.
Evelyn quickly entwined her arm with Georgina's and drew her aside. “Janet upsets easily. But I'm fine now, and I apologize for alarming you. Now tell me about yourself. Has your mother relinquished hopes of a match with Lucas Crawford?”
The diversion worked, and Georgina's face twisted with displeasure. “No, Mother has invited his family to visit our country residence in Somersetshire next week. It's not the thought of a full week of Lucas's courtship that distresses me, but rather the dreaded anticipated scrutiny of two overbearing mothers!”
“Oh, Georgina.”
A glimmer of hope lit Georgina's eyes. “Will you come with me to Somersetshire, Evelyn? It would be delightful to have a friend. Father wouldn't mind.”
Panic welled in her throat accompanied by an overwhelming urge to flee. A vivid image of Viscount Hamilton crouched on the floor of Bess Whitfield's bedroom, prying up floorboards, blasted through Evelyn's mind.
Dear Lord, to sleep under the same roof as Hamilton! The notion was unfathomable. But worse yet was the thought that her friend's father was their lead suspect in the murder of his own mistress.
How could she ever confess such information to her friend?
Evelyn held up her recent purchase from the tea shop. “I'm so sorry, Georgina, but I cannot leave Father and go to the country with you. He hasn't been feeling well of late, and I am not free to leave him alone. I must return home now as he is waiting for his medicinal tea.”
“I understand. Please send Lord Lyndale my best.” Georgina hugged her and waved as she stepped inside a carriage bearing the Hamilton crest.
Evelyn headed back to where Janet waited. Sourness settled in the pit of her stomach, like an old wound that ached on a rainy day. There was no question, she was suffering from guilt.
Guilt over her actions with Jack. Guilt over keeping secrets from Randolph. Guilt over her treatment of Georgina.
The simple had become complex. She had started out seeking to protect Randolph from prosecution until the true murderer was arrested so that she could proceed with her marriage plans. Now, the lives of others she cared deeply for could be ruined andâsolely because of her recklessnessâher heart lay in perilous danger.
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It was a Friday evening in early June when Lord Lyndale's monthly dinner party with the judges arrived. Evelyn's father and the Lordships Bathwell and Barnes were comfortably seated in the drawing room, brandies in hand, engaged in a heated debate over the controversial Corn Laws while Evelyn rushed about seeing to the final details of the evening meal. She was just leaving the kitchen with Mrs. Smith when a knock on the door drew their attention.
“Hodges is in the cellar fetching the wine,” Mrs. Smith said as she started for the door.
Although Mrs. Smith's large girth blocked Evelyn's view of the doorway, the deep timbre of Jack Harding's unmistakable voice washed over her like warm spring rain.
It was the first she had seen him since they had made love in his chambers days ago. He stepped inside, and Mrs. Smith took his cloak. He thanked and smiled at the housekeeper, and the elder woman beamed at the attention and bobbed a curtsy. Then spotting Evelyn, his grin flashed briefly, dazzling against his bronze skin.
Striking in his impeccably cut black-and-white evening attire, his tall, well-muscled frame moved with an easy grace as he approached Evelyn.
“Lady Evelyn, my apologies. I had a court appearance that lasted longer than anticipated. I trust I am not too late.”
Aware of Mrs. Smith's presence, Evelyn politely smiled. “Not at all, Mr. Harding. The others are in the drawing room engaged in a lively discussion over the repeal of one of Parliament's laws.”
“Splendid.”
She led the way to the drawing room, aware of the power that coiled within him as he walked beside her.
Lord Lyndale rose to greet Jack.
“Jack, you are just in time to set the record straight. Pray tell us your opinion of the Corn Laws.”
Jack took an armchair between Lordships Bathwell and Barnes. Both judges eyed Jack with calculating expressions.
Evelyn held her breath as she sat beside her father and wondered how Jack would handle himself with the two opinionated lordships.
Bathwell, a squat fellow with beady eyes, had a ring of gray hair around a shiny scalp and small, yellow teeth that resembled a ferret's. Barnes, on the other hand, was a brawny man with a thick neck and a chest as broad as an armoire. Seated between the two judges, Jack's tall physique and commanding air of self-confidence distinguished him from a typical barrister.
“I must confess I am agreeable to the growing movement of repealing the Corn Laws. They may have been useful in the past, but the market is changing, and the country would benefit from increased imports of wheat from the Baltic region,” Jack said.
Lord Lyndale and Barnes nodded in agreement, while a cold, congested expression settled on Bathwell's face.
“I'm not surprised by your opinion on the matter, Mr. Harding,” Lord Bathwell said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “As a seasoned criminal barrister who has ensured the freedom of countless criminals at the expense of the Crown's prosecution and the good citizens of London, I understand why you would favor the repeal of a vitally important law. Criminal barristers always do what's expedient and in their best monetary interests.”
Evelyn stifled a gasp. She knew Bathwell was hardhearted when it came to a defendant's pleas at sentencing. Hannah Ware came to mind. The indigent widow had admitted to stealing. Her reasons for committing the crimeâto feed her six starving childrenâwouldn't have mattered if Bathwell had sat on the bench. The dogmatic judge would have denied Hannah benefit of clergy. But to accuse Jack of being a selfish criminal barrister, devoted to amassing his own wealth at the expense of the Crown and the citizens of London?
Ludicrous.
At one time, she had ignorantly thought the same. Now she knew better. Yes, Jack Harding did get paid to represent defendants accused of crimes, but he also selflessly volunteered his services for the destitute. His
pro bono
activities had spared Hannah Ware a harsh sentence, perhaps even the death penalty.
Quiet descended in the room. Barnes and Lord Lyndale looked at Bathwell, then at Jack. Evelyn thought Jack would take offense to Bathwell's inflammatory statement.
What barrister wouldn't?
But Jack sat back in his chair, his mouth twitching with amusement. “I appreciate your sentiments regarding my success in the courtroom, my lord, but I can assure you this: Criminal barristers such as myself do perform a most valuable service for the Crown's prosecution.”
“What might that be?” Bathwell asked.
“Top prosecutors would find how easily they would be able to obtain convictions tedious. They would leave in droves out of sheer boredom. Imagine what would become of the Crown's prosecution then?” Jack said.
Barnes guffawed at Jack's outrageous statement. “A point well made, Mr. Harding.”
Lord Lyndale chimed in. “There's no more effective method of losing talent than through boredom and tediousness.”
Bathwell nodded grudgingly. “I should have known better than to debate you, Mr. Harding. Despite my comments, I'm glad you decided to join us this evening.”
The tight knot within Evelyn eased. Whatever anxiety she had about Jack Harding fitting in with the imposing judges was clearly misplaced.
He's a smooth talker, no matter the situation thrust upon him,
she thought.
Dinner was announced, and the men rose to follow Evelyn and her father to the dining room. Evelyn had carefully set out the seating arrangements, but at the last minute, Lord Lyndale altered her plans.
“Evelyn, as our new guest, I would like Mr. Harding to sit beside me tonight. I'm sure Lordships Barnes and Bathwell will be amenable.”
The judges nodded, affirming the decision, and Evelyn had no choice but to sit beside Jack. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought her father planned it that way.
Nonsense. Father isn't coy or overly subtle. If he wanted Jack Harding to sit beside his daughter, he would come right out and say so.
Or would he?
She frowned at her thoughts. She knew her father didn't approve of Randolph as a future son-in-law, but that didn't mean he wanted Jack Harding to step in and assume the role. Father had never suggested such a thing in the past. It was her overactive imagination.
That and her mounting guilt over what she had done.
She sat still as the first course of turtle soup was served. The legal discussions that had interested her in the past barely registered. Instead, she was highly conscious of the man seated beside her.
The first course was taken away, and the second served. Droll conversation drifted around her, failing to penetrate her hazy senses. She stole sideways glimpses of Jack's strong hands holding his fork, reaching for his wine goblet. Images of those hands stroking her breasts, the curve of her hip, and lower still . . . pervaded her mind.
Jack turned to Evelyn. “Eat something, Evie,” he whispered in her ear. “Are you well?”
Evelyn met his stare. His inquiring green eyes, serious face, and the clear-cut lines of his profile, were devastatingly handsome. His aquiline nose, square jaw, and firm sensual mouth would captivate the attention of any woman.
“I'm not hungry.”
“You don't want your father to worry, do you?”
She dutifully raised her fork.
He placed his napkin on his lap, and his thigh brushed her skirts. The scent of his shaving soapâclean and masculineâreached her, and her reaction was maddeningly swift. A slow swirl grew in the pit of her stomach.
The meal was endless. A footman took her dinner plate, but she knew dessert was yet to arriveâstrawberries and Devonshire cream. She tried not to glance at Jack as he consumed the fragrant berries.
At last her father set down his fork, and she sighed with relief as the dessert plates were cleared from the table. Coffee in the library, accompanied by cigars and port would follow.
She stood, and the guests followed Lord Lyndale to his prized library. The judges and Jack took seats by the fireplace, her father sat in an armchair before his desk.
Evelyn had always remained in the library in the past, serving coffee. Even though women never interrupted the men's after-dinner cigars and port, her father was not conventional when it came to his daughter and had allowed her to stay. Barnes and Bathwell had known her since she was a child and were both accustomed to her father's eccentricities. The fact that both judges were fond of their coffeeâand she dutifully kept their cups fullâno doubt aided her cause.
But tonight was different for Evelyn; she was restless and agitated. Jack's presence disturbed her senses and served to add to her mounting guilt. The significance was not lost on her that she would have previously found tonight's conversation intellectually stimulating. Rather than listen intently, however, she felt as if the library walls were closing in on her, and the high collar of her gown was slowly squeezing off her air supply.
Barnes asked for more coffee. Evelyn reached for the half-full coffeepot.
“I'm afraid it is empty, my lord.” she lied. Rather than pull the servants' cord, she murmured an excuse, grasped the pot, and rushed from the room.
She hurried to the kitchen. Her chest was tight, her lungs lacking adequate oxygen. Since the meal was over, the kitchen was empty save for a young scullery maid. The air was redolent with the aroma of roast lamb and potatoes from the evening meal. Evelyn handed the pot to the maid with instructions to send a full pot back to the library. The maid scurried to do her bidding. Rather than return to the library, Evelyn hastened past the ovens still radiating heat, long worktables laden with various kitchen utensils, and pots hanging from iron racks, to the back door leading out of the kitchen.