Page 22 of Touched By a Traitor
Andrew approached slowly, unwilling to startle her or draw unwanted attention to her presence.
“Miss Morton.”
She turned, surprise flickering across her features before composing herself. “Lord Carlisle.”
The women around her cast curious glances between them, sensing undercurrents they couldn’t name.
“What brings you to the docks?” he asked, though he suspected he already knew.
“I was discussing employment opportunities with these ladies,” she replied with quiet dignity. “Laundry work, household service, or in Sophy’s case”—she nodded toward a pregnant woman—“wet nursing.”
Her work here revealed the same compassion that had first drawn him to her, the same desire to fight for those society ignored. Yet concern overwhelmed admiration.
“And your own safety? These docks are no place for a lady alone.”
Charlotte’s chin lifted slightly. “These women face far greater dangers than I do. Besides, who else will offer them alternatives?”
The simple question struck him silent. Who indeed? While he and his peers debated tradition and progress in comfortable chambers, Charlotte worked among those society had forgotten.
“Do you regularly visit here?”
“I move between various locations where women gather. With few paying clients, I believe my time better serves this cause.”
“Few paying clients? Surely Chatham provides—”
The words escaped before he could stop them.
Her expression cooled. “That’s rather personal, Lord Carlisle.”
The rebuke stung. He’d lost all right to such concerns.
Resignation flickered in her expression but her voice carried a sharp edge. “He’s offered. I declined.”
“Why refuse? You deserve adequate compensation for your work.”
Something flashed in her eyes—hurt, perhaps, or anger. “Because accepting would mark me as his mistress rather than his colleague. Discovery would mean instant disbarment. Now they may suspect but cannot prove our relationship extends beyond mentor and student.”
The explanation hit him like a physical blow. She was protecting not just her reputation but her very right to practice law. Every comfort she refused was a sacrifice for her dreams.
“I should return to my work,” she said, moving to take her leave.
“Take my carriage,” he said.
She paused. “Will you accompany me?”
“No. I have work yet to finish.” He gestured toward his driver. “James will see you safely home.”
As they walked toward the carriage, Andrew noticed again the threadbare state of her cloak.
“The money I gave you years ago—”
“I’ve had to use it for… various necessities since beginning this path.” Something in her tone warned him away from pressing further.
The carriage door opened, and Charlotte turned to him. For a moment, her composed mask slipped, revealing exhaustion and something that looked like loneliness.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For the carriage. And for… understanding.”
She stepped inside, the door closing with a soft click. As the carriage pulled away, Andrew stood watching until it disappeared, his heart heavy with the knowledge that loving hermeant more than wanting her for himself—it meant defending everything she stood for, even if she could never be his.
