politely. He too must have been waiting for some retaliation at last.
Rathbone smiled. "And you expressed some regard for her yourself-indeed, some admiration?" It was not really a question.
"Yes sir." Tremaine was more guarded now.
Rathbone's smile widened. He knew what the gallery was waiting for, what Tremaine himself quite suddenly feared. It was there in his face. He drew in his breath as if to add something, then changed his mind.
"Yes?" Rathbone enquired helpfully.
"Nothing..."
"There is no need to apologize for your feelings," Rathbone assured him. "It is only natural. She is most attractive. Indeed, Mr. Sacheverall himself has been unable to conceal a very considerable"-he hesitated delicately-"personal regard towards her..."
He heard Sacheverall's indrawn breath behind him and ignored it.
"I..." Tremaine realized the trap and sidestepped it rather obviously. "Yes sir. I think we all feel a certain... friendship towards her which-" He stopped, uncertain how to complete the thought.
"Is your regard as... warm as Mr. Sacheverall's?" Rathbone asked blandly.
"Well..." Tremaine looked at him squarely. "I could say I regard her more as a friend..."
Sacheverall stood up, his face only very slightly pink. "My lord, the depth of my regard for Miss Lambert is irrelevant. It is Mr. Melville's behavior towards her which is at issue here. If Sir Oliver is trying to suggest that I have in any way overstepped the bounds of the strictest propriety, or that Miss Lambert has regarded me as other than her legal counsel, then I would warn him that he is not above the laws of slander either, and I will protect Miss Lambert's good name with every skill at my disposal... and every weapon also!"
Rathbone laughed very lightly and swiveled to look at Sacheverall.
"My dear Sacheverall, you have spent the morning persuading me of Miss Lambert's virtue, charm and total desirability. Is it really now slanderous for me to suggest that you are not immune to charm yourself? Surely it would be more so to suggest that you are? Then you might think I accused you of being less than a natural man. Or at the very least of speaking insincerely, saying something which you yourself did not believe."
"You are-" Sacheverall began.
But Rathbone overrode him. "Your sincerity seemed to ring through your words, your choice of adjectives to describe her, the very ardor of your tone and the grace of your gestures. You made your argument superbly."
"What is your point?" Sacheverall snapped, his cheeks flushed. "There is nothing improper for you to find!" He gestured towards Melville, who was sitting staring at him. "That is where the fault lies. You have paved the way for that yourself! Indeed, it would be an unusual man-perhaps, to borrow your own phrase, something less than a natural man-who would not admire Miss Lambert!" His face twisted into an expression suddenly far uglier than perhaps he knew. "Have you considered, Sir Oliver, that you do not know your own client as well as you imagine? You are the last man I would have supposed naive, but I could be mistaken." His meaning was masked, but it was clear enough. There was a gasp around the room. One or two of the jurors looked taken aback. The remark was indelicate at best, at worst slanderous.
The judge looked expectantly at Rathbone.
Rathbone had turned immediately to Melville. Sacheverall was right in that he had not known his client as well as he wished to.
But the look on Melville's face was one of bitter but quite honest laughter. No one could doubt he found the remark genuinely funny. There was no embarrassment in him, not a shred of shame or even discomfort.
The judge blinked.
One or two jurors looked at each other.
Sacheverall colored very slightly, as if aware he had stepped a little too far. For the first time he had lost the sympathy of the jury. But he would not retreat.
"There may be many reasons for a man to shrink from marriage," he said rather loudly. "Reasons he would not be willing to acknowledge to anyone. I make no accusations, please be clear, I speak only in general. He may be aware of disease in himself, or in his family." He waved his arms in a gesture Rathbone had come to recognize was characteristic. "There may be a strain of madness. He may have a burden of debt he cannot meet, and therefore could not keep a wife. He may even be in danger of prosecution for some offense or other. He may already be married!"