In the Barrister's Bed (23 page)

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Authors: Tina Gabrielle

BOOK: In the Barrister's Bed
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And now, to protect the man she loved, she would reach deep within herself and find the strength to elude him and conceal her whereabouts.
Chapter 24
By the time James entered the library, his nerves were wound as tightly as springs. He found Investigator Papazian standing at the bay window, staring at the street below.
“Tell me you’ve discovered who’s following Bella Sinclair,” James said.
Papazian came away from the window. “I have. I’ve spent the month in Plymouth digging into her past. It seems Mrs. Sinclair’s husband has a twin brother by the name of Rupert Sinclair of Somersetshire. Soon after his twin’s death, Rupert returned to Plymouth and started asking the townsfolk where Mrs. Sinclair had gone to.”
“Why?”
“Rupert told the people he was concerned for his sister-in-law’s well-being since she was ‘maudlin and hardly of sound mind.’ Looking into his true motives, however, I discovered he purchased her marital home in Plymouth and has systematically dismantled it board by board.”
“He’s searching for something,” James said matter-of-factly.
Papazian nodded. “I drew the same conclusion so I researched the man’s finances. Turns out his accounts grew considerably during the height of Roger Sinclair’s treasonous exports to the French, just prior to June of 1815 and the beginning of Waterloo.”
“The brothers must have been business partners,” James said.
“I suspected as much. I was able to find one of the workers that Rupert hired to tear down the Plymouth house. He said Rupert was looking for documents.”
“I’ve had clients who kept two sets of business ledgers,” James said. “One for the tax collector and the other for themselves.”
“Since Roger Sinclair’s death was unexpected, it would explain his twin’s erratic behavior. After Rupert couldn’t find the documents in the Plymouth house, he tried to track down Mrs. Sinclair. He must believe she knows where they were hidden.”
“I’ll be damned,” James’s voice grated harshly. “She’s running from him. It explains everything. I never truly believed it was a horse thief that had attacked Bobby and shot me.”
“You were shot?” Papazian asked incredulously.
“By Rupert, if I’m right.”
“Mrs. Sinclair’s husband was a bloodthirsty cur, and I believe it runs in the family. You’d best beware, Your Grace.”
A coldness centered in James’s chest. The fear in his heart was not for himself, but for Bella.
“Bella’s hiding in London,” James said.
“From what I’ve learned, the blackguard is quick-witted. Rupert Sinclair could track her down,” Papazian warned.
James shook his head. “I’ll learn where she is before then.”
Just then the library door flew open and in scurried Bobby with Stodges on his heels in hot pursuit. Bobby’s face was flushed, his red hair thrust up in disarray. Stodges panted heavily, his normally starched cravat wilted after his mad dash after the twelve-year-old boy.
“Pardon, Your Grace. He ran right past—”
“It’s all right, Stodges,” James said, dismissing the butler with a wave of his hand.
Bobby stumbled forward, his wide gaze riveted on James. “I’ve lost ’er,” Bobby blurted, slipping back to his native cockney.
There was no need to ask who Bobby spoke of. “When?” James asked.
“They ’ad to ’ave slipped out the back door. I was watchin’ the front.”
“You were spotted, son,” Papazian said.
“She’s running from Rupert,” James said. “He must have reached Bella the night before we departed Wyndmoor. It explains why she wanted payment for the place.”
“Rupert Sinclair will soon learn of her departure from Hertfordshire,” Papazian pointed out.
“He must already know. The remaining staff was aware we left for London. He’ll head directly here, if he hasn’t already arrived.”
The pieces of the puzzle that was Bella Sinclair were beginning to fall into place. The night they had made love in the billiard room and he had given her the deed to Wyndmoor Manor, the joy had been stamped on her beautiful face. An hour later she had changed her mind.
Rupert must have confronted her. But how had the wretch entered the house? Rupert was villainous, and he must have followed in his twin’s footsteps by threatening to harm her or Harriet in order to bend Bella to his will.
Bella had seen no choice but to flee.
She did not trust me to help her.
The disturbing thought barely crossed his mind before another followed. Bella had suffered too long under her husband’s rein to be made a victim once again.
James’s voice hardened. “I must find her before Rupert does. Time is of the essence.”
“I suspect that they may not have gone far,” Papazian said. “They will avoid the wealthy areas of the city, and it’s in their best interest to stay away from the slums. It narrows our search.”
“I can still help,” Bobby said. “They may ’ave given me the slip, but they still ’ave to shop, and I know the neighborhoods and markets. I can keep an eye out for ’em.”
James was shrewd enough to understand Bobby spoke the truth. The boy was a former pickpocket who’d grown up in thieves’ kitchen, scurrying through the city streets and alleys.
“Both of you search,” James said. “I’m going to Lincoln’s Inn. My fellow barristers have contacts, former criminal clients, who will be able to aid us.”
Wasting no more time, James headed for the vestibule, bellowing for his coat along the way. He was vaguely aware of the investigator keeping up with him until the man reached out and grasped his arm.
Papazian’s face was earnest, his voice troubled. “There’s more, Your Grace. When I was in Plymouth I spoke with her husband’s former servants; one claims Mrs. Sinclair may have murdered her husband. It’s not just the books Rupert Sinclair may be after, but vengeance for his twin’s death.”
 
 
The buildings that comprised Lincoln’s Inn lined Chancery Lane. Even before the carriage rolled to a complete stop, James jumped down from the conveyance and headed straight for the Inn’s main entrance, the Grand Tudor Gatehouse. He rushed through the sixteenth-century brick Gatehouse with its massive oak doors and entered the Inn’s Hall.
It was a large oblong room with worn wooden benches and scarred tables in direct contrast to the elegant stained-glass windows. James knew he had as good a chance of finding his colleagues in the Hall at this time of day as he did in chambers. They met here early each morning, drinking coffee and discussing business before making their way to their shared chambers in the Old Buildings.
The hall was currently crowded with students and seasoned master barristers, known as Benchers—as they ate breakfast. The noise level rose as James walked farther into the room, and he heard barristers debating the latest legal statutes and courtroom procedures. James himself recalled sitting with his pupilmaster and discussing the complexities of criminal procedure and torts.
Sunlight streamed in through the stained-glass windows—artfully displaying coats of arms of the Inn’s most prominent members—including Sir Thomas More as well as several of England’s prime ministers. James scanned the room, his gaze focusing on the table closest to Sir More’s window, where his friends customarily gathered.
Empty.
Several barristers waved in greeting, but they weren’t his colleagues. James could only hope his friends weren’t in trial at the Old Bailey or, in the case of Brent, away from chambers meeting with a client.
He left the Hall, walked back through Gatehouse Court, and this time headed for the Old Buildings, which housed the professional accommodations of the barristers. He rushed down a long hall lined with doors and brass nameplates engraved with the names of barristers until he came to his own chambers. Opening the door, he stepped inside.
The common room was precisely as he remembered. Rows of file cabinets lined the walls and a small table with stacks of paper waiting to be filed rested in the corner. Behind a weathered desk sat their middle-aged clerk, McHugh, copying a legal document two inches thick.
McHugh’s jaw dropped when he spotted James and jumped to his feet.
“Mr. Devlin! Pardon, I mean ... Your Grace. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“It’s quite all right, McHugh. I was delayed in Hertfordshire and just returned. Who’s in chambers this morning?”
“Everyone.”
“Good. I need to speak with them. It is of the utmost importance.”
McHugh straightened. “I’ll summon them at once.”
James went to his private office, and as soon as he opened the door, the comforting smell of books greeted him.
He had wondered if his office had changed during his absence, but he was relieved to find that very little looked different. The tall shelves of law books and statutes remained. A shorter shelf, where the books James had taken with him to Hertfordshire had been, was bare.
The surface of his mahogany desk, however, was a different matter. James had always amassed piles of papers. His desk had never been straightened at the end of the day, to McHugh’s dismay. James thrived on the clutter, and he always knew beneath which stone paperweight a specific pleading, brief, or letter was located.
His desk was no longer covered with dense stacks of paper. His friends had sorted through his cases and had taken on James’s clients. He understood the necessity, of course. His clients needed representation, and as the Duke of Blackwood, he could not continue to work as a barrister.
James walked behind his desk and sat, the soft springs of his leather chair squeaking as he leaned back. He realized how much he was going to miss it. He enjoyed the hectic pace, the demands of jury trials and ornery judges. He enjoyed the research, the heated discussions with other barristers. He
liked
helping his clients and offering them the best representation possible.
But fate had chosen otherwise, giving him different responsibilities. He would take his place in the House of Lords. Perhaps make a difference there. Yet he had never enjoyed politics or the twisted relationships associated with politicians.
His thoughts were interrupted as the door burst open and Brent, Anthony, and Jack entered.
“Where have you been?” Anthony asked.
“I was shot and near death with fever. Bella nursed me back to health.”
“You’re jesting?” Brent and Jack asked in unison.
James stood to face his friends. “Bella’s in danger and I need your help. Her husband’s twin, a man by the name of Rupert Sinclair, is searching for her and intends her harm. Last I heard she was in the mixed section of the city, close to Portman Square.”
“What does he want with her?” Anthony asked.
“Roger Sinclair was a treasonous Plymouth exporter of guns and ammunition to the French during the Napoleonic wars. Rupert was his business partner. Incriminating ledgers are missing, and Rupert believes Bella may have them. There’s also suspicion that Bella was responsible for her husband’s demise, and Rupert wants revenge for his twin.”
Anthony whistled between his teeth. “That’s a lot of motive.”
“Rupert Sinclair is violent. Not only did he fire upon me, but he attacked my stable boy,” James said.
“I have two former clients who know the underbelly of London like none other,” Jack said. “I’ll contact them at once.”
Jack was the top criminal barrister at the Old Bailey. Many of his clients came from the rookeries, and they all owed Jack a debt for escaping the gallows.
“I take it Papazian is on the case?” Anthony asked.
At James’s curt nod, Anthony offered, “I work with other investigators as well. I’ll speak with them.”
“We’ll both be in touch.” Jack and Anthony left.
Brent went to a sideboard in the corner and poured two brandies, handing one to James. “Drink. You look like hell.”
James accepted the glass and swallowed. James understood that Brent, who spent his days in chambers drafting boring letters patent, was not the type of barrister who had contacts such as Jack or Anthony.
James eyed Brent above the rim of his glass. “Don’t worry, Brent. I don’t expect you to know the criminal types that Jack has on a string.”
Brent frowned. “Stop talking utter rot. We’ve always been good friends. Tell me, do you love her?”
James lowered his glass. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
They had been close, and James’s sexual exploits had never bothered Brent until recently. Brent was celibate; James was not. They had understood each other and had not allowed their differences to derail their friendship. But a few weeks before James had inherited the title, he had noticed a slight change in Brent’s behavior, and their relationship had been strained.
“It may have everything to do with it,” Brent said. “You are acting like a man in love. Have you thought about it?”
The truth was James had thought of it. Yes, he cared deeply for Bella and wanted her safe. Yes, he felt obligated to her for saving his life. Yes, he desired her above all others. It wasn’t just a burning lust, one which would be satisfied after a romp or two.

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