Page 23 of Touched By a Traitor
*
Charlotte pressed herforehead against the cool carriage window, tears blurring the London streets. That single night six years ago still haunted her—Andrew’s gentle hands, his whispered understanding when her world was crumbling. He’d been light in the darkness, never knowing how desperately she’d needed it.
Now his bitterness about Chatham cut deeper than he could know. Each barbed comment about her “flimsy connection” to the duke reopened wounds she’d thought healed.
If only he knew the truth—that her relationship with Chatham had been born of desperate necessity, not love or ambition. Chatham had become her shield after that horrible night at Cambridge, when she’d learned that her body was currency in a world that saw her dreams as aberration.
Her fingers pressed against the glass until they ached. How she longed to tell Andrew everything—to see understanding replace the bitter disappointment in his eyes. But the cost was too high. Her position at the Inner Temple, the women who looked to her as proof that change was possible, the duke’s secret that wasn’t hers to tell—all balanced on her silence.
The carriage hit a rough patch, jolting her from her thoughts. Charlotte straightened, wiping away tears with practiced efficiency. She had survived Cambridge. She had built a life from those ashes. She would survive this too, even if it meant watching Andrew slip away like sand through her fingers.
Because despite everything—the secrets, the impossible choices—she loved him. That love would have to be enough, even if she could never act on it.
*
After a daythat should have numbed him with exhaustion, Andrew’s mind raced with thoughts of Charlotte.
“What’s troubling you, brother?” Daisy’s unexpected appearance in his study startled him from his brooding. She stood radiant in her new walking dress, the colors as vibrant as her irrepressible spirit.
Andrew rubbed his temple. “Do I look troubled?”
Daisy tilted her head, eyes dancing with mischief. “You’ve aged a decade since this morning. Every line’s working overtime.”
“How flattering,” he muttered.
“Perhaps you need a wife,” she said, settling into the chair across from him. “You haven’t courted anyone seriously in years.”
Andrew’s gaze sharpened. “How is it you speak of such matters so freely? It’s hardly proper.”
Daisy waved dismissively. “Don’t be absurd. I’m six and twenty, not sixteen. Besides, marriage would solve your melancholy.”
“Perhaps you’re right. It’s time I wed.”
Maybe a wife would fill the growing void in his chest, silence the thoughts of Charlotte that had renewed their torment.
Daisy’s face brightened. “How wonderful! I know several suitable candidates.”
Andrew’s eyes widened in horror. “I’ve met your friends, Daisy. They hold no appeal whatsoever.”
“Then we must expand your circle. Perhaps my birthday celebration—I could invite eligible ladies from town.”
“Perhaps,” Andrew murmured, though the thought held little attraction.
Daisy studied his face, then suddenly straightened. “Speaking of solutions—have you found a barrister for my case yet?”
Andrew’s mood darkened. “None will take it. They claim domestic matters are beneath their dignity.”
“Surely one barrister in London would accept good money. We’re not even asking for victory, just competent representation.”
“They fear becoming their profession’s laughingstock.”
Daisy’s eyes suddenly blazed with inspiration. “What about the female barrister? The one who fooled everyone by studying as a man? Such determination!”
Andrew choked, memories of Charlotte flooding back unbidden. “She’s not an option.”
“Why not? She’s fully qualified.”
“No.”
