bowl by her elbow and lounged against the table beside her, because, of course, he could not simply sit in a chair like a normal human being.
“Try some,” he said. “You might like it.”
“Thank you, I won’t. Please continue, Sir Gordon,” she said. “There will be no further interruptions.”
Sir Gordon cleared his throat in a suitably lawyer-like manner. He smoothed his hands over the dossier in front of him and looked at each of them in turn.
“It turns out that Lord Bolderwood’s solicitor began his career as one of my clerks at Lincoln’s Inn,” Sir Gordon said. “He found it, ah, advisable to share the details of the case for the benefit of all concerned.”
“As I said,” Joshua muttered.
“Cassandra—Mrs. DeWitt, I should say.” Sir Gordon turned the dossier on the table, turned it again. “You may prefer to withdraw while we discuss this. Mr. DeWitt can tell you the pertinent parts later.”
Polite-speak for “This is going to be bad.”
“My husband is a very busy man, Sir Gordon,” she said. “It would be an inefficient use of his time to repeat the information in a separate interview.”
“You might not like what you hear.”
“Then I shall pretend it is not there. That seems to be the preferred approach in this household.” She looked at Joshua. “Where is Isaac today?” she asked pointedly.
Joshua narrowed his eyes and was about to speak when Mr. Das coughed, which had the miraculous effect of causing her husband to say only “Carry on, Sir Gordon.”
“There are eyewitnesses.” Sir Gordon pulled two pages from the dossier. He slid one page toward Cassandra and the other to Mr. Das. “Three servants and two innkeepers who claim to have clearly seen the, ah, events.”
“In flagrante delicto, I presume?” Joshua said. “I do hope they have exciting, explicit details in their testimony, keep the masses enthralled.”
He seemed to be enjoying himself, but Cassandra suspected that his attitude served to cover his anger. He did not realize how he betrayed his vulnerability when he did that. No wonder he disdained politeness: He had never learned that a polite smile was the most effective armor of all. It made it harder for her to be angry. Absurdly, it made her want to protect him.
“I wonder who scripted their testimony,” he went on. “Do you think Lord and Lady B. sat together one night over the sherry, giggling away while they wrote it down?…”
Cassandra silently pulled the bowl of Turkish delight closer. Joshua did not notice, talking on as he was.
“…Or do you think Lady B. came up with it all herself, based on her fantasies? Or Lord B. based on his fantasies?…”
Stealthily, she scooped up all the Turkish delight in one hand.
“…If they want money, they should consider publishing their stories. With illustrations, naturally. Fanny Hill was banned but still sells well, and if they—ooff.”
She shoved the sweets into his open mouth, then pressed her fingers over his lips. His lips were warm and soft, and his eyes heated and amused. He made a noise and she gave him a warning look.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, darling,” she said. “It’s not polite.”
He had no choice but to chew and say nothing. Sir Gordon and Mr. Das were fighting smiles. Cassandra sat and tapped the list of names.
“Perhaps Isaac could talk to them?” she suggested.
“Wah gish oh,” Joshua said. “Osh ak aw.”
“Yes, this is a matter for family. So glad you agree with me.” She smiled at Mr. Das. “In accordance with Mr. DeWitt’s wishes, please ask Mr. Isaac to help out with this.”
Finally, Joshua cleared his mouth. “I don’t want Is—”
“Hush, now. We’ve dealt with that item. No time to waste,” Cassandra hurriedly said. “Next, Sir Gordon?”
To her relief, Joshua did not protest, but sat in the chair beside her and shook his head at her, amused in his defeat. Under the table, his leg nudged hers and she moved away. Whatever his game, she would not let him tease her today.
“The next piece of evidence comprises a set of four letters.” Sir Gordon pulled out a few more pages. “These letters were allegedly written by Mr. DeWitt to Lady Bolderwood, expressing, ah, affection and, ah, longing.”
Affection. Longing. Cassandra had never received a letter like that. Like the love letters Sir Gordon was sliding across the table toward them. The letters were short. Efficient, her husband.
And angry again, but this time his face was hard and cold, his lip curled in disgust.
“Most of the pages are copies,” Sir Gordon explained. “The one