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Authors: Tina Gabrielle

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BOOK: In the Barrister's Chambers
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His gaze swept her figure, then returned to her face, and he grinned.
The pit of her stomach churned in response.
“It's quite all right, McHugh,” Jack said. “Lady Evelyn is always welcome in my chambers.”
The clerk nodded, and she handed him her cloak. He shut the door behind him on his way out.
She stood awkwardly in Jack's chambers, her eyes roaming the space. It was more impressive even than her father's chambers had been. With keen interest she took in the massive bookshelves lined with law books and the stacks of litigation pleadings and briefs piled on his mahogany desk. A luxurious Wilton carpet with a cut-velvet appearance and Turkish pattern covered the floor. Behind his desk was a stone fireplace, ready to be lit, and resting on the mantel was a bust of Sir Thomas More—one of the most prominent members of Lincoln's Inn—who had been tragically beheaded by Henry VIII for refusing to acknowledge the king as the Supreme Head of the Church of England.
“I was going to pay a visit today,” Jack said, “to make certain you were all right after last night. How is your father faring?”
“He's quite well. He rose before me this morning and is delivering a lecture at the university as we speak.”
Jack stepped close and reached for the hand of her bandaged arm. Looking down at her injury, he rubbed her fingers. “How about you? Does it hurt?”
Her pulse quickened at his touch, the stroke of his fingers against hers. “Less than last evening.”
“Did you take a dose of laudanum like Dr. Mason advised?” he asked.
Evelyn wrinkled her nose. “No. I dislike the stuff. It clouds my thinking.”
His lips twitched. “Many consider that a desirable side effect of the drug, although I'm not surprised by your aversion. You never could stop thinking.”
She straightened. “Are you going to constantly remind me of the past?”
An easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Why not? You said yourself that your memories of me are quite vivid.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “Mr. Harding, I—”
“It's Jack. You always used to call me Jack.”
“Yes, but that was years ago when—”
He raised her hand to kiss her fingers, and her heart slammed against her chest. His lips, firm, yet soft, brushed against her skin. He lifted his head, and his green eyes glittered intensely. Sunlight streamed in through the parted curtains, illuminating his face, and she was struck by a sudden serious set to his handsome features.
“I was furious that you were injured,” he said, his tone hardening. “If I had been lucky enough to catch the intruder, I would have pummeled him senseless.”
She swallowed hard. Uncomfortable with his keen probing eyes and the uncharacteristic harshness behind his words, she turned away, walking toward one of the large windows.
“I wanted to thank you for your assistance last evening,” she said. “You went above and beyond any duty toward us when—”
She felt a big hand on her shoulder. “You're welcome, Evie. But tell me why you're really here.”
She turned, and he was so close she had to tilt her head up to look into his eyes. There was no doubt in her mind that he knew the truth, and there was no sense trying to placate him with gratitude—even if it was heartfelt.
“Father changed his mind and agrees you would be the best barrister to take on Mr. Randolph Sheldon's case,” she blurted out.
“He did?”
“Yes,” she breathed, her voice sounding husky to her own ears.
Jack stepped closer. With her back to the window, she felt like a skittish doe being cornered by a large, dangerous predator.
“And what will be the terms of my retainer?” he asked.
She was finding it difficult to keep her wits about her with him standing so near. “The terms?”
“Payment, Evie. What are you willing to pay if I take on Mr. Sheldon's case?”
She blinked, hoping that her senses would reappear. “As I mentioned before, you will be adequately compensated.”
He trailed his finger down her cheek, stopping beside her lower lip, and she froze, every nerve ending tingling at his touch.
“I'm not speaking of money.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“A kiss, Evie. I want a kiss as a retainer.”
Chapter 5
“A kiss?” Evelyn asked, dumbfounded.
“Just between us. No one need know. Certainly not your Mr. Sheldon,” Jack said.
She inhaled sharply, the fog that had previously shrouded her senses dissipating beneath his green gaze.
“I'm not certain what type of woman you believe me to be, Mr. Harding,” she said sternly. “But rest assured I am certainly not like any of Slip Dawson's strumpets.”
“It's Jack, remember?”
Straightening her spine, she raised her chin a notch and gave him her best glare. “I remember,
Mr. Harding.
”
He hadn't moved, and her back was still to the window with him mere inches away. He was challenging her, she realized, waiting to see if she would step aside, but she refused to show any cowardice.
“You're so urgent for me to take the case. Why?” he asked.
“I told you. Randolph and I are to be engaged. He's innocent.”
“I don't think that's the entire reason, Evie,” he said in a lower, huskier tone.
“I don't know what you are suggesting.”
“That you were quite enamored of me once. You used to follow me around your father's chambers and wait for me outside the Inn.”
“That was years ago,” she blurted out. “I was little more than a girl.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized the thought to deny his accusations had never occurred to her.
He grinned devilishly.
Evelyn felt her skin grow hot. How could she forget that Jack Harding was a skilled cross-examiner? And yet despite his ability to evoke an admission, his smile had a devastating effect on her.
It had always been hard to stay angry at Jack.
A sudden thought occurred to her. “You're jesting with me, aren't you? You weren't serious about a kiss in lieu of a retainer.”
A predatory gleam flashed in his sharp eyes. “I wasn't joking.”
“You honestly mean to take on the case if I kiss you?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes.”
“Are you mad?”
“I'm perfectly sane, thank you.”
“But I'm to marry another man,” she insisted.
“So you keep saying. But where is he now? More importantly, where was he last night?”
He stepped forward, closing what little distance there had been between them. She swallowed at his nearness, the scent of his cologne. His body so close . . .
“That's not fair,” she whispered. “You know quite well that Randolph could not come last night. He is in hiding. The Bow Street Runners would have arrested—”
“If you were my intended, I would have been there.”
His words touched upon a primitive need long-buried within her. When it came to Randolph, she had always had the more dominant personality. They had an intellectual connection that she treasured, but when important decisions needed to be made, she was inclined to take the lead and Randolph to follow. She had liked it that way, until Jack had pointed out the downside to such a relationship. She had needed someone to lean on last night, to take charge and make critical decisions, and Randolph had most definitely not been available.
But neither could she abandon Randolph Sheldon. She had searched for years for a man she could have a deep intellectual conversation with, and Randolph was never intimidated by her intellectual ideas or pursuits.
No matter how radical and unladylike such pursuits were viewed by the
beau monde.
Evelyn's mind raced, and she came to a quick conclusion. What harm could one kiss do?
She and Randolph had kissed, of course, and the brief encounters had not been entirely unpleasant. But neither had she been swept away by passion or had lost her head as many of the lovesick debutantes of the
ton
had frequently gushed about in the ladies' retiring room at Almack's.
Looking up at Jack, she said, “Fine, Mr. Harding. A kiss. One kiss and you agree to represent Mr. Sheldon?”
He nodded.
Taking a deep breath, she tipped her head up and shut her eyes. “I'm ready.”
Seconds passed and instead of the wet, smothering kiss she expected, she heard him chuckle.
She cracked open her eyes.
Jack stood still, his head tilted to the side. Slowly, ever so slowly, he reached out to touch her lips with a finger. “Just as I thought. Have you been kissed by your Mr. Sheldon?”
“Of course.”
“Hmmm.” The pad of his thumb ran leisurely across her full bottom lip—back and forth—and her breath caught.
The urge to pull away was there, but not because his touch was unpleasant, but rather because it evoked a shivering along her spine.
“We had occasion to be alone,” she breathed.
“I see. Then you know what to expect.”
“Yes.”
No.
Randolph had never looked at her the way Jack was gazing at her now, as if her mouth was a ripe strawberry waiting to be savored.
She watched in fascinated thrall as Jack's head lowered. She felt his lips touch hers like a whisper, and she marveled how his mouth—which had appeared chiseled out of fine Italian marble—could be so soft and gentle.
His tongue traced the fullness of her lower lip, and when she gasped he slid past her teeth and swept inside. Gathering her into his arms, he held her against him. And then his kiss changed. His mouth covered hers more firmly, and his hands explored the hollows of her back.
It was her undoing. Nothing had prepared her for the reality of the flesh-and-blood man. The feel of his chest—all hard muscle and sinew, so different from Randolph's slim build—felt sinful and intoxicating. Her body tingled from the contact; her heart raced.
Randolph's kisses had been overeager and sloppy, and in her mind she had likened him to an overzealous and panting puppy. The heavy breathing and awkward gasping had never raised this kind of physical response in her, and she had always believed a man's passions must vary wildly in degrees from a woman's.
Until now . . .
She felt her knees weaken at Jack's slow, seductive kisses. The tantalizing persuasion of his expert touch was as intoxicating as fine wine. He covered her lips with demanding mastery, and she was stunned by her response. In the deep recesses of her mind, she knew the kiss was wrong—the sensations coursing through her body were traitorous—and that she should end the embrace.
But it was Jack who pulled back first, a frown marring his brow as he gazed upon her upturned face. “So the legal scholar does have hot blood in her veins. Who would have thought?”
It was the last thing she had expected him to say, and the most damaging. Humiliation turned sharply into annoyance.
Pushing away from the window, she walked into the center of the room. “You misunderstand. I felt nothing. I was merely upholding my end of the bargain. Now will you uphold yours?”
Jack turned to face her. “Nothing, madame? I hardly call that kiss nothing,” he drawled. “Do you feel the same when Mr. Sheldon embraces you?”
“You're wrong,” she snapped. “And what I feel with Randolph is irrelevant.” A sudden fear ran through her that Jack may still walk away. “You will take the case?” she asked, hating the way her voice took on a desperate tone.
His lips quivered. “Don't worry, Evie. I shall represent him. Despite my full docket, my instincts are telling me there is something amiss here.”
Relief coursed through her. “On behalf of Mr. Sheldon, I want to thank you.”
Jack's expression hardened. “Make no mistake, Evie, I'm agreeing not because of your Mr. Sheldon, but because I owe your father my career, and I always pay my debts.”
A coldness centered around her chest at his words. She was confused by her reaction. She should be happy, thrilled really, that Jack Harding had agreed to represent Randolph. Instead, she felt a loss at his words.
Or more disturbingly, a loss at his touch.
It must be the stress,
she thought. Her life had been turned upside down since Randolph had stumbled into her home mere days ago, incoherently babbling of Bess Whitfield's murder.
“About the kiss . . . I don't think it would be wise to do that again,” she said.
Jack's head snapped up. “Don't worry. I wholeheartedly agree. I never mix business with pleasure. It always results in disastrous outcomes in the courtroom, and I take my trial record very seriously.”
She met his stare with an effort, her voice wavering. “I understand.”
“One last thing. Tell me when you have contact with Mr. Sheldon.”
“But I told you, I don't know where he is.”
“No matter. He has no choice but to reach out to you. Inform me immediately.”
It was a command, not a request. Evelyn nodded numbly. “I shall see my way out.”
As she left his chambers, she had the odd sense that even though she had successfully achieved what she had come for, she had lost something as well.
BOOK: In the Barrister's Chambers
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