The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,103
feel his weight making the couch sag. She felt more alone with him on the other side. Judging her. “What will happen?”
“I’d rather you answered my questions,” he said, “but the fact is, I don’t know. There will be a bail figure set. That’s my first priority after I leave here. Once he’s back home, we’ll be able to regroup and better understand the nature of the charges.” He shifted to turn his whole body toward her. “Look at me.”
She couldn’t. He reached out and caught her chin between his thumb and fingers and forced her head to turn toward his. “Listen to me, Elizabeth. You’re not going to lie to me. I know you’re scared and desperate, but I’m a barrister. I’ll represent my brother. You have to trust me.”
She wanted to. Unburdening herself to this strong man would surely make her feel less alone. But she couldn’t tell Con’s brother about their deception. He’d have to do it himself. She couldn’t bear to be the cause of more disappointment in this family.
“What of Oliver?” She looked into eyes so similar to Con’s and held her breath.
She shouldn’t have looked. His flash of doubt almost caused her to double over. She didn’t, though, because he was forcing her chin up. And because he said, “I’ll do everything in my power to get your child back.”
She nodded and he released her. She rubbed at her eyes and nose again. She must look a fright. “I’ll post Con’s bail.”
Lord Bartholomew’s jaw twitched. “That won’t be necessary.”
She frowned. “Won’t it?”
He scowled, the first emotion she’d seen in him besides impatience. He looked like he wanted to reject her offer again. “I’ll send word if it is,” he said at last. “It’s possible, given the nature of the charge, his bail will be set rather high.”
She didn’t know what would be higher: the actual amount of the bail or the Alexander family’s perception of it. Either way, she could cover it tonight. “It’s late. Unless you let me help you, you won’t be able to post until the banks open. Con will spend the night in the gaol.” She didn’t add, just as he’s always feared repeating.
Lord Bartholomew’s blue eyes snapped. Her logic had succeeded. It was that plain he, too, knew of Con’s terror, and didn’t want to put his brother through that suffering just to salvage his own self-respect. “You believe you have enough?”
She nodded. They wouldn’t know the exact number until he went to see Con, but she was sure she had it on hand. There were benefits to her profession. Getting her lover arrested was not one of them.
Lord Bartholomew’s face pulled in a handsome grimace, but he stopped arguing with her. If she’d ever had any notion of endearing herself to Con’s family, it was long dissolved. She’d obviously wounded Lord Bartholomew’s pride, and undoubtedly his other brothers wouldn’t be any happier with her offer.
She sighed deeply. Then again, Constantine was sitting in a dank cell somewhere because of her. And Oliver…
Her tears came unbidden.
The settee shifted as Lord Bartholomew rose. For a moment his silhouette shaded the doorway. Then he was gone.
She was awakened hours later just as unceremoniously as Lord Bartholomew had woken her the first time. He ushered her to a waiting carriage and climbed in behind her. She wrapped her arms around her chest, shivering in the cold night air, and waited until the horses pulled into a clip to ask, “What news?”
“One hundred guineas. The next Sessions commences in a few weeks.” He looked levelly across the carriage at her. “If I tell you that your father is the one wheedling Finn to press charges, will you be surprised?”
Her shivering turned to shaking. Lord Bartholomew felt around the interior until he turned up a velvet throw rug. He leaned across the divide and haphazardly draped it over her arms and the tops of her thighs. A more different man than Con she couldn’t have imagined, but at least he wasn’t a complete ogre.
“But Captain Finn must have also pressed charges?” She didn’t want to speak of her father’s betrayal. There was only one reason for him to have gone through the effort of filing a complaint. He hated her.
“Yes, Finn is named, too. But it seemed clear to the bailiff that the orders came from Lord Wyndham.”
His insistence did nothing to lift her spirits. “He believes me unfit to be a mother.”
Lord Bartholomew sat back. “I see.” The carriage drew to a halt