The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,120
his head. “It was accepted as fact.”
“So, simply because you and your family, including your mother and brothers, were not aware that the prisoner had a mistress did not preclude you from believing that he might have had a mistress and could have fathered a child with said mistress, is this correct?”
Montborne stood straighter. “Yes.”
“And did the prisoner marry the woman in question?”
Montborne’s lips parted in a satisfied smile. “Yes.”
“Was this marriage witnessed by your family?”
Montborne was already nodding. “Our mother and all of my brothers attended. As did certain other close friends.”
“Are you privy to any plans the prisoner and his new wife have for the child?”
Montborne paused. “They intended to raise the boy, but my brother was arrested and the child given to Captain Finn instead.”
“I see. How did the prisoner react to the loss of his son?”
Montborne’s face clouded. “He was devastated.”
Bart returned to the table. “No more questions.”
Whispers rushed through a crowd that had been largely silent. The judge turned to the prosecuting barrister, who held up one hand. “One more question for the marquis.”
The judge indicated for him to continue.
“Lord Montborne, was the wedding prior to or following the arrest?”
Montborne glanced at Con. “After.”
“Was it on the advice of legal counsel that the prisoner married the woman in question?”
Montborne looked uneasy. “I don’t know.”
The barrister stepped closer to the witness box. “Are you aware of a vein of granite running through your property?”
Con, Montborne and Bart all startled at the absurd, random question.
“No,” Montborne replied, looking perplexed. A frown creased between his pale brows.
“What do you know of the Grand Canal project going through Exeter?”
Montborne shrugged. He didn’t seem as concerned by this line of questioning. “Very little. My brother has an interest in it, I think.”
“He does,” the prosecuting barrister agreed. “Excavation at the canal site—the last leg of which is through your property, my lord—has turned up a vein which is estimated to be worth hundreds of thousands of pounds. The woman in question is aware of this. Her solicitor advised her to speak to you about it. Presumably, that man is aware of the prisoner’s financial stake in the project as well as your interest in the discoveries being made on your property. Are you saying that the woman in question did not bother to mention the existence of a fortune in natural resources that could potentially free you from any obligation your family may feel toward her, due to its stated insolvency?”
Con went cold, then hot. He braced against the bar, drawing on everything inside him not to turn around and see the truth on her face. And he didn’t doubt it was true. Because he’d been warned—Montborne himself had told him. She had no incentive to see him financially independent. None at all.
But they were married. Con clutched the bar until his knuckles turned white. He bit his lip to stop himself from calling out to her until he tasted blood. What the devil had he been thinking, trusting her? How could she have kept this from him, when he’d given her his soul?
Con squeezed the bar and did his best to keep his shock from his face. He looked to his brothers for their reactions, hoping against hope that they knew better than to reveal the treachery in their midst.
But Montborne had never tried to hide his emotion. He stared agape at the barrister. Even Bart appeared surprised. The courtroom began to buzz with excitement. The longer the silence lasted, the more time speculation had to root.
Con twisted his fist against the bar until his skin pulled hard enough to divert some of the pain piercing his chest. She’d lied to him. Manipulated him. Made him feel—Oh, God. He couldn’t even describe how it felt to know she’d taken his love and used it to her own advantage, time and time again. And he’d gone along blindly. Stupidly.
The Recorder banged his gavel down. “Any other questions for the witness?”
“No, my lord,” both barristers said together.
“Who is the next witness?”
The man in the dark cloak looked at Elizabeth’s father. Con couldn’t do the same. He would never be able to witness the glee in Lord Wyndham’s eyes. He’d known. Even he had tried to warn Con against her true nature.
“We have none, my lord,” the barrister said after conferring with Lord Wyndham. “We believe we’ve made our case: that the woman in question made a financial bargain with the prisoner in exchange for his fraudulent claim to have conducted an