Page 16 of Touched By a Traitor
Lord Alford leaned forward, fingers forming a steeple. “The Inner Temple’s charity debate for Bertram Orphanage approaches. It’s vital—not just for the children, but for our institution’s standing. We must present a united front, showcasing our finest. I’d like you to participate.”
“Surely there are more seasoned debaters among the benchers?”
“Indeed.” Discomfort flickered across Lord Alford’s features. “However, we face a unique situation. I’ve decided to pair you with Miss Morton.”
Andrew’s voice turned to steel. “Miss Morton? Surely you jest. I cannot possibly—”
“I understand your reservations,” Lord Alford sighed wearily. “But this arrangement serves multiple purposes. It shows the public—particularly the common folk and Whigs whom King William favors—that we embrace progress. Meanwhile, it gives Miss Morton the chance to prove herself publicly. Should she succeed, it will vindicate my decision to call her to the Bar and silence my critics.”
Andrew surged to his feet, pacing like a caged lion. He uttered the words that he didn’t believe in but his political position required him to speak. “My views on her presence here are well known. I cannot support this charade.”
“Carlisle,” Lord Alford’s voice sharpened, “would you prefer her paired with someone who might humiliate her—and us—before the other Inns? Despite your objections, I know you can show more reason in dealing with her.”
Andrew stilled, weighing the implications. Working with her would be maddening but watching another intentionally shame her was unbearable.
“Consider her a weapon for our advantage,” Lord Alford pressed. “Succeed, and you’ve raised funds for worthy children while proving your ability to transcend personal feelings. You emerge noble either way.”
Andrew’s jaw tightened. “My lord, I must voice my concerns. Working publicly with Miss Morton will compromise my standing with my investors and could damage my position in Parliament. My shareholders are already uneasy about any association with progressive causes.”
He paused, inhaling deeply. “However, I owe you a considerable debt. Your influence secured me the naval contracts, and your recommendation earned me my seat in the House of Lords. If you believe this course is necessary…” He trailed off to massage his temple and organize his thoughts. After a moment, he nodded stiffly. “Very well. I shall do your bidding but note my protest. Understand that I do this out of loyalty to you, not conviction in the cause.”
Relief softened Lord Alford’s features. “Noted. I trust you’ll handle this delicately. The debate is in a sennight. Best find Miss Morton and begin preparations.”
As Andrew turned to leave, Lord Alford spoke again, hesitation threading his voice. “Not to add pressure, but rumors say certain members seek my removal for allowing a woman at the Bar. If Miss Morton fails to win public favor and some benchers’ approval, I fear my position becomes untenable.”
Andrew’s head fell forward, a weary sigh escaping him. “You’re right—I hardly needed that additional weight.”
He strode from the office, his mind churning with resentment at the elegant trap he’d been maneuvered into. Yet beneath his frustration lurked an unwelcome spark at the prospect of seeing Charlotte again. Despite every effort to quash it, a current of anticipation hummed through his veins.
*
Finally shaking offthe incessant thoughts of Andrew, Charlotte immersed herself in documents for the child labor debate, knowing her arguments would face twice the scrutiny of her male colleagues. A sharp knock interrupted her concentration.
“Enter,” she called, not lifting her eyes.
Andrew’s presence filled her small office like storm clouds before thunder. Her breath caught as she took in his imposing figure.
“Miss Morton, am I interrupting anything of vital importance, or merely your usual pursuit of tallying my many failings?”
Charlotte willed her features to stillness despite her racing pulse. “Lord Carlisle. How delightfully presumptuous of you. I was preparing for our debate—a novel concept, I realize, given your apparent preference for angering the beast before ambushing.”
His laugh rumbled low. He settled across from her with infuriating nonchalance as if they were intimate friends. “Your thoughts on child labor in factories, then? I confess myself curious to hear your solution, though I suspect it involves more heart than pragmatism.”
“As opposed to your callous arguments wrapped in a pretense of caring but rooted in self-serving objectives?” she countered. “Not to worry, my lord. I shall prepare you by dismantling your profound observations, if we’re being charitable with definitions.”
One corner of his lips curved up in an infuriatingly amused smile. “I welcome your analysis, Miss Morton.”
She shot daggers at him with her eyes which could have felled him where he sat. “It must end,” she said sharply. “Children belong in schools, not dangerous factories. Though I supposea man who profits from such arrangements might find my position inconvenient.”
“Some argue these children support their families,” he said mildly. “But pray, don’t let economic realities trouble your noble sensibilities.”
His patronizing tone sent heat through her despite her determination to remain unmoved. She caught herself leaning forward and jerked back.
“Ah… I still affect you,” he observed, eyebrows arching with insufferable satisfaction.
“Not in the manner you imagine, Lord Carlisle. Your ego is simply overwhelming. This office wasn’t designed to accommodate persons of your considerable… pig-headedness.”
His chuckle resonated through her bones. “Your blush suggests otherwise, Miss Morton. Unless you’ve suddenly developed a fever from the exertion of thinking?”
