The Bride Hunt (11 page)

Once again she took off her glasses and rubbed the lenses with her napkin. “Maybe, Sir Gideon, we’re asking the impossible, but I was given to understand that you specialized in impossibilities. We are not prepared to lose
The Mayfair Lady.
It provides us with a necessary livelihood, both the broadsheet and the Go-Between. We would never get clients for that service from among our own social circle if they knew whom they were dealing with. That must be obvious to you.”

“The Go-Between . . . that’s some kind of matchmaking service that you advertise. I didn’t realize you ran it yourselves.” He sounded both amused and faintly incredulous.

Prudence said as coldly as before, “Believe it or not, Sir Gideon, we’re doing rather well with it. You’d be surprised at the unlikely matches we’ve managed to make.” She said nothing further as the pair of waiters returned, did what they had to, and left them with veal scaloppini on their plates and a very fine claret in their glasses.

Gideon sampled both wine and veal before he said with a slight shake of his head, “You and your sisters are certainly an enterprising trio.”

Prudence, still holding her glasses in her lap, directed her myopic gaze at him. Immediately she remembered that this was a mistake. Whenever she took off her glasses his expression changed unnervingly. She put them back on and now fixed him with a deep frown between her brows and a hard glare behind her lenses. Everything in her expression indicated conviction and the absolute determination to deal with the impossible. “Enterprising or not, we have to win this case. It’s as simple as that.”

“Simple as that,” Gideon said, nodding slowly. “I am to put a sheet of newspaper on the witness stand. Just supposing we set that difficulty aside, there is another one. Would you mind telling me exactly how you propose defending the publication’s accusations of fraud and cheating?”

“I told you earlier, Sir Gideon, that we have a fairly good idea where to find the evidence.”

He touched a finger to his lips. “Forgive me, Miss Duncan, but I’m not sure that that assertion is sufficient.”

“You will have to find it so. I cannot at this point be more specific.” She sipped from her wineglass, clasped her hands on the table, and leaned towards him. “We need a barrister of your standing. Sir Gideon. We’re offering a case that you should find challenging. My sisters and I are not hapless defendants. We’re more than capable of acting vigorously in our defense.”

“And are you capable of paying my fee, Miss Duncan?” He regarded her now with unmistakable amusement, his eyebrows lifted a fraction.

Prudence hadn’t expected the question but she didn’t hesitate. “No,” she said.

He nodded. “As I thought.”

Her frown deepened. “How could you have known?”

He shrugged. “It’s part of my business sense, Miss Duncan. I’m assuming that your brother-in-law, Max Ensor, is not offering to support you.”

Prudence felt the heat again rise to her cheeks. “Constance . . . we . . . would never ask him to do so. And he would not expect it. This is our enterprise. Constance is financially independent of her husband.”

His eyebrows lifted another notch. “Unusual.”

“We are not usual women, Sir Gideon. Which is why we’re offering you the case,” Prudence declared with sublime indifference to the realities. “If we win—and we
will
win, because our cause is just—then we’ll happily divide the damages at whatever proportion you dictate. But we cannot broach our anonymity.”

“You think you will win because your cause is just?” He laughed, and it was the derisive laugh she detested. “Just what makes you think the justice of your cause guarantees justice in the courts? Don’t be naive, Miss Duncan.”

Prudence smiled at him without warmth. “That, Sir Gideon, KC, is precisely why you will take our case. You like to fight, and the best fights are those that are hardest to win. Our backs are against the wall, and if we lose, we lose our livelihood. Our father loses his illusions and we will have failed our mother.”

She spread her hands in a gesture of offering. “Can you resist a battle with such stakes?”

He looked at her. “Were you designated spokeswoman because of your persuasive tongue, Prudence, or was there another reason?”

“We divide our duties according to circumstance,” she responded tartly, noticing only belatedly that he had used her first name for the first time. “Either of my sisters would have willingly tackled you, but they had other things to do.”

“Tackled me?” He laughed, and this time it was with pure enjoyment. “I have to tell you, Prudence, that you’d have done a better job of tackling me without the . . .” He waved an expressive hand. “Without the playacting . . . that prim smile and that ghastly dress.” He shook his head. “I have to tell you, my dear, that it’s simply not convincing. Either you improve your acting skills or you give up the pretense. I know perfectly well that you’re a sophisticated woman. I also know that you’re educated and you don’t suffer fools gladly. So I would ask that you stop treating me like one.”

Prudence sighed. “It was not my intention to do so. I wanted to be certain you took me seriously. I didn’t want to come across as some flighty Society flibbertigibbet.”

“Oh, believe me, Miss Duncan, that you could never do.” The disconcerting smile was in his eyes again, and she hadn’t even taken off her glasses.

Prudence took the plunge. She had to at some point and it would at least banish that smile. “Very well,” she said. “Will you take the case?”

Chapter 7

T
here was a moment of silence, broken by the return of the waiters. Prudence sat quietly until they had left. She was aware of a sinking feeling in her stomach, a slight quiver in her hands that were now clasped in her lap. She had hazarded everything on that one throw of the dice. If he said no, it was over. She had no other arguments, no further powers of persuasion.

The waiters left a cheese board, a bowl of grapes, a basket of nuts and fresh figs. They set a port decanter on the table at Gideon’s right hand, then melted away.

Gideon offered her port, and when she declined with a quick shake of her head, filled his own glass. He gestured to the offerings on the table, and again she declined, watching as he helped himself to Stilton and snipped a small bunch of grapes from the branch with the tiny scissors.

“So,” she prompted, when she could bear the silence no longer. “Will you defend us?”

“What a terrier you are,” he observed, taking a sip of port.

“Will you?”

Gideon opened his mouth to give her the answer he had always intended to give, but his tongue seemed to have a life of its own. To his astonishment, he heard himself say, “Yes.”

Prudence felt quite weak with relief. “I thought you were going to refuse,” she said.

“So did I,” he agreed aridly. “I had no intention of saying yes.”

“But you can’t change your mind now,” she said swiftly. “You said yes. You can’t renege.”

“No, I don’t suppose I can.” He returned to his cheese and grapes with a little shrug of resignation. He was not an impulsive man. Lawyers, by definition, were never swayed by such an unreliable force. So, if his agreement was not impulsive, what was it? An interesting question to be explored at leisure.

Prudence drank the last of her claret. He didn’t sound exactly enthusiastic about the prospect of the case. Did that mean he wouldn’t take too much trouble over it? Would the fact that they couldn’t pay him limit the amount of time he would spend?

She took a deep breath. “If you don’t think you can give the case all your attention, I think it would be best if you
did
decline after all.”

He looked at her, his eyes suddenly sharp, his mouth hard. “What are you implying?”

Prudence began to regret she’d brought up the subject. But since she had, she could see little choice but to continue. “You seem ambivalent,” she said. “And since we can’t pay you, I thought—”

He interrupted her, one hand raised in emphasis. “You thought that I would take on a case and fail to give it my full professional attention. Is that what you thought, Miss Duncan?” His tone was harsh, his voice, while still soft and well modulated, was incredulous. “What kind of barrister do you think I am?”

“An expensive one,” she said, refusing to be cowed. “I wondered if you had a sliding scale of fees appropriate to the amount of effort you expended. I wouldn’t call that unethical. In most circumstances one pays for the service one gets.”

“I have never,
ever
taken on a case to which I did not devote every ounce of my legal knowledge, intellect, and energy,” he declared, quietly enunciating every single word. “I give you fair warning, Miss Duncan. Do not
ever
impugn my professional integrity again.” He flung down his table napkin and rang the little bell with considerable vigor.

Prudence could think of nothing to say. She was taken aback by the force of his reaction but supposed she had unwittingly trampled on his pride. Something to be careful of in the future. She made a mental note.

“Let’s move back to the fire for coffee,” he suggested as the waiters reappeared with a tray of coffee. His voice was once again pleasantly neutral. He rose from the table and drew back her chair for her.

Prudence stood up and picked up her handbag. “Would you excuse me for a minute?” She looked expectantly towards the door.

“This way, madam.” One of the waiters moved to the door instantly and she followed him. He showed her to a small water closet just down the corridor, well equipped with basin and mirror, soap and towels. Again more suited to a private residence than a restaurant. She took a few minutes to compose herself, dabbing cool water on her wrists. She ought to feel jubilant at her victory. But instead she felt uneasy, even slightly deflated. This partnership was not going to be easy to manage. Gideon Malvern was not going to be easy to manage. And somehow they had to find a way to pay him for his services. The Duncan pride was a pretty fierce variety too. An idea nibbled at the corners of her mind. She found herself smiling. It was such a perfect solution. But would the barrister find it so?

She went back to the drawing room and took her seat on the sofa once more, accepting a cup of coffee from her host. She cleared her throat. “I would like to discuss the question of your fee, Sir Gideon.”

“Certainly,” he said promptly. “If Barclay fails to prove his case, he’ll be required to pay all the legal costs, yours as well as his own. And in addition I’ll be asking the court to award damages to
The Mayfair Lady,
whose reputation was damaged by his frivolous suit. If, therefore, Miss Duncan, we should win—and mind you, it’s a big if—then my share over and above my fee, which will be paid by the other side, will be eighty percent of the damages awarded.”

Prudence absorbed this, keeping her expression neutral. Then she said coolly, “I understand you’re divorced, Sir Gideon.”

He drew his head back like a startled cat. “What has that to do with anything?”

“It must be difficult to bring up a child, particularly a daughter, without a wife.” She stirred her coffee.

“I don’t find it so,” he said, watching her with a frown in his eyes. “And I fail to see what this has to do with my terms. You accept them or you don’t.”

She took a sip of her coffee and set the tiny cup back into the saucer. “Well, you see, I have a rather more equitable suggestion.”

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows. Against his will he was intrigued. He had expected some shock, if not downright outrage at his proposed split. Certainly not this cool, considered reaction. “How so?”

“An old-fashioned barter, Sir Gideon. An exchange of services.” She leaned forward to put her cup and saucer on the table. “In exchange for your legal services the Go-Between will undertake to find you a wife and a stepmother for your daughter.”

“What?”
He stared at her, incapable of coherent thought for a minute.

“It’s simple enough, surely. Of course, if we fail to find you the right partner, then the eighty-twenty split will stand.” She smiled placidly. “And even if we lose our case, we will still hold true to our side of the bargain. We will find you a wife.” She opened her hands again. “How can you lose?”

“How, indeed?” he murmured with a soundless whistle at this mixture of effrontery and ingenuity. “But as it happens, Miss Duncan, I am not in the market for a wife.”

“You may not be looking actively, but if the right prospect dropped into your lap, surely you would not be averse. A life’s companion, a mother for your daughter. It’s very hard for a daughter to grow up without a mother’s influence.”

“Believe it or not, one divorce is plenty,” he said, his lips suddenly thinned. He moved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Plenty for me, and I’m sure more than enough for any child. But you wouldn’t know, would you, Miss Duncan? Husbands have not come your way.”

Prudence was unperturbed by this cutting statement. Gideon Malvern was not to know that her unmarried status was a matter of sublime indifference to her. She ignored the snub, and considered. She wanted to ask him who had been responsible for the divorce, but couldn’t get her tongue around the words. It seemed far too intrusive a question under the circumstances.

“Yes,” she said. “I can see that. Once bitten, twice shy. But a second failed marriage doesn’t necessarily follow from a first.” She steepled her hands, touching them to her mouth. “You don’t have to agree to anything except to let us suggest some possibilities. As we work together and get to know you better, we’ll have a much clearer idea of the kind of woman who might suit you.”

Gideon was not accustomed to delivering a coup de grâce and having it ignored. He looked at her with renewed interest as he said brusquely, “It’s a ridiculous idea. I have no time for romantic fantasies.”

“Ah, but what I’m suggesting is the antithesis of romantic fantasy,” Prudence pressed. “I’m merely suggesting that we come up with some possible candidates, you look them over. If there are any that interest you, we’ll arrange a meeting. No strings. As I said before, how can you lose?”

He had a sense that Miss Duncan wasn’t going to give up easily. His interest grew, although it had nothing to do with her proposition. More to do with the set of her head and that aura of firmly competent determination, he decided. So ludicrously at odds with her prim and dowdy exterior.

He supposed it could do no harm to agree to this absurd bargain. It might be amusing to play along for a while—and even useful to discover how the Duncan sisters worked. He shrugged and said, “I won’t stop you trying, but I should warn you, I’m a very hard man to please. I think I’ll rely on the eighty-twenty split.”

“Assuming we win.”

“I don’t often lose,” he said.

“And we don’t often fail,” she returned in much the same calmly superior tone. “So, we have a bargain?” She held out her hand.

“If you insist.” He took the hand.

“Oh, you may think you’re humoring me, Sir Gideon, but you’ll be surprised,” Prudence said with rather more confidence than she felt.

He inclined his head in half-laughing acknowledgment. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m skeptical. But as you say, I can’t lose.”

“Then I think we have brought this evening to a satisfactory conclusion,” Prudence stated.

“Must we conclude?” he asked. “I hate to close a social evening on a business note.” His gray eyes had gone dark as coal and Prudence found her own eyes focused on his mouth. A very sensual mouth, she realized, with a long upper lip and a deep cleft in his chin.

“It was a business evening, Sir Gideon,” she declared, rising to her feet.

“Do you wear your glasses all the time?”

“If I want to see,” she said with asperity. “And as it happens, I’m more interested in good eyesight than my appearance.”

“That I doubt,” he said. “I hope to see you in your true colors next time we meet.”

“The appearance I choose to present depends upon the impression I choose to make,” she responded stiffly. “Could you ring for my coat, please?”

He stepped over to the table and rang the handbell, then turned back to her, a slightly quizzical smile touching his mouth. “Is there a man in your life, Prudence?”

The direct question astounded her, and to her annoyance she found herself answering it as directly. “No, not at present.”

His smile deepened. “Has there ever been?”

Her eyes flashed. “I fail to see what business that is of yours, Sir Gideon. I am your client, my personal life does not enter into our business relationship.”

“I was merely interested in discovering whether you used your own services,” he said. “It would be something of a recommendation, don’t you think?”

There was no possible answer to that. Fortunately, the reappearance of the waiter in response to the summons made her silence unremarkable. Gideon asked for their coats and gave orders for his motor to be brought round from the mews. Then he turned back to Prudence. The smile had gone.

“So,” he said, “to avoid any further misconceptions, let me make one thing clear: your personal business is about to become mine. Yours and your sisters’. No area of your lives will be immune from my questions.”

Prudence stared at him. It was the most inflammatory statement, made all the more so by his manner, so relaxed, so cool, and so infuriatingly confident. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s quite simple. I am now your barrister. And in that capacity I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you and your sisters some very personal questions. I have to know everything about you. I can’t risk any surprises in court.”

“How could there be surprises in court when no one will know who we are?”

“I win cases by leaving nothing to chance,” he responded. “And if you and your sisters can’t guarantee me your complete cooperation, then I’m afraid our bargain is null and void.”

Prudence frowned. She could see his point, but deeply resented his tone. “You may find it a case of the biter bit, Sir Gideon,” she said. “In order to find a suitable match for you, we too will have to ask some very personal questions.”

“There is one difference. I may choose not to answer yours since I’m less interested in finding a suitable mate than you’re interested in preserving your livelihood. Your stakes are much greater than mine, Prudence, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Prudence recognized that that was game, set, and match. “I think we have nothing further to discuss this evening.”

“Perhaps not,” he agreed amiably. He took her coat from the waiter, who had returned, and helped her into it. He put on his own heavy overcoat and driving gloves as she tied her scarf around her head.