In the Barrister's Chambers Read Free

Bench, Jack would not be practicing law, would not be enjoying his success, wouldn’t have more money than he knew how to spend, and certainly wouldn’t be basking in the fickle affections of the ton. In fact, it would be safe to say, Jack would be nothing at all; he would most assuredly be wenching, gambling, and drinking to excess.
    But what disturbed Jack more than Evelyn Darlington’s being besotted by a man who most likely killed another woman in cold blood was the fact that Lord Lyndale clearly was unaware of his daughter’s intentions to seek out his legal services.
    That and the undeniable truth that he was drawn to Evelyn himself.
    Looking into Evelyn’s mesmerizing blue eyes, Jack struggled to hold on to his firm resolve.
    The lady is nothing but trouble, he mused. She had been a minx as a girl—an I-know-it-all-better-than-you-ever-will tormenter—and as a grown woman she was wildly beautiful. His attraction was its own warning. He never mixed business with pleasure. It always led to disastrous results in the courtroom.
    His mind whirled with excuses. He would speak with her father, explain the circumstances to him, and he had no doubt in his mind that Lord Lyndale would understand that he did not have the time to take on a murder client. He would be doing his former pupilmaster a service by informing him of his daughter’s clandestine activities.
    Reaching out, she grasped his hand, her eyes imploring. “If it is a matter of money,” she said, “please be assured that you will be paid.”
    Jack froze, every muscle in his body tensing. His blood always ran hot after a trial, and her touch—however innocent—tempted him to reach out and take the victor’s spoils. A kiss, at the least. He wondered what her reaction would be if she knew the effect she had on him.
    â€œIt has nothing to do with money,” he said tersely. “If I’m to consider taking on your friend’s—Mr. Randolph Sheldon’s—case, then I insist on speaking with your father first.”
    â€œMy father? Why?”
    â€œI owe him a great deal. I won’t go behind his back and take on a case involving his own daughter, even if you are not the accused.”
    She sat upright as if her laces suddenly had been pulled tight. “Fine. If you insist.”
    â€œI insist.”
    She stood and turned to leave. “As I’m sure you’re aware, my father is a busy man—”
    He reached for his pocket watch with a flourish, then looked at her. “I’m available now. I had expected Slip Dawson’s trial to take longer and had cleared the remainder of my day. From what I recall, your father never liked to work through the evening meal and should be returning home soon.”
    Jack stood and opened the door for her. He gave her his most charming smile as they returned to the main hall of the Old Bailey. He would meet with Lord Lyndale, enlighten him as to his daughter’s intentions, explain why he could not take on the case, help his daughter find a suitable lawyer to defend her anticipated betrothed, thus fulfilling any ethical obligations. He expected to be in his chambers at Lincoln’s Inn of Court within two hours’ time.
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    It was dark outside by the time they arrived at Lord Lyndale’s town house in Piccadilly. They had traveled by separate conveyances, Evelyn choosing to take a hackney cab while Jack traveled in his phaeton. As soon as Jack was alone, he removed his barrister’s wig and gown, laid them beside him on the padded bench, and ran his fingers through his hair. She had been worried about her reputation, traveling unchaperoned with a bachelor, and Jack was more than happy to accommodate her concerns. He didn’t want to learn more than was necessary about her troubles.
    Why bother? He didn’t plan on taking them on.
    They now stood on the front steps while Evelyn rapped on the