Katie Rose (25 page)

“Never mind. It is foolish, I know. But I think it is best if I do not see you anymore. Socially, I mean.”

“I see.” Charles did not seem the least surprised or disturbed by her pronouncement.

“No, I mean it this time. I know I said that to you before, but after what happened …” Tears stung her eyes. “I know your name and position are important to you. I never meant to hurt you or cause you any trouble. You have to believe that.”

Charles looked at her for a good long moment, then lifted her face gently to his. “Why, Miss Winifred, do I detect a softening in your emotions toward me? I thought you would be more concerned about your own reputation.”

“Not at all,” she said uneasily. “I am, after all, an Appleton. I am quite used to being drawn and quartered in the press. When I practiced spiritualism with my sisters, it was common to see my name splashed all over the papers in a deprecating way.”

“I am aware of that,” Charles continued. “I am beginning to believe that that is the reason you know how to use the press so effectively.”

“Precisely,” Winifred admitted. “But that does not excuse what happened here. You did not deserve this, and I—I am partly responsible.”

“That’s very noble of you, Winnie, but I am capable of taking responsibility for my own actions. Unless you are implying that I was so bewitched by you, I cannot be held accountable for what I did—”

“No, not at all!” Winifred looked appalled. “I do not think anything of the kind. I also want you to
know that, about you and Elizabeth … well, I understand.”

“Understand what?” Charles looked surprised. He lifted one boot onto a chair and leaned on his bent knee.

“That you want to be with her,” Winifred said quickly. “She is, after all, perfect for you. She comes from a good family, has social connections and her own income, and is very much a lady. I can see why you are attracted to her as well. She does have a sort of fashionable prettiness.”

“That is very kind of you.”

Winifred smiled wanly. “Yes, I just wanted to make you aware that I do not hold you to anything because of … what has transpired between us in the past. It is better all the way around, when I think about it.”

With an oath, Charles stepped closer to her and pulled her into his arms. “Winifred,” he exclaimed in exasperation, “what if I do not want Elizabeth? What if I were to tell you my taste runs to a far different kind of woman, one who has a mind as sharp as a tack, one whose social activities run to breaking and entering, one who causes me to punch out other men simply because I am beside myself with jealousy?”

Winifred’s mouth dropped open. “But you cannot—”

“I cannot what? Want you? Marry you? See you every night when I come home, and wake up beside you each morning? Watch our children grow up together? Grow old with you? I cannot do any of that? Tell me why not, Winifred.”

She gazed at him in astonishment, while a little flutter began in her heart. Could it really happen? Could she really be with him every day, have that dark, handsome head leaning on her shoulder eachday,
hold his warm, wonderful body each night? The picture he painted was beautiful, and it struck a chord deep within her. But how could she reconcile it with her dream?

“Winifred, this is not how I had planned it, but after what happened, there is no reason to wait,” he said softly, drawing her more deeply into his embrace. “We cannot deny what is between us. Why not make the best of it?”

He kissed her, a soft brushing of his lips against hers. She sighed, feeling an overwhelming rush of emotions. All of the bottled-up passion, longing, and desire broke over her like an ocean wave, sweeping her completely under with its force. Her arms lifted by their own accord around his neck, and her feet stood up on tiptoes to better receive his kiss. She couldn’t help it—all she knew was that she wanted him, and that he was hers.

Sensing her surrender, Charles groaned and deepened the kiss, plunging his tongue recklessly inside the sweetness of her mouth to taste her fully. She was like a good wine, complex and heady, more intoxicating with each sip. His own needs thundering out of control, he turned her in his arms, cupped her head, and thoroughly enjoyed his plunder.

When his mouth finally eased from hers, she looked stunned, her lips swollen from his ardent kiss, her eyes dark with desire. He knew she was experiencing the same riot of emotions he was and was just as confused. Tracing a tender finger along her profile, he smiled.

“Will you come to me tonight? My servant has the evening off. No one will be there. I can hold you like this, make love to you.… Darling I want you so badly.”

“Charles, you know I shouldn’t—”

“Yes, I know. I can think of a thousand reasons why you should slap my face and tell me no. And only one to say yes.” He gently lifted her face to his.

Winifred opened her eyes and looked deeply into his. “Yes, Charles,” she breathed. “Yes.”

Y
es, oh please, Charles, you must stop that!”

Winifred writhed beneath him, her body drawn and taut, every inch of her tense and quivering and incredibly sensitive. He had slipped his hand between her legs and teased her, even as he drove into her. She cried out in fulfillment, her body visibly reacting to her climax. The sight of her, so uninhibited and erotic, caused him to lose his last ounce of control. Rising upward, he thrust into her deeply, feeling her body clench around his as the spasms shuddered through her.

“Winifred, you are so beautiful, so sensual, so unbelievable …” he whispered hoarsely, driving fiercely into her, taking her to new levels of pleasure. Her cries became more vocal and soon she was straining against him, thrashing beneath him, twisting and turning, wanting to get everything she could out of the experience.…

When he heard her break, he could not hold back any longer. She was so tight, so responsive, and so exquisitely sensitive that it took every ounce of his
willpower to hold back and give her pleasure. She truly was Joan of Arc, Helen of Troy, and Morgan le Fay all captured in one beautiful body.

When her breathing finally returned to normal, she opened her eyes and looked at him with shocked innocence. “This cannot be legal! It is entirely too enjoyable.”

“Actually, it would be legal if we were married. I think the laws were written to protect tender young damsels like you from foul seducers like myself.” He laughed with her then turned serious. “Winifred, have you given any thought to what I said earlier?”

She shivered, as if the conversation itself left her cold. “Charles, I appreciate your offer, you know that. And I am honored. But you know why it would never work between us. I have to do what I was born to do—”

“Yes, I know, your damned destiny.” He tossed the cover over her and moved away to sit upright. “Is it really more important than us?”

Her eyes grew moist, and she plucked at the covers. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Yes, I think we do,” he said, his voice firm. “Winnie, be reasonable. You know how slim the likelihood is of you ever really becoming a lawyer. You could counsel women, help them, give them legal advice. You could also help me with my work. You might even pass the bar. But you could never really have a practice the way you would like, have real clients, appear before the Supreme Court.”

“I do not believe that—”

“I know you do not want to, Winnie, but hear me out. There was a case a few months ago in Wisconsin where a woman who had passed the bar wanted to appear before the court on an appeal. She was flatly denied. I followed the case, hoping for a precedent,
something to encourage you, but there it is. Other females who have been successful in passing the bar fail to obtain paying clients. It is not that I don’t think you can do it. I just cannot see you setting yourself up for more pain.”

“I know it is not acceptable for a woman to practice Charles. But it will be soon. I recently heard of a Miss Robinson who’s forming a club for aspiring female lawyers. I’ve submitted my application. And the Black trial will surely advance my cause, even if I just get people talking about it. Surely you can understand that?” She looked at him pleadingly.

“For the last time, Winifred, Mrs. Black is not some noble heroine whom you should be defending! She tried to kill her husband in cold blood! Do you really plan to remain a spinster and forgo a husband and children of your own, just to try and save her?”

“That is so unfair!” Winifred cried. “And why do I have to choose? Oh, Charles, it is so different for men. No one came to you and told you to pick one or the other. Why is it that women are expected to make all the sacrifices?”

“Because you are the ones to bear children,” he answered simply. He placed a hand on her stomach, then gently reached down and kissed it. “You might even be pregnant now.”

“That is not likely since I have been counting the days,” Winifred said with a sigh of relief. “Still, I know no method is foolproof. That is why I cannot wed. I am sorry, Charles, please understand.”

When he saw that she was not going to budge, his expression changed. He rose and pulled on his trousers, yanking them on one leg at a time.

“Get dressed. I think I had better take you home.”

“You are angry with me,” she sighed, reaching for her clothes. “I shouldn’t have come here tonight. I’m
sorry I cannot just say what you want me to say. Life would be infinitely easier.”

“No, I do not want you to pretend,” he said harshly, snatching on his shirt. Then he helped her to dress, wrenching each button as if it were personally responsible for his disappointment. Finally one of them popped and rolled across the floor.

“My button—”

“Forget the damned button. I will buy you a new gown,” he growled. Whirling her around, he held her shoulders firmly. “Winifred, just look at me once and tell me you do not care for me. Maybe then I can just forget about you and leave you to your own devices.”

She looked up at him and felt pain rush over her again. More than anything at that moment, she wanted to tell him she loved him, would marry him, would give up everything for him. But to do so would betray herself in a way she did not think she would ever get over.

Yet she could not lie to him, either. “I cannot …” She faltered. “Charles, being married to you would be wonderful, except—”

“I see. You care for me but not enough. I am good enough for this, but not good enough to be your husband.” He gestured to the rumpled bed.

“You cannot possibly think that—”

“What else am I to think? Or is this another one of your experiments? Let’s go, Winnie, before I say something I truly regret.”

She did not think it possible to hurt any more than she did. But she soon discovered just how wrong she could be.

“O
RDER
! O
RDER
!”

The judge rapped his gavel, glaring at the public
gallery. “I will close this courtroom if these outbursts continue!”

The crowd fell to a grumbling silence, like children deprived of their entertainment. A heavily veiled Mrs. Black took her seat at the defense table, her presence inciting the crowd to jeer “Murderess!” As the judge continued to glare threateningly, quiet finally settled on the room. The jury looked annoyed, the judge was incensed, and the prosecution simply waited patiently. At the judge’s nod, Charles began questioning the prosecution’s next witness.

“Professor Caldwell, I understand you are a professor of chemistry. Which college are you affiliated with?”

“Buffalo Medical College in New York,” the professor answered somewhat pompously.

“How long have you been so employed?”

“Over fifteen years.”

“And in your normal course of work, are you accustomed to testing materials and foodstuffs for evidence of poison?” Charles asked.

“Yes.” Professor Caldwell nodded, his goatee just brushing his collar. “I am a chemist by trade, and I have often been called to assist in cases like this.”

“I see,” Charles said. “And can you tell the jury what happened in relation to the Black case?”

“I was contacted by the New York police and was asked to test a sample of tea, in an effort to determine if arsenic had been added to the liquid.”

“Please tell the court how you made your determination and what the results were.”

“The items sent to me for examination included the teacup the plaintiff drank from, and the teapot, which still contained tea grounds.”

“Can you tell the jury the procedure for testing?”

“Yes.” The professor picked up his notes and read
from them. “Generally, there are two kinds of poison that can sicken or kill someone—vegetable and metallic. Vegetable poison tends to break down and is harder to identify than metallic. First, I tested the teacup itself. To extract any possible vegetable poison, I started with alcohol and a trifle of acid. There was none in this case. Next, I used a solution of hydro-chloric acid, then sulferetted hydrogen, which gave a brownish precipitate. This was saved, washed in ammonia, then filtered. The sulfur and nitric acid was then driven off, and the solution so obtained was subjected to a pure hydrogen test. This resulted in a positive arsenic stain.”