The Problem with Seduction

Chapter Twenty-Two

CON’S TRIAL COMMENCED one week after his wedding day. The bruises that covered his face and body were only just healing. Being bedridden had put a damper on his plans to find a suitable townhouse to let, one he could use to present himself to the court as a responsible, settled family man ready to care for a wife and child. It also meant he’d been unable to get his affairs in order, or consummate his marriage.

He regretted that last the most.

As he was led by his brother to the bar where he would stand in silence for the duration of the trial, he barely heard the din of reporters and spectators crowded into the gallery in the hopes of witnessing the brother of a peer be sentenced to a grueling fate. A fate less than death, Bart had assured him, for child stealing alone wasn’t considered a hangable offense. But a fate he feared nonetheless.

Please, let him not be transported.

He didn’t recognize most of the people assembled to witness his fall from grace. Nevertheless, he wasn’t alone. With the exception of Bart, his brothers and mother were cloistered in one corner of the gallery. Elizabeth sat stoically with them.

He gazed at her, but her attention remained stubbornly fixed on the large windows over his head. His heart went to her. She’d always been so difficult to read. She’d hidden her true feelings for him from him and he’d had to move mountains to find them.

Not today. Today, she was terrified. Was it fear for his fate? Or her son’s? Both?

Another wave of panic crashed over him. He’d never told her he loved her. Not the right way, anyway. If he was to be transported, he would have to find time alone—

He tore his eyes from his wife. He wouldn’t think like that.

He forced himself to continue his assessment of the Central Criminal Court. Captain Finn sat at a semicircular table between a formidable man in a dark blue robe and the large, ruddy figure of Lord Wyndham. Wyndham’s side-whiskers quivered as he spoke to Finn. His brows crowded low over his eyes in a scowl.

The Recorder of London entered. Con caught Bart’s eye. His brother was his only defense counsel. He’d never relied on anyone else this much.

Seats scraped as the gathered rose in deference. The trial was called to order, and Con squinted against a bright light shining in his eyes as he tried to see into the jurors’ stalls. Squinting at them, with his face bashed to a pulp, likely wasn’t making him look any more trustworthy, however, and he soon turned to concentrating on smoothing the furrow between his eyes. Lord Wyndham continued to scowl.

“And now we shall proceed,” the Recorder said, leaning forward so that the gray curls of his wig brushed the table and his forearms bore the brunt of his weight.

Con’s blood ran cold. This was it, then.

The Recorder’s voice echoed through the Old Bailey. “Lord Constantine Alexander is indicted for that he, on the nineteenth of August, did by force take and carry away a certain male child of four months old, with intent to deprive Captain Nicholas Finn, the father of said child. Second count, for like offense, only stating the child to be taken by fraud.” He looked to Finn and his counsel. “You may call your first witness.”

“Thank you, my lord,” the man in the dark cloak replied. He turned to Finn. “Captain Finn himself will be our first witness.”

There was a pause as Finn moved to the witness box directly across from Con. His adversary looked on him with a mixture of pity and disgust, and just the right touch of pain.

“Captain Finn, tell us about the fraud perpetrated by the prisoner.”

Con forced his hands to relax at his sides. Willed his heart not to come thumping through his chest.

“Almost fourteen months ago,” Finn said in a clear voice, “my mistress informed me that she was increasing. She believed herself to be in love with me and fancied we should elope.”

“But aren’t you married?” his barrister asked.

“Yes. My wife is here today.” A commotion ensued as the spectators attempted to identify Mrs. Finn. “But my former mistress is a reckless, headstrong sort of woman. She did not care that I am happily married. She demanded that I leave my wife and live as her husband. When this failed, she turned to pleading.”

“And how did you respond?”

Finn glowered. “I told her in no uncertain terms I would not leave my wife.”

A murmur of approval rolled through the room.

His barrister crossed his arms as if deeply perceiving this information. “How did she respond?”

Finn held up his hands in supplication. “She left me. She was free to do so. I wouldn’t have known anything more had she not written to me to tell me the sex of the child.”

“Which was?” The barrister looked on in earnest.

“Male.” Finn looked at Con, this time with unbridled disgust. “Naturally, I went to Devon to collect my son. Generously, I think, I invited my estranged mistress to return with me. She did for a time, but we didn’t suit. I terminated our contract and set up another woman to care for the child.”

Grunts of approval mingled with the sound of people shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

The barrister tapped a finger against the side of his face. “When did you see her again?”

Finn’s upper lip curled. “I did not see her until after the prisoner approached me with the outlandish proposal that the child was his, not mine.”

The barrister waited a breath to let that sink in. Then he continued, “And how did the prisoner suppose this mistake had been made?”

Finn’s chin notched upward. His shoulders set back. “He told me that he and my former mistress had engaged in an illicit affair contrary to the terms of our agreement.”

The barrister looked around at the occupants of the Old Bailey as he said, “Do you believe your mistress violated your agreement? Are you accusing her of breach of contract?”

Finn looked taken aback. “Well, no. I don’t believe she was with anyone but me. She was desperately in love with me, as I said.”

“That is all I have for Captain Finn, my lord.”

The judge nodded. “The defense may proceed.”

Lord Bart stood. He carried himself with a sureness and compactness that the other Alexander brothers lacked. “Captain Finn, the idea that your mistress did not engage in an external affair because she was ‘desperately in love with you’ is a romantic, ephemeral notion for the court to accept. Do you have proof that she did not, in fact, ply her trade elsewhere?”

Con winced. He hated to think about Elizabeth in such sordid terms.

But the trial was not about her character, it was about his. There was one way to show the jurors that he truly did have feelings for the woman whose reputation would be in tatters by the end of this cross-examination. He turned and found her beautiful face in the crowd. With his eyes, he told her what he should have said earlier. I love you.

“She would not have dallied,” Finn said firmly.

“I see,” Bart said. “But you were not with her at all times, correct? You have a wife, and as an officer in His Majesty’s Navy, you must spend long stretches of time away. Is it reasonable to think you were always with her, to the extent that you know without a doubt that she did not stray?”

Con’s spirits raised a fraction.

Finn’s jaw set. He said his lines as if they were rehearsed. “She presented the child to me as mine. She never once alluded to the possibility of it being anyone else’s. I didn’t hear of her supposed affair with the prisoner until after I’d replaced her with another woman. My lord, I believe that is her motivation for attempting to swindle me of my own son.”

Bart stepped forward. “But you admit it is possible for her to have engaged with another man.” He waited, along with the court, for Finn to answer the question.

Finn ground his teeth, the first visible sign he was agitated. “I do not believe she would have.”

Bart held up his hands at his sides. “If you did not believe she would have, why did you release the child to the prisoner’s custody? Didn’t you issue the order to have him brought to the prisoner’s house?”

Finn’s mouth tensed. His right shoulder twitched as if he were considering leaping across the room. “I acted from jealousy. In the heat of my anger I didn’t stop to think. Even if I did give the instruction, that thoughtless mistake doesn’t change the fact that the prisoner acted fraudulently. I would argue, in fact, that my initial acceptance of his claim is evidence of the competence with which he perpetrated his deception.”

Con’s optimism dwindled at this carefully crafted explanation.

Bart turned to the Recorder. “That is all for Captain Finn, my lord.”

The judge waved Finn’s lawyer to go on. “Next witness.”

“We summon Lord Montborne to the witness box, my lord.”

Con couldn’t keep his shock from his face. He quickly schooled it as best he could, but he’d already betrayed his surprise. He glanced at Bart, who was calmly shuffling papers at the table. Had he known? Or was he just a deucedly fine actor?

“Lord Montborne,” the prosecuting barrister began when the marquis had entered the stall and been sworn in, “it is well known that your family suffers the effects of poor fortune. To what extent did your brother, the prisoner, suffer these shortcomings in the time leading up to the alleged crime? I’ll remind you, you are under oath.”

Montborne had the grace to look uncomfortable. While it was no secret that their family was insolvent, he undoubtedly didn’t enjoy having it entered into the court proceedings. “He had very little to go on,” was all he replied.

“Is it true he was being dogged by creditors, as you yourself were?”

Montborne’s icy blue eyes narrowed. “He was.”

“Was. As in, ‘he is no longer.’ As for yourself, are you still plagued by creditors?”

A muscle at Montborne’s jaw twitched. Despite being less physically imposing than Lord Bart, he exuded all of the pomp and purpose he’d been born into. Arrogance laced with his palpable dislike of these intruding questions. “I am.”

“So it was not a family windfall that blew the prisoner toward better fortunes. However, your youngest brother, Lord Darius Alexander, also came into a good sum of money at this time, isn’t that correct?”

Montborne held very still. As if he were so angry, he feared he’d lose control if he gave but a little. “Yes.”

“The prisoner stands before us bearing visible evidence of an attack. Who attacked him?”

“Unscrupulous lenders,” Montborne replied in acid tones.

“So the prisoner does still owe at least some debt,” the barrister prodded. “Enough that the prisoner almost died because of it. My lord,” he said to the Recorder, “I would like to make a point that the prisoner has, at times, found himself in such financial difficulty that he may be considered susceptible to collusion with persons who present an opportunity for solvency. Lord Montborne, how well do you know Captain Finn’s former mistress?”

Montborne glanced at Elizabeth. “We’ve run in the same sets.”

“I think it is stronger than that, my lord. Are you friends? I remind you of your oath.”

Montborne struggled to maintain a bland expression. “We were friends, of sorts, for a time.”

The barrister barreled straight ahead, hardly giving Montborne time to recover from what were clearly hard words for him to say. “Do you have any knowledge of her financial situation?”

Montborne blinked. “Only what I’ve inferred.”

“Do you consider her wealthy?”

Montborne’s lips pursed. “Yes.”

“Were you aware of her relationship with Captain Finn?”

Montborne’s eyes darted to Con. “Yes.”

“And were you, during this time, also aware of a relationship between her and your brother?”

The room seemed to collectively lean forward. Con braced his hands on the rail of the bar. Montborne paused just a fraction too long, and Con’s hope plummeted to his feet. “No.”

No.

“That is all for the marquis.” The barrister returned to his seat.

Bart didn’t spare a look for Con. Just as well, for he would have seen Con’s distress. He hadn’t asked any of his brothers to lie for him. And yet…

He should have known Montborne wouldn’t lie for Elizabeth.

Bart came forward. His dark robe swirled at his knees. “Lord Montborne, on the day your family learned that the prisoner had allegedly fathered an illegitimate child, what was the reaction?”

Montborne appeared drained. “There was a call for him to marry the woman in question.”

“Did anyone in your family have any doubt as to the veracity of his statement?”

Montborne shook 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 illicit affair resulting in the existence of a child, a child known to the victim to be his own son. Therefore, the charge of child stealing with intent to deprive Captain Nicholas Finn, the father of said child, should stand. We believe also that the second count for like offense, only stating the child to be taken by fraud, has also been proved.”

The judge looked to Bart. “And the defense?”

Bart stepped forward. “We believe the prisoner to have acted in a way consistent with his generous nature. We have established the prisoner has a relationship with the woman in question, and the relationship has been blessed in the eyes of the Church and documented legally in the annals of this great nation. We also argue that the prisoner believes himself to be the father of the child and is committed to providing the child with a loving home. A home with two parents who have sworn to love each other unto death.”

The judge nodded. “Let the jurors present their verdict, then.”

A commotion clamored as the jurors banded together to make their determination. Con did his best not to sag against the rail of the bar. He was still too raw to risk looking at Elizabeth. How he wanted Bart’s pretty speech to be true.

It wasn’t. There were only lies.

Yet he wasn’t alone. Bart walked over to stand by him. He didn’t attempt to talk. And he didn’t judge.

Half an hour passed. Plenty of time for Con to consider he’d married a lying, selfish swindler who hadn’t even had the conscience to tell a dying man that he might have saved himself the effort of being beaten—assuming the thugs would have believed him, or that he’d have had a chance to get a word in edgewise. He doubted it would have mattered, actually. Nevertheless, she should have told him. If only he’d known he was in possession of a considerable sum! He might have writhed with fever feeling less of a failure when it came to his family. Not that any discovery on entailed land benefitted him directly, but at least he could have died knowing none of his brothers would be forced to make black deals with prostitutes simply to keep their guts intact.

Now he did know, and it was a cold comfort. He was so angry, he could burn the entire Bailey down. His devastation at her betrayal far outdid his fear of being transported—for her child! God, he was a fool. An idiot ten times over. And all this time, they’d been sitting on a bloody fortune.

He pounded his fist against the bar. Pain shot through his hand. He welcomed it. Was that why she’d married him without question? Because their family was no longer wretchedly poor? Surely a woman like her could never have too much money at her disposal.

A juror rose. The courtroom fell silent. The man cleared his throat. “For the charge of child stealing, we find the prisoner: Guilty.”

The word rang in his ears. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

“For the second charge of fraud, we also find the prisoner guilty.”

Con couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t speak. Not even a squeak could pass through the constriction of his throat. Guilty. Guilty.

“Noooooooooo!” a woman shrieked. Elizabeth.

“The jury recommends three months’ hard labor on the river.”

Con stood immobile. Three months. Three months in the dankest, darkest cell possible, shoulder to shoulder with criminal swine. Rolling on a river of refuse and incarcerated with the waste of a thousand other men. He’d be lucky to come out alive.

He almost retched.

He forced his head up and swiveled to see his brothers in the gallery. They’d come to their feet. Tony had Elizabeth’s upper arms in a death grip, as if she’d tried to haul herself bodily over the rail and he’d only just stopped her. Her beautiful face was a pale, heartbreaking ivory streaked with tears.

The Recorder slammed his gavel down, and Con knew true bleakness.