Trial by Desire (Carhart #2)

“Abduction by persuasion, at a minimum.” Harcroft didn’t look at Kate as he spoke. “A wife, of course, has no power to consent to leave her husband without his permission.”


Ned looked down at the hand still restraining him, and then slowly, gingerly, he pulled his sleeve from the sergeant’s grasp. He’d never given it much thought, but what Harcroft said was likely true. And if that was the case…Harcroft might in fact have hit on a crime Kate had actually committed.

“Wait!” Ned called from the back. “I’m her husband!”

The magistrate took Ned in. He gave him one long, pitying look, and then shook his head in dismissal. He turned back to Kate. “Well? Did you do it?”

“How can you even charge her?” Ned demanded. “She’s my wife. Whatever she’s done—whatever you think she’s done—should I not be charged with responsibility for it, as her husband?”

The judge fixed Ned with a pointed stare.

“That is, I should be charged with responsibility, Your Worship,” Ned appended belatedly.

“Mr. Carhart, I presume,” the magistrate said. “This is not the proper way to present an argument to the bench.” He looked around the room. “Having heard the evidence in this case, I hereby find that—”

“Your Worship,” Ned said, “which of these individuals—” he spread his arm to encompass the courtroom stuffed with sorry specimens of humanity “—is sitting on the jury?”

“Jury?” The magistrate frowned. “Jury? There isn’t time this afternoon for a trial by jury.” He glared at Kate. “You didn’t say you wanted a jury. In fact, you can’t have one. Not unless the amount involved is over forty shillings.”

“The Countess of Harcroft is likely worth more,” Ned said. “Your Worship.”

Harcroft glanced at him through slitted eyes, but did not contradict.

The magistrate sighed and set his glasses back on his nose, looking at Ned in the back of the room. “You appear to be a gentleman.”

“I am a gentleman. I’m the heir presumptive to the Marquess of Blakely.”

A crease formed in the magistrate’s brow, and he peered once at Harcroft. “But you said—that is, I thought Mrs. Carhart—”

“My wife is Lady Kathleen Carhart. The prosecutor did disclose that she is the Duke of Ware’s daughter, did he not? This is not a suit that you can dispose of in such a summary fashion.”

As Ned spoke, the magistrate looked to Harcroft again, his lips thinning. Ned could imagine how this particular case had evolved. Harcroft had indeed tried to take the upper hand. No doubt he’d impressed the judge with his title. Perhaps he’d even attempted to purchase the outcome with a few well-placed bank notes. But even the most corrupt magistrate would balk at sending a duke’s daughter to gaol for money.

Under Ned’s scrutiny, this particular magistrate straightened his wig and shuffled the papers on his bench. “Perhaps a fine,” he said to Harcroft. “You’ll be satisfied with a fine—a few shillings?”

“The Countess of Harcroft,” the earl said, with a cutting look at Ned, “is worth a great deal more than a few shillings. That woman has my wife. I want her back. No, Your Worship—I must insist on pressing charges. Trial will proceed.”

The magistrate pressed his hand to his forehead for a few seconds before he spoke. “This court,” he muttered, “has decided to reject the first argument put forward by Mr. Carhart. The accused in this case must remain Mrs.—that is, Lady Kathleen Carhart.”

His Worship, Ned thought grimly, was hiding his guilt behind an excess of formality.

“On what grounds, Your Worship?”

“By the evidence I have heard, the events in question occurred when you were absent from the country. We no longer live in times so benighted that we imagine a husband is responsible for everything a wife does. You are free of indictment.”

“I don’t want to be free,” Ned protested. “In fact, I want you to let her go and charge me instead.”

“Facts, Mr. Carhart, are facts. Wants are wants. The law does not allow me to substitute one for the other, no matter how keen the wanting might be.” The magistrate drew himself up as he spoke. Law hadn’t seemed to matter much to him before he discovered that Kate was the daughter of a duke. “Mr. Carhart also suggested that Lady Kathleen be tried by jury.”

Harcroft smiled at Ned. “I am perfectly happy to put the evidence I’ve obtained before a jury,” he said with an aggressive lift of his chin. “I should love to have one sworn in, right at this instant.”

“Right now?” The magistrate looked vaguely ill. “But it is almost three in the afternoon.”

“What has that to do with anything?” Harcroft demanded.

“This court closes at three.” The magistrate glanced at Harcroft, astounded. “We don’t stay after hours, my lord. Not—not for anything.”

Harcroft stared ahead, his jaw working. “Very well. Toss her in the cells. We’ll finish this in the morning.”