Somewhere, a man cleared his throat and they jumped apart.
“Ah, Bolderwood, it’s you, is it?” Joshua said. “Forgot you were there.”
“We are in my library,” Bolderwood said indignantly. “Of course I’m here.”
“So easy to forget about you. My wife is so charming.”
“Yes, I remember.”
That smirk was going to earn the fellow a punch soon, despite Cassandra’s rule against it. These two had probably kissed at some point. Maybe more than kisses. Not that Joshua was jealous, as such, because there was no way he could ever be jealous of an insipid idiot like Bolderwood. It was simply that Cassandra seemed to think that Bolderwood was what a gentleman ought to be, and if Joshua kissed her properly, she’d change her tune on that fast enough. But he wasn’t going to kiss her. Go around kissing your lovely wife and the whole world could come crashing down.
“Harry, you will drop this lawsuit. We all know it’s ludicrous.”
Bolderwood took a painted enamel snuffbox from the desk and helped himself to a pinch. He snorted it and did not offer any to Joshua.
“I cannot do that, Cassandra,” he said. “Justice must be served.”
“Whatever financial trouble you have gotten yourself into, you must not solve it with such distasteful lies.”
Bolderwood shut the snuffbox and studied it. Painted on each side were scenes of naked men and women, doing what naked men and women did best. Cassandra must have noticed the erotic artwork, but she ignored the insult of it beautifully. Joshua resisted the urge to shove the snuffbox down the insolent coxcomb’s throat. He was fairly sure Cassandra would object to that.
Had she truly loved this despicable idiot? She had been nineteen, then. People could believe all sorts of stupid things at nineteen. That must be why they married women off so young. If they waited until women were old enough to get some common sense, they’d never get them married off at all.
“Lies?” Bolderwood said finally, rocking back on his heels, a faint, sneering smile playing around his lips. “But there’s evidence of an affair. Lots of evidence.”
Joshua grabbed the snuffbox, slammed it onto the desk. “There cannot be any evidence, because it never bloody well happened.”
Cassandra was there at his side, her shoulder pressed to his arm. She looked Bolderwood in the eye. “Harry, you and I both know that this never happened.”
The smile only broadened. “Doesn’t matter what you and I know. Only matters what the jury believes.” He folded his arms over his chest. “We don’t expect the full fifty thousand, you know. We’ll be content with twenty or thirty.”
“We?” Cassandra repeated sharply. “You mean you and your wife.”
Bolderwood’s smile slipped: That was as good as a confession.
Cassandra sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment. “This is not like you, Harry. To drag your wife’s name through the mud. Your respected title, your family name, the name of your children. And to do this to me, and Lucy and Emily.”
Bolderwood’s ears were turning pink and he picked up his snuffbox again, opening it and closing it, eyes on the box and not on the woman scolding him. Maybe this was not such a stupid idea, Joshua thought; Bolderwood’s better nature might be regretting it, and if anyone could reach a person’s better nature, it was Cassandra.
“You are better than this, Harry,” she went on. “To disgrace your name and mine—for what? For the sake of money?”
“That’s rich!” When Bolderwood looked up, his eyes were hard and flat, his better nature gone. “Judging me for what I’d do for money.” He slammed down the box. “What about you, going out each evening dripping with jewels? You let your father sell you to him—” This with a wave of a hand at Joshua “Everyone knew Lord Charles had money problems, and you don’t mind where that money comes from.”
Joshua was already pulling back his fist but Cassandra slapped a hand on his arm and stepped between him and Bolderwood with a stiffness unlike her usual grace. Society expected ladies to hide their emotions, especially the uglier ones like anger, but he saw it anyway, in the way she flattened those lovely lips, the sharp breath through her flared nostrils, the way her mouth worked before she spoke. He was glad she was angry, after what she had revealed last night.
“How dare you!” she hissed at Bolderwood. “You aren’t good enough to mention my father’s name, let alone judge what he did or did not do.” She shook her head