In the Barrister's Chambers

242 Pages·2011·1.07 MB·English

by  Tina Gabrielle

Books by Tina Gabrielle
IN THE BARRISTER’S CHAMBERS

A PERFECT SCANDAL

LADY OF SCANDAL

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
In The Barrister’s Chambers
Tina Gabrielle
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents Books by Tina Gabrielle
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Author’s Note
Teaser chapter
Copyright Page
For my darling Laura.
May you always follow your dreams,
have the courage to believe in them, and
may your star always shine bright.
I love you.
Chapter 1
April 5, 1814
London, Old Bailey Courthouse
Honorable Tobias Townsend, presiding

“They ain’t whores!”
“What would you call seven women who live under your roof then, if not a
brothel?” Prosecutor Abrams asked, stalking forward.
“Me lady friends, they are,” Slip Dawson explained.
“All seven of them?”
“Me mum always said I ’ad a way with the ladies,” Slip whined.
“Did your mother tell you to freely share your women with all the men of the
City of London?” Abrams asked sharply, giving the accused a stony glare.
An imposing barrister at the defense table jumped up. “I object, my lord. The
prosecution has not brought forth one man ‘from the City of London’ to testify
as to bedding any of Mr. Dawson’s lady friends.”
The judge sighed and rested his chin in hand, a look of complete boredom on
his face. Four of the twelve-member jury rolled their eyes; others snickered.
Evelyn Darlington sat perched on the edge of a wooden bench in the center of
the spectators’ gallery. Her eyes never wavered from the defense barrister—the
only man in the room she knew—Jack Harding. He was the reason she was here,
witnessing this spectacle, along with all the other observers in the packed
courtroom.
The late-afternoon sun streamed in through the windows, raising the
temperature in the crowded room by twenty degrees. Too many unwashed bodies
in too small a space should have repulsed her.
Instead, she sat in her seat completely enthralled.
Jack Harding was precisely as she remembered him, as only a few lines near
his eyes gave away the years that had passed since she had last seen him. He was
tall—over six feet three inches—with chiseled features that gave him a sharp and
confident profile. His eyes were a deep green that reminded her of the ferns that
thrived during the summer months. His lips were curved in a smile, but she knew
they could be either cunning or charming, or both.
Beneath his barrister’s wig, she knew his thick brown hair had an unruly wave
that he had often impatiently brushed aside when he was concentrating on a legal
treatise. He was dressed in a black barrister’s gown that would make the
complexions of most men appear sallow, but the dark color only served to
enhance his bronzed skin.
But perhaps his most fascinating appeal was his attitude of complete
relaxation as if he were unperturbed by the judge, jury, prosecutor, and even the
audience sitting in the courtroom staring at him. He was infused with a
confidence that made one hang on every word that fell from his lips. Without a
doubt, Jack Harding probably had women, from all stations in society, swarming
around him.
A snort beside her drew her attention. “’E’s got ’em by the throat, ’e does.”
Evelyn turned to look at the man seated to her left, a squat fellow with beady
eyes and fleshy jowls. The overpowering stench of onions wafted from his skin.
He smiled, revealing no teeth and swollen gums.
She shifted inches to the right only to brush up against a heavyset woman with
a bloodstained apron, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and work-roughened
hands. A butcher’s wife, no doubt.
“’Tis a matter of time till old Abrams gives up.” The woman laughed and
rubbed the calluses on her hands. “Ain’t nobody can git past that Jack Harding.”
Just like old times, Evelyn thought. Jack Harding could charm the habit off a
nun and cunningly argue the most complicated legal points while doing so.
But that’s why she was here, watching him . . . waiting for him. For the years,
it seemed, had only polished his raw talent.
The rest of the trial went as expected. Prosecutor Abrams argued about Slip
Dawson’s entourage of female inhabitants. Jack countered each argument by
pointing out the prosecution’s distinct lack of evidence followed by a number of
witnesses who testified as to Slip’s “stellar” character and good standing in the
community.
Exactly eleven and a half minutes after the start of the trial, the judge cleared
his throat, cutting off Prosecutor Abrams in midsentence.
“As all of the relevant evidence has been presented,” Judge Tobias said, “I ask
for the jury to deliberate on the charges and come to a verdict.”
The jury, not bothering to leave the courtroom, huddled in the corner.
In what must have been record speed, the foreman stood—his barrel-shaped
chest puffed up with self-importance. “We the jury find Slip Dawson not guilty
of keepin’ a brothel.”
The spectators burst into cheers, turning the courtroom into a scene of chaos.
Hands reached out to give Slip Dawson a hearty slap on the back as he
proceeded out of the room—a free man.
The pounding of Judge Tobias’s gavel was a distant thumping, completely
ignored by the people.
Evelyn stared as Slip passed, a cockeyed smile on his face, and she wondered
how many of today’s observers were patrons of his “lady friends.”
Her gaze returned to Jack Harding.
Jack extended his hand to Abrams. The prosecutor looked like he had sucked
on a lemon, sulking in defeat, but he shook hands with Jack nonetheless. Jack
then bent to gather his papers and litigation bag from the desk.
She waited until he turned to make his way out of the courtroom, then stepped
into the aisle.
“Mr. Harding,” she called out.
He stopped abruptly, his gaze traveling over her face, then roaming over her
figure before returning to her eyes. His lips curled into a smile.
“I believe you have the advantage of knowing my name. How can I be of
assistance, Miss . . .”
“Lady Evelyn Darlington.”
His brow furrowed in confusion before his eyes widened in surprise.
“Why, Lady Evelyn! I don’t believe it. You were a girl the last time I saw you.
It’s been a long, long time.”
“Ten years since you were a student studying under my father to become a
barrister at the Inns of Court.”
“Ah, yes, my pupilage. From what I remember, you always had a voracious
appetite for the law. You often visited your father’s chambers, listening to his
lectures. I have vivid memories of you following me around, taunting me with
your extensive legal knowledge.”
Heat stole into her cheeks at his words. “From what I recall, you needed the
additional tutelage.”
He laughed, a rich, pleasant sound. “Touché, Lady Evelyn. I probably did.
Now please tell me, have you come today to watch the proceedings? Many do.”
She shook her head, then looked up at him. “I’ve come to seek your services.”
“My services? No one seeks out my ‘services’ unless they are in trouble. I
cannot imagine you in trouble.” A sudden frown knit his brow. “Last I heard,
your father, Emmanuel Darlington, inherited his brother’s title and is now the
Earl of Lyndale. I understand he is currently lecturing at Oxford. Is he well?”
“It’s not about my father, but a close acquaintance.”
“Ah, I see. What crime has your friend committed?”
“None! He’s been wrongfully accused.”
“Pardon, Lady Evelyn,” he said. “I meant no offense. What crime has he been
accused of ?”
She looked to both sides, her eyes darting nervously back and forth, then
whispered, “Murder.”