There stood none other than Nevada LaRouche.
Honor froze, her champagne glass halfway to her lips, a sense of doom clenching the pit of her stomach and making her dizzy with apprehension. Her charade was over. Soon everyone in this room would know that her husband was a liar.
She cast a look of mute appeal at Robert, but he remained deep in conversation with Clarence Martin and didn’t notice her distress.
She watched helplessly as her host and hostess went to welcome the man who could ruin everything.
LaRouche looked as handsome as the devil tonight, his somber black evening attire providing a striking foil for his fair coloring. Yet for all his surface polish, he still looked out of place.
Suddenly he looked straight at Honor, those remote blue eyes pinning her to the sofa. He started, obviously surprised to find her here. Then his eyes narrowed, sending a chill down Honor’s spine. She didn’t dare allow herself to speculate about how this quiet, purposeful man made love.
Honor had only one small hope of salvaging the evening. She rose.
Nevada watched her approach, thinking to himself, What in damnation is she doing here?
A low-cut evening gown in a flattering shade of forest green had replaced her prim shirtwaist, revealing creamy shoulders and a stunning figure worthy of a long, lingering look. In fact, even men engaged in conversation followed her out of the corners of their eyes as she moved across the room with a floating, seductive grace, but she appeared oblivious to the attention her cream and jet beauty attracted.
As she drew closer, he could sense panic and desperation about her like that of a horse trapped in a burning barn.
“Why, Mr. LaRouche,” she said with a too-bright smile, “what a pleasure to see you again.”
Pleasure? He would hardly call their meeting in his office a pleasure. More like having a tooth pulled. He smiled mirthlessly. “I suppose you could call it that, ma’am.”
Mrs. Davis said to the Foggs, “Mr. LaRouche recently made a very generous donation to the Florence Night Mission for Fallen Women.”
He rocked back on his heels and opened his mouth, ready to refute her absurd assertion, when he caught the silent plea in her eyes.
What kind of game is she playing? he wondered.
Intrigued in spite of himself, he smiled and decided to play along. “Mrs. Davis here will do anything to rescue fallen women.”
Only he noticed her little sigh of relief at disaster averted.
Mrs. Fogg beamed. “A truly worthy cause, my dear.”
His hostess then took him around the room to introduce him to everyone, including the lady lawyer’s husband, Robert Davis.
Davis said, “Nevada LaRouche of Delancy and LaRouche?” When Nevada responded in the affirmative, Davis said, “One of the few companies that didn’t lose their shirt in ’93,” referring to the devastating depression that had gripped the country. “A real feat.”
“My partner had more to do with that than I did,” he said. “He’s the brains of the outfit.”
“Nonsense. I’m sure you’re too modest.”
Now, there’s a man who wants something real bad, Nevada thought after he excused himself and continued on his rounds. Once he had spoken his quota of social inanities, he cornered Mrs. Davis and maneuvered her into a quiet corner of the parlor where they wouldn’t be overheard.
“What in damnation was that all about?” He smiled and looked out over the room so no one would think he and this duplicitous woman were having anything but an innocent conversation.
“Thank you for not giving me away.” She fanned herself nervously. “Mr. LaRouche, I must ask a great favor of you.”
“A favor? I—”
“Please. No one here must know that I’m a lawyer.”
“Why? Are you trying to find someone else to blackmail?”
She looked out over the assembled guests. “For the thousandth time, Lillie Troy isn’t blackmailing you. I am keeping my profession a secret for personal reasons.”
“You have some gall, asking me to help you after the way you cheated me.” He stroked his mustache. “If I agree to help you, you have to tell me what’s going on.”
The look in her eyes told him she’d rather trust a rabid wildcat. “I can’t.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself, but I can’t guarantee I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“Oh, all right!” She stepped closer to him and whispered behind her silk fan, her sweet rose perfume and midnight eyes distracting him momentarily. “Please don’t tell anyone here that I’m a lawyer.”
“Why not? Aren’t you proud of being one?”
She bristled. “Of course I am.”
“Then why keep it a secret from all these other lawyers?”
Her direct gaze fell away, and she looked troubled. “My husband just started working at Fitch, Martin and Fogg a little while ago. Unfortunately, most lawyers are downright hostile to women in the legal profession. They regard us as oddities.”
The bitterness in her voice spoke volumes, and he felt an unexpected twinge of sympathy. He knew all about women who were considered oddities. His Sybilla. Damon’s wife, Catherine. Both dedicated doctors.
“So you’re doing this for your husband?”
“To advance his career.”
“Hasn’t he told the people he works with that you’re a lawyer?”
“I begged him not to, and he reluctantly agreed to go along with my request until he becomes more established.”
“That could take a while.”
“I know. But if
they find out that his wife is a lawyer, they might dismiss him. He’s worked so hard for this position, Mr. LaRouche. I’d hate to see him lose it because of me.”
Her explanation was so full of holes that he doubted it would hold up under closer scrutiny, but she was riled enough without him pressing her further. “I can understand a man needing to work.”
She swallowed hard. “Then you won’t tell? I can count on your discretion?”
He stroked his mustache. “If I keep your secret, what will you do for me?”
She fanned herself, and her shoulders drooped slightly in resignation. “What’s your price? As if I don’t know.”
“Talk Lillie into dropping her suit.” Even as he made his request, something told him that she would refuse.
“And you accuse me of blackmailing you.” She raised her stubborn chin. “I will not, so do your worst, Mr. LaRouche. Tell my secret to the world. See if I care.”
“You wouldn’t turn your back on Lillie to save your own skin?”
Without hesitation, she replied, “No, Mr. LaRouche, I could not. It’s a matter of ethics.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why would you be so loyal to Lillie? What’s she to you?”
“She’s a client. She trusts me to represent her to the best of my ability, and I owe her my loyalty.” She looked around the room with an air of fatalism. “Well, I got myself into this and will have to suffer the consequences. If you’ll excuse me…”
She moved away, but LaRouche stayed her with the brief touch of his hand on her arm. “I’ll keep your secret, Mrs. Davis. For now.” He grinned, for he couldn’t resist turning the tables on her. “But now you’re in my debt, and I intend to collect.”
She swallowed hard. “I’ve already told you that I won’t urge Lillie to drop her suit.”
“That’s not the price I had in mind.”
“Oh? What do you want from me?”
His grin widened. “I haven’t figured that out yet, but when I do, you’ll be the first to know.”
He was going to enjoy thinking of a suitable punishment for Honor Davis.
With a brief nod, he turned and walked away.
Later, when Honor and Robert were back in their apartment and he was unhooking her gown, he said, “You were wonderful tonight, Honor. Everyone there adored you, and I know Fogg was most impressed by my beautiful wife.”
His beautiful wife, not his accomplished wife.
All I had to do was be party to a lie, she thought, stepping out of the dress and laying it across a chair for Tilly to clean and iron in the morning.
“I’m happy you’re pleased,” she said, unhooking her corset and letting her compressed insides return to their natural, comfortable state so she could breathe deeply again. Now there would be no arguments. As much as she loved arguing cases, she hated arguing with her husband. She reached for her nightgown.
Robert undid his shirt studs. “You and Nevada LaRouche seemed to hit it off. I saw you in a corner talking like old friends.” He removed his shirt. “If I were a jealous husband, I’d have a few words with him for monopolizing my wife.”
“That’s because I had met him once before,” she replied, slipping her nightgown over her head and seating herself at her dressing table. “There is no cause for you to be jealous. We’re hardly old friends.”
Robert looked at her. “Oh? You never told me. When did you meet him?”
Honor creamed her face and told him as much as she could about Lillie Troy’s breach-of-promise suit.
Robert’s hands stilled, and he stared at her out of displeased eyes. “You let some second-rate actress sue a prominent man like LaRouche?”
She turned slowly in her seat, expecting the worst. “Why shouldn’t I? She had a good case, and she’s my client.”
Robert shook his head. “Didn’t you stop to think that you’ve made us a very powerful enemy?”
“Us?” Honor wiped the cream from her face with hard strokes. “No, Robert, I’m afraid I didn’t think of that at all. The woman needed a lawyer, and I agreed to represent her, which I did to the best of my ability.”
Chagrin twisted his features. “Well, there go my chances of ever working for him, thanks to my idealistic wife.”
Honor yanked out her hairpins and brushed her hair so vigorously it crackled. “I’m sorry if I’ve spoiled your opportunities yet again, but I didn’t know the man’s good opinion meant so much to you.” And even if she had, she still would have taken Lillie on as a client.
He came up behind her and stroked her hair. “Idealism has its place, but you have to be prudent. There are people in this world who can hurt you, and there are those who can help. I know you’ve been sheltered, but you have to learn the difference if you’re to survive in the legal profession.”
She tied her hair back with a ribbon and then rose. “I shall remember that in the future.” Not that she would ever allow personal convenience to override her principles. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it really is late, and I’m exhausted.”
She slipped into bed, closed her eyes, and prayed he wouldn’t touch her tonight, when there was still the residue of anger as solid as a wall between them. He didn’t.
Exhausted as she was, she lay awake in the darkness, wondering why she had taken the blame for Robert’s lie tonight. Wifely loyalty, she supposed, and pride. Like most women, she didn’t want anyone to think ill of her husband.
Nevada LaRouche remained an enigma. He could have exposed her, but he hadn’t, and not for any altruistic reasons. He wanted her in his debt, to pay her back for helping his former mistress. Quid pro quo. Something exchanged for something wanted. The thought of owing such a man a favor caused a shudder to ripple across her skin.
Three days later she learned exactly how he intended to be repaid.
Chapter Nine
Nearly buried among the opened and unopened law tomes scattered around her desk, Honor barely looked up when she heard the knock on her door. “Come in,” she said as she kept on writing.
“Can you put down that pen long enough to hear my good news?”
She looked up and smiled. “Robert.” Then she glanced at her clock in puzzlement. “It’s not even noon. Why aren’t you at work?”
His green eyes shone with triumph as he swaggered over to the chair. “I don’t work for Fitch, Martin and Fogg anymore.”
Honor sat back in shock. “You don’t? What happened?” She prayed they hadn’t discovered that his wife was a lawyer and fired him.
“Starting tomorrow, I’ll be working for Delancy and LaRouche.”
Her mouth went dry. “Delancy and LaRouche?” She tugged at her locket. “Nevada LaRouche offered you a position?”
“Just over an hour ago.”
“Why?”
Robert’s smile froze. “Why do you think?” he snapped. “I’m a damn fine lawyer, and he’s impressed with me.”
Honor rose and placed a placating hand on his arm. “I didn’t mean to imply that you aren’t. I’m just surprised he would offer you a position after I represented a woman who was suing him. That could be construed as a conflict of interest.”
Robert dismissed her point with a wave of his hand. “Men don’t hold grudges the way women do. His company needed another lawyer, and he knew I was looking for a new position.” He shrugged. “He said he’d even consider you.”
Help Nevada LaRouche twist and circumvent the law to increase his vast wealth? Never.
“That’s most generous of him,” Honor replied, “but you know I’ve never been interested in working for a financier. Besides, it would be much too distracting to work with my own husband.”
Robert’s eyes tasted her, and he smiled slowly. “You’re right. I’d be kissing you in the coatroom every chance I got.”