Page 18 of Touched By a Traitor
He turned sharply on his heel, pausing at the door without looking back. “We begin tomorrow. Nine o’clock.”
The door closed behind him with quiet finality, just as devastating as if he’d slammed it. Charlotte sank into her chair, pressing shaking hands to her face as the phantom taste of his kiss lingered on her lips and the terrible knowledge settled in her chest that she may have lost him for good this time.
The Debate
14 October 1836
“Itrust you’reprepared, Mr. Creswell,” Charlotte said, her voice carefully controlled. “I won’t have your… personal feelings compromise our success.”
Andrew’s laugh was dark as his fingers languidly stroked the spot on his shirt where her hands had clutched at him just days before. “Fear not, Miss Morton. My ‘feelings’ are remarkably well-behaved in professional settings.” His voice dropped to a teasing whisper. “Though I notice you’re gripping that quill as if it might escape.”
Charlotte glanced down at her white knuckles and deliberately loosened her hold. “I am merely… ensuring proper penmanship.”
“Ah yes, because nothing wins an argument like strangled writing instruments.” Andrew settled into his chair with maddening ease. “Tell me, do you also throttle your legal briefs into submission?”
“Only when they refuse to cooperate,” she replied tartly. “Rather like certain earls of my acquaintance.”
“Touché. Though I should point out that my cooperation has been exemplary. I haven’t mentioned your tendency to pace when nervous even once.”
“I do not pace when—” Charlotte caught herself mid-stride and froze. “And you stare out the window like a housecat admiring sparrows.”
“Just studying my prey. But of course I never get nervous,” he said, tugging at his coat sleeves.
“Shall we begin, or would you prefer to shoot down some sparrows first?” Charlotte asked, finally taking her seat and arranging her papers.
“How thoughtful of you. Keep your bonnet on, Miss Morton. They have an excellent aim for exposed weaknesses.”
Her eyes met his with a flash of silver fury while his answering smile held satisfied glee. But as they took the stage, something shifted. The familiar rhythm of intellectual combat overrode their personal animosity. Whatever lay between them, they both wanted to win.
Charlotte’s voice rang out clear and strong, and Andrew found himself caught in the familiar spell of her brilliance. The woman before him commanded the room with a presence that made his chest ache with pride and regret in equal measure.
Throughout the debate, her quick wit and razor-sharp rebuttals repeatedly caught him off guard. Despite their personal turmoil, they found an unexpected rhythm. Each cutting argument felt like an extension of their private battle, their shared passion transmuted into intellectual fire.
Watching her dismantle their opponents’ defense of child labor, despite himself, Andrew found his resentment giving way to grudging respect. Her passionate gestures, the fierce light in her eyes, her absolute command of the room—this was the woman who had first captivated him, the brilliant mind he’d been fool enough to let slip away.
When his turn came, he matched her intensity instinctively, their mutual fury channeled into devastating logic. His economic arguments wove seamlessly with her moral appeals,and for brief moments, their eyes met across the podium. In those glances lay everything they couldn’t say—respect, regret, and something far more dangerous.
Their opponents from Gray’s Inn wilted before their unexpected alliance. But during a heated exchange on education reform, Higgins made the mistake of launching a personal attack.
“While Lord Carlisle’s arguments merit consideration,” Higgins sneered, wiping his brow, “I cannot take seriously any position advocated by a… lady. A woman’s place is nurturing children, not in a court of law. It goes against the natural order…”
The words died in his throat as both Charlotte and Andrew turned to him with identical expressions of cold fury. In that moment, their private war forgotten, they were once again a united front.
Charlotte stepped forward. Her face was marble-smooth, but her eyes blazed with controlled fury that made Higgins step back.
“I may be a woman, sir,” her voice carried with quiet authority, “but I stand here by virtue of my mind and conviction—the same qualities that built this institution you guard so zealously.”
Her gaze swept the room, commanding attention.
“You speak of natural order, Mr. Higgins, but order evolves. Your predecessors once argued against educating the poor as unnatural. Yet here we debate expanding that very education.”
Her voice grew in strength.
“I earned my place through the same rigorous study and examination as any man. My presence doesn’t diminish these halls—it enriches them. In denying half of humanity the chance to contribute their intellect, we deny ourselves the full measure of human progress.”
She turned to address the entire audience.
“Gentlemen, today’s question isn’t whether women belong in law. It’s whether we, as a society, can afford to squander the contributions of any mind capable of advancing justice and the rule of law, regardless of their sex.”
