Page 28 of Touched By a Traitor
“What is amusing?” he asked gruffly.
“This look is certainly different from your usual. I didn’t take you for a dandy.”
To her delight, he shifted awkwardly. “It’s my valet’s doing. He demanded that I let him ‘express his artistic vision.’”
“And you surrendered to a valet?”
“The man saved my life. Apparently, that grants him eternal power over my wardrobe.” Andrew tugged at his sapphire pin with obvious discomfort. “He assured me it would ‘soften my rough exterior.’”
“Well, you certainly won’t blend into any shadows tonight.”
“Please,” he said with mock severity, “my dignity has suffered enough for one evening.”
Charlotte laughed despite herself, the sound seeming to ease some tension in the room. “Forgive me. How may I assist you, Lord Carlisle?”
Andrew’s expression grew serious as he launched into his sister’s situation—the broken betrothal, Lord Byron’s damaging accusations, and the threat to both Daisy’s reputation and his business ventures. His fierce protectiveness spoke volumes about his love for his sibling, stirring a profound envy in Charlotte, who had grown up alone.
When he finished, he handed her a document. While she reviewed it, Charlotte could feel his gaze on her, making her acutely aware of her simple dress and modest appearance.
“The other barristers were correct that courts typically avoid domestic cases unless unlawful conduct is evident,” she said, lifting her eyes. “Has Lord Byron taken further action since withdrawing his offer?”
“He’s spreading accusations within our social circles. This threatens both Daisy’s character and my investors’ confidence in a family accused of lacking moral fiber.”
Charlotte nodded, her fingertip trailing across her lower lip as she studied the papers. “How curious that insteadof providing a dowry, Lord Byron was to fund your port expansion.”
“He believed shares would prove more lucrative than traditional arrangements.”
“If port construction delays result from this broken engagement, financial repercussions would far exceed the initial two thousand pounds,” she mused.
After studying the documents intently, she looked up with growing excitement. “I can build a case and present it to the court.”
“You can?”
“Before I outline my strategy, I require a retainer of one hundred pounds, another hundred for the first half, and the final hundred held in escrow until conclusion.”
“Three hundred pounds!” he exclaimed. “That’s outrageous! Even my most esteemed London barrister wouldn’t dare charge such a fee!”
Charlotte rose gracefully, handing back the document. “I urge you, my lord, to engage your esteemed barrister then.”
“Sit down, Miss Morton,” Andrew said, recognizing he had no choice. “Surely you’re familiar with negotiation?”
“My fee is not negotiable,” she said pleasantly, though she resumed her seat.
“You must concede three hundred pounds is astronomical for a single case.”
“Did I say three? I meant five hundred, for old time’s sake, Lord Carlisle.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “A fitting amount, considering I’m the only one willing to defend your sister’s honor.”
Andrew regarded her with grudging respect. “You need this case as much as we need you. We’re lending credibility to your practice.”
“A case everyone else calls professional suicide and is too humiliated to represent.” She tilted her head. “Self-destruction commands a premium, my lord.”
They stared at each other, neither yielding.
“This case requires five months of dedicated effort,” she continued. “Four hundred pounds plus the retainer—equal to one Season’s wardrobe, or perhaps two of yours, given your recent economical choices in attire.”
Andrew leaned back, obviously suppressing a smile. His unwavering gaze made her pulse flutter, but Charlotte met his stare, refusing to yield in this silent contest.
“The agreement must include my right to dismiss you if your performance proves unsatisfactory. You keep the retainer but return the remainder.”
