In the Barrister's Chambers (17 page)
Read In the Barrister's Chambers Online
Authors: Tina Gabrielle
Chapter 27
Jack tossed Evelyn's cloak on a chair and motioned for her to sit on the settee next to his desk. He casually leaned against his desk, one booted leg crossed over the other, and leveled his gaze upon her.
Without a jacket, waistcoat, or cravat he looked magnificent. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing the corded muscles of his neck and a sprinkling of hair on his bronzed chest. It was clear he hadn't expected company and had discarded his formal business attire to work privately in his office for the remainder of the afternoon.
“I take it you couldn't wait until I contacted you?” he asked.
Despite his teasing tone, she lifted her chin. “You must know I'm anxious to find out what occurred after you returned to Bess's home.”
“I can only imagine.”
He grinned, and her heart gave a little jump.
Don't be a fool, Evelyn! You must keep your wits about you and not succumb to his easy charm.
Don't be a fool, Evelyn! You must keep your wits about you and not succumb to his easy charm.
She was reminded again of all the female clerks and wives of clients at Lincoln's Inn that had practically swooned when Jack Harding had entered the room. The years had only honed his rugged appeal. Hadn't the barmaid at the infamous Cock and Bull Tavern in Billingsgate eagerly displayed her enormous breasts for his viewing pleasure?
No, she must not let childhood fancy pervade her thoughts. She was a woman now, fully in control of her faculties. She had to focus on her goal of marrying a man who valued intelligence and independence in a woman. Such a male was an anomaly, and the arrogant Jack Harding did not fit this description.
She craned her neck and peered at his desk. “Did you find the diary or not?”
He arched a dark brow. “Do you expect I'd keep it out on my desk if I did?”
“Don't tease me, Jack. I have thought of little else since fleeing Bess Whitfield's home.”
His face grew serious, and he pushed away from the desk and walked over. Sitting beside her on the settee, he cradled her gloved hands in his. “I'm sorry if my teasing distressed you, Evie. I never found the diary, and I'm convinced Bess moved it before she was murdered.”
The heat of his hands seeped through her gloves. His thumb caressed her palm in a circular motion through the thin kidskin, and her pulse skittered alarmingly. Looking into his handsome face, she felt an unwelcome surge of excitement, and she knew without a doubt that her conflicting emotions were dangerously close to melting her firm resolve to keep Jack Harding at a safe distance.
Why did he have to be the most attractive and compelling male she knew?
Fighting an overwhelming need to be close to him, she stood and stepped to his desk, her back to him as she struggled to compose herself. She looked down and noticed the thick book of statutes open on his desk.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Research.” He stood and followed her to his desk.
The book was open to the criminal code and a thought occurred to her. “You're doing legal research for Randolph's case?”
“I'm looking into defense theories should he be tried for the murder.”
“Do you think it will come to that?”
“It's my job to be prepared, and truth be told, Randolph lacks the funds and savvy to hide from Bow Street forever.”
She spun to face him. “I can assist you,” she blurted out. “I'm highly proficient at legal research and have already come up with several theories of defense. And if Randolph is forced to go to trial, I can help you prepare for the courtroom as well.”
He held up a hand. “Wait a minute, Evie. I work alone. I'm quite aware of how proficient you are at research. But book knowledge and practical lawyering in the courtroom are completely different.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“I mean you cannot learn in university how to handle a twelve-man jury.”
“But the statutes and rules of evidence and hearsay, they all must apply.”
“They are just the basics, Evie. But how you deal with people, how you present a case in a favorable light, it's all something you must learn by practical experience. It's just as important, if not more, in influencing the outcome,” he said.
“You're an actor.”
He shrugged, not in the least perturbed by her accusation. “Perhaps that is the best description.”
She changed tactics. If a logical argument wouldn't move him, then revealing her true plight might. “Please let me do something, Jack. My mind is awhirl, and I haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks.”
He sighed with exasperation and ran his fingers through his hair. “Very well.” He turned the book around and pushed it across the desk. “You start by looking into the statutes. I'll check the case law to see if anything relevant appears.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Would you like wine?” he asked. “It's the end of the day, and I had planned on having a drink before you arrived.”
She nodded, and Jack went to a sideboard in the corner of the room.
Evelyn pretended to read, turning the pages in the book, as she stole glances at him as he poured two glasses. Without his jacket, his broad shoulders appeared a mile wide, his muscles rippling beneath his white shirt. The latest men's fashion allowed for padded jackets, but Jack would never need such artifice like most men of the
ton.
ton.
He returned to the desk, handed her a glass and raised his. “A toast,” he said. “To the most beautiful research assistant I've ever had.”
“To finding what we need,” she added as she raised her glass to his. “I'm quite proficient at this, you know.”
His gaze caught and held hers. “You always were, Evie.”
She sat on the settee with books spread around her. Jack sat behind his desk. They worked together for over an hour. They shared ideas and theories until Jack was comfortable that they had not overlooked anything relevant for Randolph's anticipated defense.
The wine heated her blood, and Jack's conversation eased the tightly coiled knot in her stomach that had been present since walking into his chambers. He discussed his prior murder cases, and how he had struggled with those clients whom he knew were innocent, but the evidence was stacked against them.
Then there were the other casesâthe ones where the defendant was truly guilty of the crimeâbut Jack gave them the best representation he could. She sat enthralled as he spoke. Unlike the many male members of society that she had encountered, Jack did not talk entirely about himself. He was truly concerned with providing the best legal representation for the clients who so desperately depended on him, no matter how difficult the case.
He had an air of efficiency about him, and she was fascinated by his keen intelligence and strategic ingenuity in the courtroom. She made suggestions for Randolph's case, and took delight in Jack's positive response to several of them.
He refilled her wineglass, and they continued to work for another half hour. It was a cool May evening and a refreshing breeze blew in through the open window. At one point, she sneaked a peek and caught him brush a lock of brown hair from his eyes. She couldn't help herself, and her thoughts traveled back to his early days at Lincoln's Inn when he studied a treatise.
Old habits don't die,
she thought, as she recalled his same mannerism.
she thought, as she recalled his same mannerism.
He looked up and found her watching him. “What is it, Evie?”
“I was worried sick when I didn't hear from you,” she confessed. “Images of Viscount Hamilton creeping up behind you in Bess's bedroom kept running through my mind.”
His green eyes darkened. For a heart-stopping moment, she feared she had gone too far, blurting out her true feelings.
He slowly rose and pushed back his chair, and her fingers tensed on the book in her hands.
Closing the distance between them in three long strides, he knelt before her on the settee. He took her hands in his once again, but this time, her gloves lay discarded on the settee, and the touch of his fingers on hers made her skin tingle.
“You needn't have worried, Evie,” he said. “I was serious when I told you that I can take care of myself.”
Beneath his heated gaze, Evelyn couldn't help but compare Jack to Randolph. Jack was strong, shrewdly intelligent, and competent whereas Randolph's bookish smarts and youth had left him desperate and unprepared for the crisis that had fallen in his lap.
She knew with certainty that Jack could handle Viscount Hamilton just as he could master any complex legal dilemma.
He lowered his gaze to her mouth, and she recalled the pleasure of being held against his body, of his lips caressing hers. Something intense flared between them, and she recognized the spark of desire in his eyes. Her heart pounded, her breath quickened, and she feared that with one encouraging word from his lips, she would kneel down and join him on the velvet-soft Wilton carpet at her feet. Her lids lowered, and she waited for him to pull her closer, to hungrily cover her mouth with his.
Chapter 28
Raising his hands from hers, Jack trailed them up Evelyn's arms to the edge of her puffed short sleeves. His touch sent her senses spinning, and again she was helpless against her traitorous thoughts. Jack's palm was much rougher than Randolph's. Rougher, larger, and oh, so much more arousing.
“Careful, Evie,” he said in a hoarse voice. “You shouldn't have come to see me without your maid.”
She understood exactly what he was insinuating. His eyes gleamed like emeralds, and she acknowledged that she'd never truly lusted after Randolph like she did Jack. This longing for Jack was wicked, sinful. Her feelings for him had nothing to do with logic, for to abandon all propriety, all morals, to give herself to a man to whom she was not wed, a man who knew she had plans to marry anotherâwas foolish and reckless.
Moving close, he cradled her face between his hands. “Evie,” he whispered gruffly. “I have tried to exorcise this desire I feel for youâbelieve me I haveâbut I've failed. Your beauty and intelligenceâyour very essenceâhave bewitched me.”
She gasped. How had he probed the deepest recesses of her mind to discover her most secret desires? Could he be that talented, that intuitive? She struggled to quench the joy she felt in her chest at his words, but his nearness was thrilling. She breathed in his familiar, alluring scent and clenched her skirts in her lap to prevent her fingers from reaching up to hold his hands against her flushed cheeks.
“When I kissed you in Bess Whitfield's vestibule, I was going mad inside and not because Hamilton was hot on our heels. All I could think about was kissing you more, kissing you
everywhere,
” he said huskily.
everywhere,
” he said huskily.
“Jack, Iâ”
“Let me kiss you, Evie.”
She didn't protest, didn't make a sound. She watched entranced as his head lowered and his lips touched hers. Whisper soft and seductive, he kissed her. She opened to him, and his tongue swept inside. She came alive then and met his tongue with her own. Her fingers speared into his thick hair and urged him to deepen the kiss. With a low growl, he slid his hand around her neck, drawing her closer, and took her mouth with a savage intensity that left no doubt that he desired her.
Jack Harding desiring her? The irony was not lost on her. She would have given anything years ago to have him want her.
She tasted the rich wine on his tongue, and it was headier and more intoxicating to her than if she had consumed the entire bottle. He touched her only with one hand and his lips, yet it seemed as if his heat wrapped around her like a glove, caressing her body. If she felt this way from one kiss, what would the touch of his hands on her flesh feel like?
His head lowered to kiss a hot trail down her neck, and lower still, to the lacy bodice of her gown. When his lips hovered over the swell of a breast, she sucked in a breath. With lids half closed, she watched him kiss her breast over the fabric of her gown. The heat was scorching and arousing at once.
She'd always behaved like a lady in the past, had held to a strict code of propriety. But now with Jack Harding kneeling at her feet, propriety was the furthest thing from her mind. What did it matter when her body was burning from the inside out?
Touch me,
she thought.
Touch me more.
she thought.
Touch me more.
His nimble fingers reached behind her to unfasten the buttons on the back of her gown. Then her gown and shift slid down her arms, baring her breasts to his gaze.
He sucked in a breath. “You're so fair, Evie.”
It was the reverence in his voice and the fierce desire in his heated gaze that was her undoing. And when his lips grazed the side of her breast, then her nipple, her senses reeled.
Sweet Lord, she'd never expected pleasure like this before.
She clenched his shoulders as his mouth took possession of her breasts. He was ruthlessly thorough in his seduction, first teasing, then laving each nipple, giving equal attention to each breast. Her head fell back, her back arched, and through lowered lashes the colorful bindings of the law books lining the shelves blurred like a fiery kaleidoscope.
She was perched on the edge of the settee, her fingers digging into Jack's back. Feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt, she kneaded his skin and pulled him closer. She wanted more. She wanted to feel his naked flesh beneath her fingers, to explore him as he was her.
There was a rustle of skirts, and then his fingers glided up her silk stocking, past her thigh, to the top of her garters. She stiffened at the shock of his touch, but he gave her no time to think and pulled her closer still to suck a nipple full in his mouth. She whimpered as pleasure radiated straight from her breast to flood her loins with a liquid heat. Working through her clothing, he reached her woman's center and threaded through the curls to finger the sensitive flesh.
She cried out as shivers of delight spiraled from the soft core of her body. It was wicked, sinful, and oh, so miraculous. Her senses reeled. Her hips arched against his hand of their own accord, and she clawed his shoulders.
“Easy, Evie,” he murmured against her breast.
Easy? She wanted anything but easy.
He stroked with his fingers and eased the tip of one inside her, wresting an outcry of delight from her lips. He found her sensitive nub and his thumb glided over it, once, twice. Passion rose in her like the hottest fire, clouding her mind. She squirmed on the settee, whether to pull him closer or push him away she didn't know.
He lifted his head, his intense green eyes meeting hers.
“Let me love you, Evie. It will be good between us. I promise you'll never once think of Randolph, and he never need know.”
Yes,
she thought.
Randolph would never know.
she thought.
Randolph would never know.
Her mind whirled. She could be with Jack, know him intimately as a woman, and slake this maddening lust she had for him. The thought did not shock her as it once would have. At that moment, all she knew was her body's crying out for a release that she knew Jack had the skill to give her.
She slid to the carpet in a pool of skirts. Kneeling face-to-face, she pressed against his hard length. “Yes, Jack.”
Surprise flickered in his eyes, but was quickly replaced with fierce satisfaction.
“Don't move, sweetheart.” He rose and went to the door. For an instant she feared he would walk out on her, leave her kneeling, half-naked on the carpet. She clutched her gaping bodice to her breasts and watched him.
He turned the lock and the sound reverberated through the quiet room like a gunshot. The noise should have snapped her to her senses, but when Jack turned and stalked back to her with grace that reminded her of a large, predatory panther her misgivings vanished.
“The chambers are empty, but I want to be certain,” he said.
He came to her, and she was rewarded when he swept her into his arms and took her mouth with a searing kiss. Her gown fell back to her waist, and her nipples instantly hardened against his cotton shirt. She moved restlessly against him, suddenly anxious to touch him. Her fingers rose to the buttons of his shirt, but he reached up to pull the fabric apart, sending buttons flying across the carpet. Pulling the shirt from his waistband, he shed it impatiently.
She greedily studied him. He was everything her childhood dreams were made of and much, much more. Even though she had never seen a naked man before, she innately knew no other could compare to Jack Harding. He was in his prime, and the most attractive male she knew. He was muscled and sinewy, a sprinkling of hair on his chest and down to the waistband of his trousers.
She swallowed at the bulge that appeared there, nervous, but curious.
He cradled her face in his hands, and forced her eyes to his. “Are you certain, Evie? I may not be able to stop if we go any further.”
Oh, yes, she was certain. She thought she might die if he stopped. Here was her chance to be with Jack, the male she had pined after as a girl, the man she desired as a woman.
Still, a tiny voice had to ask, “You will tell no one?”
“I promise.”
“You can prevent an unwanted child?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “There are ways.”
“Then make love to me, Jack.”
His face was fierce as he reached out to tug on the last button that held her clothing in place, and her gown and shift slid down her hips to the carpet. Her drawers followed and then she was naked beside him, clad only in black silk stockings and garters. His eyes widened in appreciation as they traveled down her body.
“Lord,” he murmured. “You're perfect, Evie.”
He went for the top button of his trousers, and quickly discarded them. It was her turn to stare. The trail of hair down his chest did indeed continue lower, and his manhood stood erect from a nest of black curls. A frisson of misgiving stabbed her brain at his size, but then he took her into his arms and laid her on the soft carpet.
Stretching his long length beside her, he kissed her thoroughly. He was tender, then savage, and he kissed her as if he was committing her to memory.
His hand slid down her taut stomach to the swell of her hip, and lower still to stroke the sensitive nub between her legs. This time she anticipated the pleasure, and her body sang beneath his skillful touch. He continued his seductive onslaught, kissing her everywhere until she was desperate for more. Only then did he move atop her, bracing his weight with his arms and inching her legs apart with his thigh. His manhood grazed her swollen mons, and she gasped and opened her eyes.
She might have been alarmed by the savage, hungry look in his eyes. But it was JackâJack whom she had known and adored since childhood. Without hesitation, she reached up to pull him close.
Skin to skin, they lay panting against each other. She heard his sharp hiss, then felt him pressing against her core, gliding inside her. The sensations were pure and explosive. Inch by inch, he pushed farther until he stopped. Digging her heels into the carpet, she arched upward, wanting more, needing something . . .
“Dear God, Evie. Don't move,” he groaned. She frowned in confusion, her brain sluggish with the strength of her lust.
“Jack, I need . . .”
He groaned again, but then plunged all the way within her. She cried out from the sudden stab of pain.
“Stay with me, Evie,” he said hoarsely.
He sounded in pain as well, but he pulled back and thrust forward. Her pain ebbed and warm honey flowed to where their bodies were joined. An urgency overtook her, and she raised her hips to meet his rhythm. The pleasure built in intensity. Passion pounded the blood through her heart, chest, and head, and she feared she'd shatter into a million pieces.
Then her body did explode. She arched her back, her nails raking his shoulders as she was hurtled into blissful oblivion. His answering groans echoed around her, he thrust twice more, then stiffened above her and abruptly pulled out of her body. She felt something hot and wet spurt across her belly and breasts.
Exhausted and drained, she lay heavily breathing in the warmth of his arms. He brushed a kiss across her forehead.
Opening her eyes, she gazed at the chiseled planes of his face. Her mind was sluggish to return; her first coherent thought was that she had immensely underestimated how difficult it would be to get Jack Harding out of her system.
Other books
Imaginary Friends by Nora Ephron
Dex ARe by Jayne Blue
The Warden by Anthony Trollope
The Night Stalker by Chris Carter
Betrothal by Mande Matthews
My Sweetheart by Shannon Guymon
All Gone by Stephen Dixon
Franklin's Christmas Gift by Paulette Bourgeois, Brenda Clark
The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoyevsky