In the Barrister's Bed (26 page)

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Authors: Tina Gabrielle

BOOK: In the Barrister's Bed
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In one fluid motion he lifted her in his arms. He cupped her bottom, and her legs straddled his hips. She looked down and realized his intent as he slowly lowered her onto his hard erection until he was embedded inside her. She gasped and clutched his shoulders as he carried her to the sofa. “I’m going to fall—”
He silenced her with a kiss. “Trust me, Bella. I won’t let you go.”
Trust him.
With each step he took, he slid deeper inside her, fusing their bodies together. The delicious pressure was enough to melt her bones.
He pushed the writing table aside, laid her on the sofa, and covered her body with his. He braced himself with one forearm on the sofa, entwining the fingers of his other hand in her hair. Staring into her eyes, he withdrew, then slowly thrust again. Passion radiated from the soft core of her body, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming her pleasure.
At her soft mewling sounds of delight, he increased the tempo of his strokes, setting her aflame as he plunged into her again and again. Through half-lidded eyes, she looked up at the fierce ecstasy etched on his face and knew she loved him.
“Sweet, Bella,” he gasped. “How I’ve missed you.”
His tender words and the stroke of his body aroused her to a fevered pitch. He covered her mouth, smothering her screams, as she reached a cataclysmic peak and exploded in the cradle of his arms. Once, twice more he thrust within her, then stiffened with his own release. She closed her eyes as a deep feeling of peace entered her being and cradled his head to her breast.
Chapter 28
James lay on his side beside Bella, his heartbeat gradually slowing. He trailed his hand down her arm to rest it on her hip. When McHugh had knocked on his door and announced Bella was present, he had jumped out of his seat. And when he had spotted her standing in his chambers, his relief had been overwhelming. She was safe, thank the Lord, and he would never repeat his past mistake by allowing her to leave again.
He wanted to linger with her in his arms, pressed against his heated length, but he felt a pressing need to take her straightaway to Park Street. He kissed her nape, and sat.
“Let me help you.” Reaching for his handkerchief he made to cleanse her thighs of the evidence of their lovemaking.
“Let me.” She blushed, and he thought she had never looked so beautiful.
He dressed quickly, then helped her with her gown. With a firm hand on her elbow, he escorted her out of Lincoln’s Inn and to his carriage. As he was about to speak to his driver, Bella touched his sleeve.
“You’re concerned for Bobby, aren’t you?” Bella asked.
He was, but his utmost concern was for her safety.
“Yes, he is on my mind. But I plan to go to the Bow Street Magistrate’s Office and settle matters later,” he said.
“Go see him now, please.”
James shook his head. “I want you safely ensconced at Park Street first.”
“Then take me with you. Surely I’ll be safe in the magistrate’s building.”
He couldn’t argue with her logic. There wasn’t a safer building in all of London. He had been fraught with worry when Bella had disappeared in the city, and he was very much aware that she had needed coercing to stay by his side. He didn’t want her to reconsider her decision and slip away from his home while he left to aid Bobby.
“All right,” he conceded.
Turning back to the driver, James instructed the man to take them to Bow Street.
Bella settled across from him in the well-padded carriage and smoothed her skirts. “I believe Bobby’s innocent. Will he be ill treated?”
“I’m not worried about abusive treatment from the constables. Rather if Bobby is forced to spend the night in Newgate, there’s no telling what consequences he could suffer.”
Her eyes widened. “Surely they wouldn’t imprison him with the other felons? He’s just a boy.”
“The prisons are full of boys. Officials do not discriminate based on age or the type of crime. He could sleep beside a cold-blooded murderer for all they would care.”
“How horrible!”
At her fearful expression, James regretted his words. His intention had not been to disturb her, and after all she had experienced at the hands of Rupert Sinclair, he wanted to offer comfort, not additional worries.
Reaching out, he lifted her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “Please do not worry about Bobby’s legal dilemmas. I will take care of him,” James assured her. “I’ll also send a coach for Harriet and your belongings as soon as we depart Bow Street.”
They traveled in silence for the rest of the journey. As the driver maneuvered the elegant carriage through the city streets, Bella sat stiffly. Twice her lips parted as if to speak, but she turned away instead to gaze out the window. Her fingers clenched her skirts, and she nervously licked her full bottom lip.
His attraction for her was immediate and profound. It didn’t matter that he’d just made love to her in his chambers. That she had been glorious in her passion, urging him to take her as she’d clung to him, all liquid heat and soft feminine curves. That his own release had been intense, earth shattering. He wanted her again... .
Yet even now she appeared as skittish as a doe, as if she would throw open the carriage door and dart away. He knew she was reconsidering his proposition to stay with him at Park Street.
She’d felt obligated to protect
him,
for Christ’s sake, even at the expense of her safety. No one had ever cared for him in that way, not his father or his grandmother—those who should have. His gut response to Bella’s retreat, her desire to flee him, had left a vicious vulnerability in its wake. It made him uncomfortable, insecure ...
fearful
of his inability to hold onto her. Disturbing emotions that affected him in a way he’d not thought possible.
At a time he needed to focus with shrewdness and clarity, to hunt down the predator that threatened her, he was distracted at the prospect of her running away, of
her
leaving
him
.
The answer to his dilemma crept into his consciousness. There was only one way to bind her to him, to make her truly his....
This time she would be the one who needed convincing. He thought of the possibilities. He understood who he was—a seasoned barrister trained to analyze a challenge. He could only approach the deed as a well-thought-out legal strategy.
The carriage took a final turn and stopped at the corner. James jumped down and lowered the step for Bella. “It’s near the end of the day. I hope to catch the head magistrate before he departs.”
He placed her hand on his arm and proceeded down the street. He came to a stop, and Bella gazed up at the brick and stone building.
“There’s no sign,” she pointed out. “If I was coming on my own, I’d have no idea it housed the magistrate’s office.”
James winked. “Barristers don’t need a sign. We’re all familiar with Bow Street.”
He held the door for her, and Bella stepped inside. A massive guard stood in the corner of the marble vestibule. His tanned and weathered face broke into a grin when he spotted James.
“Last I heard you inherited a title. What would bring a duke here?” the guard asked.
James smiled in return. “Legal business, of course, Ralph. Is the magistrate in?”
“You’re in luck. He’s in his office. One of your colleagues is already with him.”
James halted. “Who?”
“The patent fellow in your chambers. Mr. Stone, I believe,” the man said.
What the devil is Brent doing here?
James thought.
His bewilderment must have shown for Bella said, “Perhaps Mr. Stone is helping Bobby?”
James didn’t answer and walked down the hall, Bella by his side. They turned the corner and continued down a corridor, passing offices with no identifying nameplates. The heels of Bella’s shoes echoed off the marble floor and bare walls as she kept pace beside him until James stopped at the last door.
Just as he raised his hand to knock, the door opened and Brent Stone emerged. Both men halted.
“James! What are you doing here?” Brent asked.
“I’m here to aid Bobby. He’s been arrested for theft.”
“Your stable boy?”
“Yes. Why are you here?” James asked.
“I’m on good terms with Magistrate Hadrian Sheridan; I thought to speak with him about the nefarious Rupert Sinclair.” Brent’s gaze shifted to Bella. “I was concerned for Mrs. Sinclair’s safety, you see.”
James eyed his friend. He couldn’t help but wonder if Brent’s interest was due to James’s comment in chambers that he’d never expected a patent barrister to be of assistance in a criminal matter.
Had James insulted Brent? Or was there more to the man’s presence at Bow Street?
“I’d like to speak with Sheridan myself,” James said.
Brent nodded. “Wait here.”
Brent stepped back inside Sheridan’s office. Muffled words were exchanged, and then Brent reappeared. Holding the door open with one hand, Brent motioned for James and Bella to enter.
Hadrian Sheridan was a large man with shoulders that appeared a mile wide, a fleshy face, and strands of dishwater-brown hair combed over a shiny scalp. He sat behind a walnut desk, smoking a pipe.
James and Brent waited for Bella to sit before occupying wooden chairs in front of Sheridan’s desk.
“I ran into the duke and Mrs. Sinclair outside your office,” Brent told the magistrate. “I explained my visit to unearth any helpful information regarding the whereabouts of Rupert Sinclair.”
Sheridan lowered his pipe. “Seems Sinclair’s been a busy man. Illegal exports of arms during England’s pivotal battles against Napoleon. Treasonous activity for certain.” The magistrate’s voice was gravelly, as if he had chewed on a mouthful of stones.
“What can we do to help?” James said.
Sheridan looked to Bella. “I understand your deceased husband was Rupert Sinclair’s twin. Were they identical in appearance?”
“They bore a strong resemblance to one another,” Bella said.
“If you can provide a portrait or sketch of your husband, I can show it to my runners. They can keep an eye out for Rupert,” Sheridan said.
Bella paled a shade. “I’m sorry. I do not have a portrait or any likeness of my husband’s image.”
“Then I have a man on staff that is excellent with sketches. Can you give a solid description of Rupert?”
“Of course. I’ll do my best to recall every detail that may be of assistance,” Bella said.
“I’ll be certain my foot patrols see the sketch,” Sheridan said.
The magistrate turned to James. “Mr. Stone tells me you are also here on legal business. Why would a new member of the upper crust bother himself with barrister responsibilities?”
“My stable lad was wrongfully arrested this afternoon at a marketplace in Covent Garden.”
“Ah, I see. If you vouch for him as a duke, I’ll have the boy released later today,” Sheridan said.
“Thank you. I’ll send a man to fetch the lad.”
“I’ll do it,” Brent said. “You have enough concerns with Rupert Sinclair roaming the streets.”
Sheridan walked them to the door and called for an assistant. Seconds later a uniformed man appeared and introduced himself as the sketch artist and escorted Bella down the hall.
Sheridan gave Brent a sideways glance before returning his attention to James. “London is a large city, but rest assured, Your Grace, the government has eyes everywhere.”
James shook Sheridan’s hand before the magistrate returned to his office and shut the door.
James was left alone with Brent.
“What was that about?” James asked Brent.
Brent shrugged. “I thought to act in some way. Treason has never sat well with me.”
James was not fooled by Brent’s nonchalance. There was something disturbing about his longtime friend that James couldn’t quite identify. Brent had always been secretive about his past. Others may have found it disconcerting, but James had never been bothered by it. But this was different. Brent was different.
Willing to help Bella, yes; yet a strange undercurrent, a leashed dangerousness, simmered in Brent’s piercing blue eyes.
Brent turned and—just as quickly as it had appeared—the flash was gone, and in its place returned the respectable and reserved barrister.
“I never meant to insinuate you weren’t as cunning as Jack or Anthony,” James told Brent.
“I know.” Reaching out, Brent clasped James’s shoulder. “But I want to do whatever I can to help.”
 
 
It was dark outside by the time Bella finished with the sketch artist. James studied the drawing, memorizing each line of Rupert Sinclair’s face—the square wall of his forehead, the stubborn jut of his chin, the slightly crooked nose.
James had wondered if Bella’s husband had looked exactly like his twin. Throughout his legal career, James had encountered more than one set of twins—either clients or witnesses for the prosecution. Several pairs, he recalled, had been identical in appearance, and others, had displayed little resemblance to each other. But Bella had said Roger and Rupert Sinclair had looked alike.
As for her not having a portrait of her husband, James wasn’t surprised. If any had existed, she’d probably left them behind or destroyed them.
Bella pushed back her chair from the writing desk she had spent the last hour huddled over with the sketch artist. She stood and rubbed her lower back, the strain of exhaustion written on her face. She rubbed her eyes, and James suspected they burned from concentrating on the artist’s work as Rupert Sinclair’s image had slowly come into focus.
James dropped the sketch on the table. “You’re exhausted.”
Bella opened her mouth to protest, but was stopped short when her stomach growled. Her face burned brightly.
He cocked an eyebrow. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”
“Not too long,” she said defensively. “I had dry toast and tea this morning.”
“There’s a pleasant inn off the beaten path called the Harvest Post. I’m friendly with the proprietor, and the place serves good food and wine.”
When she looked like she was going to continue to argue, he said, “Don’t try to deny you’re hungry. I’m famished as well. And the inn is a short ride away.”
“Now that we’re in town, it’s inappropriate for us to intimately dine together without a chaperone.”

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