Читать книгу In the Barrister's Bed - Tina Gabrielle - Страница 14

Chapter 8

“The duke requested you join him downstairs for the evening meal.”

Bella sat at a mahogany writing table in the corner of her bedchamber. Her notebook was open before her, the page blank. Whatever aspirations she’d had for writing had vanished for the day. She turned to see Harriet standing in the doorway, a look of expectation on the older woman’s face.

“Kindly give the duke my apologies and tell the new cook, Mrs. O’Brien, to prepare a dinner tray to be brought to my bedchamber,” Bella said.

Bella was tired from today’s events, and sitting across the table from Blackwood was the last thing she desired. Besieged by confusing emotions, she sought the comforting solitude of her room.

“He’ll want to hear it from you,” Harriet said.

Bella sighed. “I’ll write a note and have it delivered to him then.”

Harriet stepped into the room and shut the door. “You must meet him on equal footing, Bella. It is your house and you should dine downstairs rather than cloister yourself in your bedchamber.”

Bella raised her hand and stood. “Not tonight, Harriet. I spent enough time in his presence this afternoon.”

Harriet sat on the window seat and patted the cushion beside her. “Sit, Bella.”

Bella sighed and sat beside the elder woman. Harriet’s wizened eyes traveled Bella’s face as if looking for something amiss. “Tell me what happened.”

Bella bit her bottom lip, then blurted out, “He kissed me.”

Harriet’s face brightened. “Indeed. How was it?”

How was it? It was a kiss Bella wouldn’t easily forget. Just thinking of his lips brushing hers was enough to make the blood rush through her veins.

His first day here and she had fallen victim to his charm, had actually kissed him back. She had been overcome by the beauty of the landscape, the comforting warmth of the sun, and the virile man stretched out on the bank beside her. She had been entranced by the bitter sadness of his face—however brief the flicker of emotion—when he had mentioned his family’s abandonment. And when his arms had wrapped around her as he had demonstrated how to skip a stone, she had been foolishly swept away by an awakening yearning.

He was a skilled kisser, and no doubt a skilled lover. She couldn’t help but wonder—what would it be like to bed the duke? Her experience was limited to Roger, and based on James’s kiss alone she suspected the experience would be vastly different.

But Blackwood’s motives were questionable. He was devastatingly attractive and unscrupulous enough to take any woman. Combined with his title, she suspected females would be attracted to him in droves. Bella was nothing more than his opponent.

So why kiss her?

Harriet frowned, her eyes level under drawn brows. “Did the duke hurt you?”

Hurt her? Heavens, no.

James hadn’t even held her as he kissed her. It had been marvelous, gentle, and thrilling, and the degree to which she had responded stunned her. She could never admit, even to Harriet, that it had been he who had broken their kiss.

“No, he did not hurt me,” Bella said. “Yet he is trying to manipulate me. He wants me gone from Wyndmoor Manor.”

“You may be right. But how was the kiss?”

Harriet could be as tenacious as a terrier when she sought information.

“It was pleasant,” Bella answered.

Harriet eyed her as she had when Bella had stolen a sweet from the pantry. “You feared he’d be like Roger? You shouldn’t. Roger was nothing but a sick bastard, he was.”

Bella’s gut clenched just thinking of her deceased husband’s sexual attentions. Roger had only approached her after he had drunk no less than four tankards of ale. He had been mean without alcohol, but combined with spirits he was downright cruel.

It was then that he’d demand his marital rights. He’d douse the fireplace, insist she disrobe before him and stand still in the center of their bedchamber. She’d often tremble from the cold and dread, knowing what was to follow. As a young bride, she had been horrified to discover that he needed to inflict pain and fear in order to stimulate himself.

Bella was prideful by nature, and she had glared up at Roger in hatred. Often his frustration and ire would take control, and he would wrench her arm, push her to the floor before him, and strike her. After the first months of their marriage, he was unable to perform sexually, and he’d viciously berate her, repeatedly ranting that she was inadequate as a woman and not worthy to be his wife. She had prayed his visits to her bedchamber would stop, but to no avail. Her only consolation was he’d not been able to bed her.

She’d soon heard of whispers from the servants that Roger had whores enter through the kitchen door. Rumors abounded that the women were skilled at dominating Roger, inflicting pain upon him. That he’d paid to be whipped with his own riding crop.

Bella had been shocked, for Roger had always seemed to thrive on enforcing his power over her, whether by isolating her on the estate grounds or coming to her bedchamber. If only she had known of his sick deviancy, she would have gladly offered to whip him for free.

Harriet reached out and took Bella’s hands in hers. “What I’m saying, luv, is that there is nothing wrong with you as a woman. I always worried your husband’s sickness and belittling had wounded you more than any physical abuse. Despite the circumstances that brought the duke here, I’m glad he kissed you. A little attention from a handsome man like Blackwood proves my point. Not all men are like Roger.”

“What about our fight over the manor?” Bella said.

“One kiss doesn’t mean you’re handing it over to him,” Harriet said.

Bella kept her features deceptively composed. “I do not trust him.” I do not trust myself with him, she thought. Any more attention from James could put her future plans at perilous risk.

James sat at the head of the table in the formal dining room as the footman delivered the first course. The new cook, the servant Bella had hired, had prepared a delicious turtle soup.

Even after Coates had handed him the note from Bella, James had decided to remain and dine at the manor rather than at the Twin Rams Inn. He needed to stake his claim, both with the servants and the striking woman upstairs.

Which led James to thinking about Bella Sinclair for the hundredth time that evening. He wondered what she was eating, and if she was dressed in the same pristine nightgown that covered every inch of her body down to her pretty feet that she had worn the first time he had seen her.

Was she sitting in bed enjoying the same soup or eating cold roast beef instead? And why did he give a damn what she was consuming? Except the thought of her in bed doing anything made him feel hot and heavy all over again.

One kiss. One kiss and he felt like a randy schoolboy with his hand caught beneath a girl’s skirt.

He dropped the spoon and it slid into the soup. This wouldn’t do. He’d have to get out despite his intentions. He threw his napkin on the table and rose. He would go to the Twin Rams, where strong spirits, a lively conversation with Anthony and Brent, and maybe the coy smile of a willing barmaid could distract his mind from the woman who slept under his roof.

Sleep eluded Bella that night. Her blood soared with unbidden memories, and her mind relived the velvet warmth of James’s kiss. The gentle persuasiveness of his lips had been as unexpected as her lustful response. She raised her fingertips to her own lips and imagined his perfect, firm mouth exploring hers.

It was well past midnight and her bedcovers were a tangled mess from her fitful tossing and turning. In the quiet solitude of her room, her thoughts ran free. She was helpless to stop herself from pondering the scandalous. What would it feel like to have him kiss more of her skin?

She fantasized about just that—his lips urgent and exploratory, searing her neck, her shoulders. He would leisurely lavish attention on her breasts, her nipples firming instantly under his touch. His touch arousing, but never painful. His tongue would lick a path down her ribs to her stomach, his hands roving lower still, to the pulsing ache between her thighs.

A moan slipped through her lips. She sat up and pushed the twisted covers aside. Scrambling to her feet, she flung the window open wide and inhaled deeply, hoping the cool night air would quench her overheated skin.

What had overcome her? James Devlin had come to Wyndmoor Manor and in a day he had succeeded in driving all logic and caution from her head. She was twenty-four years old, a widow of a seven-year marriage, and she had never truly experienced passion. For the first time, she suffered the dull ache of desire at the thought of a man.

But why in heaven’s name did it have to be for this man? She was a nuisance to him, and he had clearly stated his intentions toward her.

I always win in the courtroom.

She gripped the windowsill, her body suddenly engulfed in weariness and despair. Her eyes burned dryly from sleeplessness. She needed to sleep for whatever hours were left of the night. She needed to be prepared to face him tomorrow.

Harriet had always fixed her a cup of warm milk laced with brandy when she had difficulty sleeping after Roger had left her room. Bella’s hand reached for the bell pull, but she hesitated.

She didn’t want to wake the old woman. There was no longer the risk that she would run into Roger walking the halls at night. The first and last time that had occurred, Roger had flown into a jealous rage and had accused her of meeting a lover. He had locked her in her room for a week. Even Harriet was prohibited from attending to her. Bella had almost gone mad, and she had never again ventured out at night without Harriet beside her.

But life was different now. Harriet had overheard Blackwood tell his manservant that he was going out after dinner to the Twin Rams to meet his friends and would not return until late. Bella could go downstairs, fix herself a cup of warm milk, and even wander the halls if she chose. She could relive the first night she had slept in the house, oblivious of Blackwood’s impending claim.

Lifting a bedside candle, she opened the door. She was at the top of the stairs when a trill of feminine laughter echoed off the marble vestibule. Then came a distinct male laugh that Bella knew belonged to Blackwood.

She froze, like a bird that had flown into a stone wall.

How dare he!

She had just lain restless, burning with her first taste of desire because of his kiss, and he was returning to her house from a night of drinking and carousing with a woman.

Bella rushed down the stairs to see Blackwood hand his hat and a woman’s cloak to Coates, who, in turn, nodded when he spotted Bella clutching the balustrade, then discreetly disappeared.

The woman’s hand rested on Blackwood’s sleeve, her golden hair swept up in an elegant coiffure, her blue eyes exotically slanted like those of a Persian cat. She was stunning, and Bella suspected she was an expensive Cyprian that only a duke could afford.

Bella’s spine stiffened. If Blackwood thought he could bring this type of woman into the house he was gravely mistaken.

Blackwood and his ladybird looked to her. “Bella,” he drawled. “I hadn’t suspected you were a night owl.”

She lifted her chin and boldly met his eyes. “Get out. I don’t care that you are a duke or a barrister or if you were first to record the deed. I won’t stand by and permit you to bring women here. Go back to the Twin Rams and rent a room,” she ordered in a voice that brooked no argument.

To her dismay, a chuckle rumbled from his throat. “I warned you about sharing a residence with a bachelor. It’s not too late to reconsider,” he said.

Bella’s breaths came in ragged gasps. “Don’t you dare mock me, Your Grace.”

Amusement lurked in his eyes. “Don’t tell me that we’re back to rigid formality again.”

The blonde pursed her lips at Blackwood, her eyes flashing a gentle but firm warning. “Stop instigating, James, and introduce me.”

James. The woman had called him James.

Her familiar manner and use of his Christian name suggested that she was no random trollop he had brought home for the evening, but someone with whom he shared a relationship. A longtime mistress, perhaps?

The nauseating sinking in the pit of her stomach was as confusing as it was distressing.

“If you insist. Although I admit her reaction is highly amusing.” James made a sweeping motion with his hand. “Bella, may I introduce Lady Evelyn Harding, the wife of my good friend and legal colleague, Jack Harding.”

Lady Evelyn stepped forward and smiled. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I do apologize for the late hour. My husband and I hadn’t planned on visiting until several days from now, but his trial was postponed and we decided to arrive straightaway. We would have arrived hours ago at a decent time, but our coach threw a wheel. We were stranded on the road until, as luck would have it, James was returning home from the Twin Rams and spotted us. My husband is seeing to the horses in the stable as we speak. I had hoped we’d only have to disturb the young stable lad from his sleep.”

Bella blinked and gazed at the smiling blonde. It was then that she noticed her fine traveling gown of violet silk with lace trimming and black kid gloves. Blackwood had called her “Lady Evelyn,” which could only mean the woman was the daughter of an aristocrat who had kept her courtesy title upon her marriage to a commoner. A nervous fluttering began low in Bella’s stomach.

“I do believe you owe Lady Harding an apology,” James said.

“Don’t be daft, James,” Lady Evelyn admonished. “Mrs. Sinclair owes me no such thing. It’s perfectly understandable for her to question the arrival of a strange woman with a bachelor in the dead of the night in her home.”

Bella did not miss the insightful words at the end of Lady Evelyn’s speech. She had referred to the manor as Bella’s home.

Could it have been an accidental slip? Or can she be an ally?

Bella felt her face redden as she looked to the lady. “He’s correct. Please forgive my rush to judgment and rudeness, Lady Evelyn. I would be honored to have you and Mr. Harding as guests at Wyndmoor.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Lady Evelyn said.

Bella glanced down at her attire, at once conscious of her nightdress, wrapper, and bare feet. She couldn’t very well escort Lady Evelyn and her husband to the guestroom dressed as she was.

“If His Grace would be so kind as to escort Lady Evelyn to the drawing room, I shall see that a room is prepared,” Bella said.

James grinned. “Excellent idea. I do believe your senses have returned.”

Bella bit back a scalding retort, not wanting to further spar with him. She had already behaved foolishly enough for one evening. She waited until the pair made their way around the corner and out of sight. Only then did Bella sprint up the stairs to awaken the staff and prepare for their unexpected guests.

Evelyn Harding was pleasantly surprised when James escorted her not to the drawing room, but to the library instead. She was the daughter of an earl, but before her father inherited his title, he had been a barrister and lecturer at Oxford. Evelyn had spent her childhood at Lincoln’s Inn surrounded by books and listening to fascinating legal arguments.

She roamed the library, her fingers passing over the colorful spines of the volumes on the mahogany shelves. The comforting smell of books and well-oiled leather furniture surrounded her. With his back to her, James poured a whiskey from a sideboard.

“Were all these books here when you arrived?” Evelyn asked.

James turned and sipped his whiskey. “Yes, it seems my father no longer had a use for them, and the man he sold the manor to, a Sir Redmond Reeves, sold the place with the furnishings, including the books, intact.” James pointed to one of the shelves. “I brought those legal volumes with me from chambers.”

Evelyn had known all the barristers in her husband’s chambers for five years. There was Brent Stone, with his tawny mane and striking looks, but whose unfathomable blue eyes seemed to hold long-buried secrets. And Anthony Stevens, whose pugilist pastime and controversial area of legal practice had sculpted him into a hard, jaded man. But as for James Devlin—the new Duke of Blackwood—she had always found him the most controversial. She was aware of his reputation with women, and Evelyn vividly recalled her first encounter with him before she had married.

She had run into James at Lincoln’s Inn when she was seeking out Jack Harding’s legal representation. James had flirted outrageously with her in the doorway of chambers, and had tried to tempt her into switching barristers, insisting he was the most competent. His antics had made her laugh, and when she’d refused him, he’d merely shrugged, tipped his hat, and wished her luck with her legal endeavors on his way out the door.

She had never approved of James’s lifestyle—his lovers or his liaisons with the willing wives of his clients. But since Evelyn had married, James had always treated her with the utmost respect. Evelyn had grown to care for him, as well as the other two barristers in their chambers, Anthony and Brent, as friends.

“How’s Phillip? I promised your boy a pony when I return,” James said.

When it came to Evelyn’s three-year-old son, Phillip, James was a beloved uncle. “You spoil him,” she said.

“I take my job as an uncle seriously.”

Evelyn sighed. “Phillip’s as precocious as ever. But it’s the first time Jack and I have left him, and I miss him terribly already. He adores you, you know.”

“Don’t give me too much credit. It’s quite enjoyable to act the doting uncle knowing I get to hand the boy over to his parents at the end of the day.”

“Hmm.” Evelyn wasn’t fooled. James did have a knack with children. Perhaps it was his devil-may-care attitude.

But tonight James had behaved strangely. James had spoken with them in the carriage ride about the unexpected appearance of the widow at the manor, and Evelyn knew he wanted Bella Sinclair to rescind her claim to Wyndmoor. Then Bella had marched down the stairs and confronted James. His reaction had seemed unperturbed, yet behind his façade of amusement, Evelyn had been surprised to sense an undercurrent of tension in him around the beautiful widow.

I warned you about sharing a residence with a bachelor. It’s not too late to reconsider, he had told Bella.

Bella had eyed him with challenge, and the sparks between the pair had flashed.

In all her time, Evelyn had never known James Devlin unable to win over a woman he had set out to charm. He enjoyed his freedom and avoided emotional commitment like the plague. There had been women who sought more from him than to share his bed, women who had claimed to love him, but he had been quick to break off those affairs. Bachelorhood, he often said, was the epitome of freedom. Why ruin it with marriage and children?

He rarely spoke of his past or his family. His mother had died in childbirth, and—prior to recent revelations at least—it had been common knowledge that he was the illegitimate son of the Duke of Blackwood. The dowager duchess had paid for his education and housing as a boy, but apparently that had been the extent of her sense of duty toward him.

His father had spent only one week a year with James in his youth, and Evelyn understood that was the reason James wanted to hold on to Wyndmoor Manor. “How would you feel if your father had only acknowledged you and shown you affection for one week a year, and ignored you the rest of the time?” Jack had asked her. Evelyn had only known unconditional love from her father, and couldn’t fathom how she would feel if her sole parent had rejected her.

Despite his past, James had made his own way as a man and had done quite well in his chosen profession. But he had learned the lessons of his youth, and he had erected emotional barriers like a suit of armor.

So what was going on with Bella Sinclair? Had James finally met his match? She watched as James leaned against the windowsill and sipped his whiskey.

“Have you made any progress with Mrs. Sinclair?” Evelyn asked.

“Do you mean with her leaving?”

“She was first to buy, James. She may have a legal argument,” Evelyn said.

“You sound like Brent.”

“I take it Brent Stone took her side?”

“I’m not surprised either of you would side with a woman,” James drawled.

“You should show more compassion. She lost her husband.”

“Yes, about that. Something doesn’t add up. I asked Anthony to send for his investigator,” James said.

“You mean to investigate her?” Evelyn asked incredulously.

“Don’t sound so shocked, Evelyn. You know how barristers work. We must know all the facts.”

“Yes, but this isn’t just one of your criminal cases. She’s just as innocent as you. Neither of you knew you were being swindled by the seller,” Evelyn pointed out.

There was a low knock on the door. A glint of anticipation lit James’s indigo eyes before his gaze shuttered. A maid entered and announced the guest chamber had been prepared. Behind her walked in Evelyn’s husband, Jack Harding. But what was it Evelyn had seen in James’s face? If she didn’t know any better she’d have sworn she saw disappointment that Bella Sinclair hadn’t personally made an appearance.

Interesting, Evelyn mused.

Then her husband approached, and Evelyn stood to greet him. With his light brown hair, green eyes, and quick smile, she had been in love with Jack Harding since he had entered her father’s chambers as a pupil when she was twelve.

“How’s the coach?” she asked him.

“The wheel needs a blacksmith.”

“There’s a good one in St. Albans. We can call upon him tomorrow. You are welcome to stay at Wyndmoor for as long as you wish,” James told them.

Jack Harding looked about the room. “The library is perfect. You know how much my wife loves books.”

“Yes, I suspect she’ll be using them to research some arcane property laws,” James said dryly.

Her husband chuckled and squeezed Evelyn’s hand. “If that’s what Evie sets her mind to, you won’t be able to stop her.”