Page 8 of Bargaining for the Barrister
“True.” She looked at him again, the intensity causing him to stop walking. “But a person never realizes how close heaven is until they lose someone.”
No matter what she said, the grief was barely veiled behind her eyes. “I’m sure you are right.” His grandparents had died, but he had not been very close to either set, so he was completely out of his depth.
“Enough about me,” she said. “Do you always sleep in the gardens?”
Reluctantly, he fell into step with her again. “This was a first.” He’d tossed and turned all night, wondering how to get himself out of this mess. When his mother had sent him to wait in the gardens, he’d thought she meant to confess her plan, not bring a woman to him. “And it shall be my last. I consider myself a quick learner, and I don’t make the same mistake twice.”
“You are like my brother in that way. Though, I don’t think you are as callous as he is. I am told you are a barrister.”
“It has not been long since I began my career, but the profession suits me. I am recently up from London after working the quarter sessions.” He let his voice trail off and looked away, hoping she would get the hint that he wasn’t up for more conversation.
When she said nothing more, he wondered if he had offended her and looked back. She was staring at his hair and had her hand half lifted toward him. He jerked away. If she was trying to pin him in a compromising position with his mother looking on, she was destined for disappointment.
Her smile tight, she reached for him again.
He stepped back against a thorny bush. The prick in his back caused him to hesitate and Miss Cox to close in. He winced when her hand found its way to his hair. His head tucked into his neck. If she kissed him, so help him, he would—
“Forgive me. A leaf...” She bit her lip and brought the leaf down in front of his eyes.
He instinctively ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly glad there had been no other witnesses to his humiliation. “Thank you.” He sidestepped the bush and folded his arms across his chest, anxious to be rid of her. He could not find fault in her yet, but it was only a matter of time.
“You are most welcome,” Miss Cox said, hurrying to catch up with him. “I have a feeling we will get along well, Mr. Sheldon.”
Her candor only bothered him further. He’d hoped this poor miss was unaware of her purpose at the house, but her words and behavior garnered his suspicion. “Do you possess a sixth sense, Miss Cox?” he asked, repeating her name as she had done his. “Because I, too, have a feeling, and mine is that our acquaintance will be of a short nature.”
She laughed off his very rude and pointed comment, then pinned him with her eyes. “We shall see.”
Chapter 4
Paul had not expected toreceive a third visitor on the same day as meeting his not-quite-future-bride and her arrogant brother. When their butler, Mr. Barret, came into the drawing room, where Paul’s mother and her guests were seated, and announced Mortimer Gibbs’s arrival, Paul dropped his head, not ready to face his ofttimes exhausting childhood friend. “Send him to the library.”
His mother leaned toward him and whispered, “Don’t visit too long, Paul. We do have other guests.”
Paul gave her a sincere nod. He’d missed her while he’d been away in London, but there was no other reason he’d hurry with Mortimer. Unless, of course, Mortimer was desperate about something, as on occasion he had a tendency to be. Then Paul would do his best to listen and send him on his way. He muttered his apologies to Miss Cox and her brother and excused himself from the drawing room.
He found Mortimer sitting on a sofa in the library, as expected. His friend had gained a little weight in the year since Paul had seen him last, and his straight black hair hung long in the front, nearly obscuring his eyes, and jutted out over his ears.
“Paul!” Mortimer jumped to his feet upon seeing him and reached to shake his hand.
Paul quickly put his hands behind his back. Mortimer was known for his sweaty hands, and Paul had managed to escape the unpleasant experience thus far. “Good to see you, Mortimer. I am sorry I missed your wedding. You and Nettie must be very happy.” He motioned for his friend to sit once more.
Mortimer fell into the seat and threw his head back over the top of the sofa. “Happy? Ha! We’re miserable. That’s why I’ve come, you see.”
Paul emitted an imperceptible sigh as he sat on a sofa across from him. Not a single book in his library could make him understand the complexity of human relationships. “Tell me what happened.”
“I want a divorce.”
“You can’t mean that.” Paul shook his head, hardly believing what he was hearing. “You and Nettie have loved each other for years.”
A grunt of disgust penetrated the air. “You’ve never been married, so you cannot fathom the responsibilities. Nettie expects nice gowns and a second carriage. I cannot afford such luxuries. But as soon as I want to make some sound investments to fill our empty pockets, the cook serves me a poor man’s fare and my wife bans me from her bed. I will not tolerate it another moment.”
“You’ve not the grounds to divorce her. England’s marriage laws are most strict; you know that.”
“Then, give me a blasted annulment! I don’t care what you do, but do it. What’s the use of having a barrister for a friend if he can’t pull some strings for a man in the courtroom?”
The desperation in Mortimer’s voice was worse than usual, but even as Paul’s heart twinged in sympathy, facts were facts. “You lack qualification for an annulment too.” His voice fell into an even-toned, steady cadence, as it often did when he must offset the irrational arguments he faced.
Mortimer jumped to his feet again, fuming. “What about her lover? You cannot deny me a divorce once I tell you about him. I’ll sue the blackguard for ten thousand pounds!”
