Betina Krahn (41 page)

“I made a thorough study of your wardrobe once, remember,” he said. “I just looked for garments that approximated what you already had.”

“Looked where? Where did you find such clothes ready-made?” She looked through all the things once more, as if looking for something and frowned.

“At Liberty of course. And here …” He handed her one final package from behind his back. “You may need
these
before you can put on
those.
”

She opened it and inside was a bust bodice and a pair of soft knitted-cotton knickers. Her knickers. Her product. She clasped them to her heart and looked up at him with love and
tears shining in her eyes. He had bought her and brought her her very own set of Ideal underclothes.

“Cole Mandeville, you are without a doubt the most … wonderful man in the world.” She threw her arms around him and he chuckled, wrapping her up tightly in his.

“That’s a relief,” he said, teasing. “I wasn’t sure you’d like them.”

He waited for her to dress, stealing kisses and sharing with her his cup of coffee. Then he took her downstairs, where his butler, Saggett, and staff had laid out a sumptuous brunch. She began racing through her food, and he demanded to know why she was in such a hurry. She looked up, licking marmalade from her lip, her eyes alight.

“You promised to take me to Liberty, remember?”

He nodded, but admonished teasingly, “Clean your plate first, Madeline. Nanny says.”

Fortified by a hearty meal, they sent for the carriage, and while they waited, Cole showed her the rest of his house.

When they came to his study, she had a chance to inspect the books and artifacts that stuffed the shelves. Many of the books dealt with law and legal matters, and she turned with a book of case precedents in her hand to study him.

“You know, of course, you’ll have to tell me someday,” she said.

“About what?”

“About whatever it is about the law that made you quit doing what you so obviously loved to do.”

She watched his guard rising and was considering whether this was the time and place to press the issue, when Saggett appeared at the door looking quite unsettled. “Excuse me, my lord, but there are … is … a delegation of some sort demanding to see you.” He glanced at Madeline. “Concerning Miss Duncan.”

In the entry hall a delegation of three men stood just inside the still-open door, wearing their top hats and gloves. At first glance it was clear this was not a social call, but Cole
and Madeline were still astonished to have one of the men wheel, point at Madeline, and declare: “There she is—I said she would be here!”

She stopped dead in the center of the entry hall, watching in horror as Cousin Gilbert and two of her aunt’s solicitors swooped down on her. They rushed to surround her, shunting Cole aside, and bombarded her with questions.

“Are you all right?” “Has he harmed you in any way?” “Dearest heaven—has he kept you here all night?” That last question lay burning on the air as she tried to make sense of their presence and heated demands.

“I am perfectly fine, thank you, Cousin Gilbert.” She tried to pull her elbow from his clammy grip, but he wouldn’t release her. Cole shouldered one of them aside and took his place, drawing her protectively against him. “Cole, these gentlemen were my aunt’s solicitors and are the trustees of her estate.”

“We’ve met,” he said tautly.

“Sir Edward, Mr. Townshend … whatever are you doing here?” she asked.

The trio stared at her rosy face and at Cole’s proprietary hand on her wrist, and sent each other looks of alarm.

“Since your abduction last night—I have had half of the city of London out looking for you,” Gilbert said in his most aggrieved manner. “I have been
frantic
with worry! Not knowing where to turn, I went to see your trustees to solicit their help. And when word came a while ago that Lord Mandeville was seen wrestling a woman from his carriage, Sir Edward and Mr. Townshend insisted upon accompanying me.”

“How dare you, sir?” Dunwoody addressed Cole. “Enter a gentleman’s home and abduct one of his innocent lady guests—”

“But he didn’t truly abduct me,” she began, glancing up at Cole.

“Mr. Duncan has witnesses to the incident,” Dunwoody insisted.

“Infringing upon a young woman of impeccable reputation—a young woman for whom you bear not just moral but legal responsibility—this is unforgivable!” Townshend blustered.

“I have done nothing to Miss Duncan except rescue her from a life that she wanted no part of,” Cole declared. “It’s true I did escort her from Lord Reardon’s—”

“He freely admits it,” Townshend exclaimed, aghast.

“You are beneath contempt, Lord Mandeville,” Gilbert said, his face filled with genuine loathing. “Come, dearest Madeline, we shall take you out of this place.” He pulled on her arm, trying to pry her free of Cole’s grip. “Unhand her, sir.”

“I will not go!” Madeline jerked her arm from Gilbert’s grip and glared at him. “I am the supposed injured party, and I say that no injury occurred. It is true that Lord Mandeville and I crossed words and that he escorted me from the party. It was so that we could sort out our differences … which we have done.” She glanced up at Cole’s angry face. “And since it was rather late, Lord Mandeville generously offered me the use of his guest room. He was just about to take me … home … to my house in Bloomsbury. I’ve decided to move there, Cousin Gilbert. You have been most gracious, but I have imposed upon you quite long enough.”

“You see? I was afraid of this,” Gilbert said to the others, shaking his head. “Madeline, you must let us help you. You don’t know what you’re doing, saying.”

“I’m afraid we must insist that you accompany us out of this house, Miss Duncan,” Dunwoody said, straightening to his fullest height. “This very minute.”

“She will do no such thing,” Cole declared with fiercely. “I have suffered your absurd charges and abuse for Miss Duncan’s sake. But if you are not out of my house in fifteen seconds, I shall toss your vultures’ carcasses out into the street myself!”

They were suddenly face-to-face in searing quiet, three men to one, each side waiting for the other to blink.

“Please go, Gilbert,” she said, frantic to defuse the potentially violent situation. “You’re not needed here.”

Gilbert transferred his gaze to her, examining her and finding something about her changed. With a seasoned voluptuary’s perception, he sensed instinctively what that something was.

“So.” He gave Madeline a look of pitying contempt. “That is how it is.” He glanced meaningfully at Dunwoody and Townshend. “I believe we are too late, gentlemen. I believe
the damage
has already been done.”

The others caught his inference and turned looks of outrage and disgust on Madeline. She reddened and lifted her chin.

“Lord Mandeville,” Dunwoody said with a regal disdain polished by years of practice, “you have violated not only this young woman, but also your sacred duty before the bar. It appears that you have used your legal office and function for tawdry personal gain, and that, sir, we will not tolerate! Good day.”

The three strode out and onto the street, where they were joined by a fourth figure who had been lurking in the doorway, largely unnoticed. Rupert Fitch scurried along after the threesome, tucking his pad and pencil away and falling in behind them with his ears cocked. He heard nothing of additional value until they paused on the green of the square and Gilbert Duncan faced the others.

“Clearly, she is not responsible for her actions, gentlemen. It pains me. I am only glad that Aunt Olivia has been spared seeing sweet little Madeline sinking into the depths of depravity and derangement.”

“There is but one recourse,” Townshend declared. “We must seek a remedy in the courts.”

“A fat lot of good that will do, with Mandeville’s uncle sitting on the bench,” Dunwoody said with a snarl. “The
man’s a vile; eccentric old wreck who feathers his nephew’s nest out of his judicial privilege and our—Miss Duncan’s pockets.”

“Of course, I don’t know much about the law,” Gilbert said, watching their reactions. “But I think it a crime that there is not some way to have a justice removed from a case in which he or his family has become too personally involved.”

Dunwoody and Townshend looked at each other, the same idea blooming in both their minds. “That’s it,” Dunwoody said. “We shall petition to get Rayburn removed from the case. Penobscott-Holmes, head of Chancery, is an old school chum of mine.…”

Gilbert watched the partners hurrying off, checked his watch, and struck off across the square for the cab stand. Fitch tagged along.

“Smooth as silk, Mr. Duncan,” Fitch said with genuine admiration.

“I thought so.” Gilbert reached into his pocket and handed the news writer a small purse. “Good work finding the little trollop. Check with me from time to time, Fitch. Who knows when I may have another little job for you?”

As he settled back in a hansom cab, headed for Brooks’s, Gilbert sighed with satisfaction. Who would have guessed that Madeline’s avid, idealistic exterior concealed a hot-tailed nature? He couldn’t have planned it any better; her illicit passion for Mandeville had played straight into his hands. Soon they would have their day in court and “crazy Cousin Madeline” would be placed in his charge—fortune and all.

Madeline was still reeling as she watched Cole’s face harden and saw him turn away. She followed him into his study, feeling as if she were watching a stranger.

“Cole?”

“I won’t be very good company just now,” he said, keeping
his back to her and looking out the window into the rear service yard. Beneath his tight control and deliberate movements was an icy fury that she sensed was partly directed at himself.

“Cole, it doesn’t make any difference.”

“Doesn’t it?” He didn’t turn around. “You heard them. I’ve damaged you irreparably, taken advantage of my office and responsibility toward you.”

“Don’t be absurd. You haven’t damaged me or taken advantage—”

“Haven’t I?” He turned, and the darkness in his eyes took her breath. “You heard them. They blame me for your conduct, and in large part they’re right. I allowed you to run your course at St. Crispin, even when I saw how things were going, I didn’t interfere or help. I did nothing. And now that I’ve finally done
something,
it appears to be all the wrong things. It seems that I’m destined to destroy the things I love the most. The Macmillans, the law … now you.”

“Don’t be absurd, Cole, you haven’t destroyed me and it wasn’t
your
actions or your love for the Macmillans that caused their problems. And it’s not—”

The law. Again. That nameless beast that claimed and overshadowed half of his heart, his life.

“All right, tell me. I want to know just what it is that still has its claws in your heart. Greedy creature that I am, I don’t want to share your heart with anybody or anything.” She closed the door and leaned back on it. “We’re not leaving this room until I hear what it was that broke your heart and sent you fleeing from the law.” When he looked up, he saw that she was serious and utterly determined.

“It’s old news. It doesn’t do any good to bring it all up again,” he said.

“Tell me,” she demanded, stalking him with her eyes crackling. She could see the conflict her demands generated in him. If there were any other way …

“You told me I had to deal with my problems, face them
down. And then you helped me do just that. Cole, I love you, and if you know what that truly means, you’ll tell me what happened and let me help you deal with it, face it down.”

She saw him wavering, saw the need and pain mingled with the anger and knew she had to help him. She pulled him to the couch and pushed him down on it. Then, hiking her skirt, she abruptly straddled his lap, serving notice that she intended to keep him there until he capitulated and talked to her.

Then she kissed him with everything in her. Long, and fierce. Gentling slowly against his hardened mouth, coaxing, loving him, drawing whatever poison was there to the surface.

When finally his lips began to soften under hers, then to respond, she lifted her head and looked at him. His eyes were full of dark, troubled emotions.

“All right.” He looked away for a few minutes while he conjured long-suppressed memories of painful events.

“I told you about my childhood, about why I went into the law. I honestly tried to do some good. I helped people, won a number of cases, and believed I was doing what was right. Then gradually, somehow, without my knowing it, my clients’ wishes began to replace my personal values and judgment. I stopped making decisions about what was right or wrong. Winning the case, coming out on top, became my justification for everything, my whole reason for being.” He glanced at her eyes and his voice grew hoarse as his throat constricted.

“I don’t know if that makes sense to you at all. I didn’t need money. I didn’t need connections or position or power. What I needed was purpose. And I found it doing battle daily in a courtroom full of other men who were just as hungry as I was.”

“It does make sense,” she whispered, touching his face to bring him back to her. She, too, had known what it was
to need a reason to get up each morning. “It makes all the sense in the world.”

His eyes shimmered as he struggled with old memories and fermented pain. “I slowly lost myself in it … working constantly, forsaking friends, and abandoning other parts of my life. I was a man driven. It didn’t matter anymore what was right—as long as I won.”

“And something happened.”

He nodded and drew a deep breath, preparing himself.

“I took on a case. A nobleman with a large fortune and a hunger for more. He owned a parcel of land in London’s East End, near the river, and was determined to clear the tenements on it and make a fat profit selling it to a company that wanted to build new docks. A few social reformers heard what was afoot and protested, saying that the tenants would be turned out on the streets and have no place to go. A suit was brought and the justices ordered a stay. The deal was turning bad—the buyers were ready to seek property elsewhere.” He rubbed his eyes as if wiping away a disturbing vision.