Love's Justice (Entangled Scandalous) (4 page)

Chapter Seven

Victoria followed Lord Percy’s retreating figure. She flushed and panicked. How had she not recognized the man who held her fate in his hands? He must think her an idiot or a dolt. At the least, aloof and disinterested. She sought some avenue of conversation that would clear the air that hung heavy with Lord Percy’s departure.

“Don’t mind Percy. He enjoys other people’s discomfort,” the judge said.

“That is a cruel thing to say about one’s friend,” Victoria said, protective of the Percys, who had been kind to her.

“It was not meant to be cruel, simply honest.”

Perhaps Lord Montgomery’s attractiveness had momentarily betrayed her. He was, after all, a man who upheld all the antiquated laws of this antiquated land.

“And you value honesty above all else?” Victoria asked.

“And you don’t?”

“Yes, of course, but not when it harms the feelings of good friends.”

“You would lie then, to protect whom?” He stared at her intensely.

“I would lie to protect no one. But one shouldn’t always speak the truth. One can withhold the truth to save a friend from hurt.”

“So do you find you do this often, withhold your feelings?”

Victoria was incensed by the nature of the conversation. The man seemed impervious to feelings, his own or anyone else’s.

“My lord, I fear I am doing so this very moment.”

The comment hung in the air between them. Neither spoke.

“Montgomery! There you are. I knew I’d find you.”

Victoria took a step back, unsure of herself.

“Mister Prime Minister. It’s good to see you.” Lord Montgomery extended a hand to the tall, swarthy-looking man who approached. The Prime Minister was seventy-five years old, but he still exuded a youthful exuberance.

“Why have you been monopolizing this beautiful young woman? Don’t tell me someone has finally caught your eye?”

Victoria could again feel herself blushing deeply and inwardly cursed the reaction.

“Prime Minister, may I introduce Miss Victoria Westwood. She is an American come recently to London. Miss Westwood, may I present Benjamin Disraeli.”

The dark-haired man bent over her hand as she extended it.

“Mister Prime Minister, I am honored.”

“No, my dear, it is I who am honored. It is always an honor to be introduced to a woman of charm and beauty.”

“I think you speak a little prematurely.” Victoria laughed. “You can have no knowledge of my charm or lack of it.”

Disraeli smiled broadly. “All women are charming, in my opinion, and you, my dear, are extraordinarily beautiful.”

Victoria smiled. “I am no longer in doubt about why you are a great favorite of the queen.”

“I will share a little secret with you, Miss Westwood. When my colleagues ask for advice on how to handle the queen, I tell them…” He drew close, conspiratorially. “First of all, remember she is a woman.”

Victoria reaction was quick and passionate. “And all women need to be, or rather, can be easily ‘handled’ as you say?”

The prime minister was momentarily taken back by her response. Then his features softened. “In your case, my dear, it seems you are the exception.” He bowed his head in deference before extending his hand to Lord Montgomery.

“Montgomery, good to see you. We will talk after the New Year.” Then he set off to greet another group of guests.

“Do you always make it a habit to insult the leaders of government?” The hint of a smile on Lord Montgomery’s face seemed to belie the meaning of his words.

Flustered by all that had just passed, Victoria shook her head. When she finally found her voice, she said, “I did not mean to insult him. Do you think I have done so?” She didn’t wait for a response but continued on, “Knowing his position on these things, I just couldn’t let his remark go unchallenged.”

“So,” Lord Montgomery added, “you would insult our beloved queen, as well, should she expound on her belief that women should be subject to their husbands and their husband’s wishes.”

“Surely she cannot believe, as Queen of England, with all the power she holds, that women have no worth beyond being chattel of their husbands?”

“But if the queen feels domesticity is a woman’s highest calling? Devotion to husband and children the best use of a woman’s time and talents?”

“Then the queen is wrong,” Victoria burst out passionately. “She cannot limit a woman’s intelligence and talents to a single sphere. It is cruel and unjust. We are more than any man we might marry.” She must have unintentionally raised her voice in her anger. A hush had fallen over the room and all eyes had turned on her. “But I suppose you agree with them.” This last came out a little too strident.

Lord Montgomery took her arm. Victoria wanted to shake it off but thought better of it as the stares continued.

He led her out of the room and down a short corridor of the house until they were both in shadows. He released her then.

She turned on him again, her voice a stage whisper. “You and your kind are unforgivable in your superiority and condescension. And the worst of it is we cannot even control our own fates with the vote. I thought America was restrictive. I came here seeking freedom and found only more rules to stifle any female beyond the bedroom and nursery. All of you smile and simper and pat us on the heads and think you are kind and munificent when you are really cowards and tyrants.”

She had worn herself out with this and simply stared at him, not sure of what his response would be. She had to have lost her senses. No doubt it was a carryover from the stress of being laughed at and gossiped about like some strange creature from the jungles of Africa or the Far East.

His eyes narrowed. “And you think this is true of all men?”

“I am waiting to be proved wrong,” she spat out, letting her anger get the better of her.

Suddenly, she realized something had changed. Something very visceral and emotional. Her heart beat loudly in her ears. But she was no longer sure it was her anger that caused it.

They were barely a handsbreadth apart. Much too close, she realized. Much too close.

Something in his eyes drove away any thoughts. She valued her ideals before all else but this was something even more powerful.

She tried to move, back away from it, but she was against the wall.

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

“Please, my lord.”

“Please?” He straightened and appeared suddenly awkward and as stunned as she.

“Please let me leave.”

He took a step back and held out an arm toward the brightly lit room and its occupants.

Victoria rushed toward the light and activity. She was confused and angered and something more. She could barely admit it to herself. She was aroused.

Chapter Eight

Hugh watched her retreat. What had he been thinking? What had prompted his inappropriate behavior? It was illogical and unexpected. More importantly, it was dangerous.

She had no idea the impact she had made on him—the man who held her fate in his hands. It had been wrong of him. It would have been wrong under normal circumstances, but it was ethically and morally reprehensible, considering he would be hearing her case. He couldn’t believe himself capable of such an error in judgment.

It was just she had been so excited, so passionate about what she believed, he wanted to…what? Soothe her? Calm her? Or perhaps share some of her passion. Feel alive in a way he hadn’t for many years.

Here was a woman he could admire. A woman of intelligence and beliefs that challenged the existing world. But she was forbidden. What if she thought he was seeking something from her to influence a verdict in her favor? The idea paralyzed him. Horrified him. What had he been thinking?

Lord Percy approached. “What have you said to her to put her off so?”

“We barely exchanged words,” Hugh said defensively. “And I believe it was she who did all the talking.”

Percy was not convinced. “I know you too well. You have said something ill thought-out and offended her.”

“I’m not sure offending her was the worst thing I could do. I think it would take more than a word from me to challenge her views,” he answered.

This seemed to mollify his friend. Miss Westwood was in the distance speaking to a small group of acquaintances that included Percy’s wife, Lady Edith, and the Duke and Duchess of Westminster.

“I think you are right.” Percy followed the direction of Hugh’s gaze. “She would give a man a run for his money. No reference to the pending lawsuit intended.” He laughed. “What do you think of her?”

Hugh couldn’t answer immediately. What did he think of her? She was opinionated and more than a little outspoken. She would challenge every statement and every rule that stood in her way. She was proud and rigid, passionate and perversely persistent. She was unlike any woman he had ever met.

“Monty, did you hear me? I asked what you thought of her. I think she is a magnificent creature. If I weren’t already sweetly settled, I would pursue her myself.”

Hugh turned back to his friend. “I cannot pursue her, even if I wanted to. She will be a defendant in my court in the New Year. I can’t claim objectivity if I am involved with one of the parties to the suit.” He shook his head, still bewildered by his own actions.

“Yes, but you already know Stanford. I don’t see what harm it could do to socialize with the young lady. You will run into her repeatedly once the Season starts.”

“Then I will have to be much more circumspect than usual.”

“Lord, you are the epitome of prudence and propriety already. In truth, I can’t imagine you saying or doing anything you would later regret.”

Hugh wasn’t so sure. The kiss had caught him unawares and thrown him off balance. He had never acted so rashly in all his life.

What haunted him was being sensible and logical had cost him his first and only love. At the time he had blamed his father—a cruel and inflexible family patriarch who had beaten his wife until she took her own life. The man had forced one son into exile in the United States and another to flee to the Caribbean Island of Grenada and enter into a tragic marriage.

But it wasn’t that simple. He could have ignored his father’s wishes and married Cathy immediately instead of trying earn his father’s approval. Their engagement had been a secret between the two of them—a bond that still tugged at his heart and soul all these years later.

And how had it ended? With months on end wasted because of their desire for parental approval. Her untimely death had robbed them of everything they once hoped for. Their restraint had denied them the few months they could have had together. If they had married, perhaps she would not have caught the typhoid fever that killed her mother and then her.

He turned his attentions back to Victoria Westwood, who seemed to be saying good-bye to her acquaintances. Were his actions responsible for her early departure? If so, he regretted it. Wanting to apologize, he hurried over to her small group.

The Duchess of Westminister, a pretty woman of forty-six, greeted him. “Lord Montgomery, how nice to see you. It isn’t often we see you at these types of affairs. What draws you out?”

“I suspect it is the royal command that must be obeyed at least once a year. Eh?” her husband, the duke, said with a laugh.

Hugh smiled and nodded, doing his best to keep his eyes off Miss Westwood.

“Have you met Miss Westwood? She has just been charming us with her stories about New York City.” The duchess indicated Victoria on her right.

“Yes, Miss Westwood and I have met. Thank you.”

“She is making her excuses to go. We can’t have that. It is still so early. Can’t you persuade her to stay?”

“I believe once Miss Westwood makes up her mind, there is little anyone can do to change it,” he said.

“Well, do be a gentleman then and escort the poor girl home. She has come completely unattached and I do think she needs someone to accompany her in the carriage. I would hate to see any ill come her way at this hour of the night.”

“I assure you, Your Grace, I will be quite fine alone,” Victoria objected.

“Nonsense, my dear, I don’t know what happens in New York, but here we do not let our young women traipse about on their own in the middle of the night. Isn’t that right, Lord Montgomery?”

“I would be happy to accompany Miss Westwood.” Hugh could have made an excuse. Should have made an excuse. But he needed to explain himself to the lady in question. Tell her she never need fear another misstep on his part. Never endure such a breach of etiquette in the future.

“There you are, my dear. An escort to see you safely home.”

“I’m sure I’m not in need of company, Your Grace. I traveled here alone and believe I can safely return,” Miss Westwood insisted.

“Of course you can! But the company of a handsome man is never objectionable. Isn’t that right, Edith?” the duchess asked.

Percy’s wife, also in the little group, smiled her agreement.

“Henry! There you are,” the duchess called out.

Lord Percy was approaching the group, fresh drink in hand.

“You must settle this for us. Miss Westwood is about to leave and Edith and I believe she should take an escort. I have asked Lord Montgomery and he has graciously agreed. You must convince Miss Westwood. I can think of no safer escort than the Lord Chancellor of the Exchequer.”

Henry Percy looked first at Victoria Westwood and then at his friend. A twinkle of mischief was in his eyes. “I think it is a splendid idea. It would give them more time to get acquainted. Perhaps allow them to clarify some things.”

“I can’t imagine what they would need to clarify. What are you talking about, Henry?” Edith demanded.

When he refused to share, she continued on, “Well, it makes no difference. It is settled then. You cannot refuse now, my dear Miss Westwood.”

After they each had said their good-byes, Hugh took Miss Westwood’s arm and led her in silence back through the rooms to the front doorway. The feel of her warm flesh beneath his fingertips brought back their unfortunate encounter in the hall. He was glad when they reached the door.

“If you’ll request your cloak, Miss Westwood, I’ll have my carriage brought up.” He addressed her formally and released her arm as if it were too hot to touch.

He stepped outside into the semidarkness.

“You, sir. Find my driver and have my coach brought up. And find Miss Westwood’s coachman and tell him he is dismissed for tonight.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

The night was cold. The wind had picked up and rain or snow threatened once again. He had not bothered with an overcoat, and now he regretted it. He stood in the darkness and looked back at the brightly lit house. Laughter and music swirled out to him. He had avoided much of this conviviality since Cathy’s death, but he had never thought twice about why. Perhaps it had been some sort of self-punishment. He had not missed it, but tonight—tonight something had changed.

Miss Westwood was in the vestibule. A maid had brought a beautiful cloak, exquisitely detailed. She settled the concoction of feathers and fur around Victoria Westwood’s shoulders. He envied the young maid her job at that moment. He wanted to caress this young woman’s shoulders like the soft wool and nestle with the fur around her face. She was dragging him back to life from the grim tomb he had buried himself in. How had she done it? And why now? Why this woman, of all the women he knew? It was impossible. He could not breach such a trust. A trust due him as a judge. And worse yet, a judge in this woman’s case.

The door opened, and a shaft of light ran down the stair. He approached her and offered her his arm. She took it. And all his good intentions fled.