Trial by Desire (Carhart #2)(81)

He looked away first. A tiny victory, that, but it seemed as if an extra ray of sunshine cut through the gloom in Queen Square.

“Where,” the magistrate asked her, “is Lady Harcroft?”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly say,” Kate replied.

Another murmur from the crowd, this one louder.

“You can’t say, or you won’t?” Harcroft moved toward her. She didn’t have to pretend to shrink from him. Standing above her, tall as he was, he seemed dark and menacing. Precisely how she wanted everyone to remember him.

“Lady Kathleen,” he growled, “must I remind you that you’ve pledged yourself to tell the whole truth?”

Kate looked up, widening her eyes in pretend innocence. “Why, I am telling the truth! I truly can’t say. I believe Lady Harcroft is in transit at this moment.” At least, she hoped she was—unless something terribly untoward had happened to Ned. “Of course, as she’s not with me in London, and I’ve not had a post from her, I can’t say for sure.”

Harcroft folded his arms and glared at her. “If you hired her nursemaid and abducted her, you know her whereabouts. Divulge them, Lady Kathleen.”

“She’s in a carriage.” Kate smiled brightly. “Or—maybe she is not. It is so hard to say. If I could see her now, surely I could say where she was.”

He frowned at that bit of stupidity. “The prisoner,” he said tightly, “is mocking the honor of this court—of you, Your Worship, in front of all of London. Demand that she tell where my wife is. Demand it now.”

The magistrate reached for a handkerchief and dabbed at the sweat that trickled down his forehead. “Lady Kathleen?” he asked faintly.

At those words, the courtroom doors opened on the far edge of the crowd. As they did, a blast of midmorning sun spilled into the room. Dust motes sparkled in the sudden light, suspended in air. Then two figures, dark silhouettes against that sunlight, appeared. Kate went breathless with hope.

They moved into the room. Ned was in front. He moved slowly, deliberately placing each foot, as if every step had meaning. He paused, resting one hand on the bench.

That incandescent warmth she felt, seeing him for the first time that morning, was barely marred by the utter filth of his attire. Her husband was dirty, missing a cravat, and his trousers were ripped at the knee. Louisa came up beside him. In stark contrast to Ned’s ragged clothing, she wore a dove-gray traveling dress, its edges trimmed in falls of black lace. She seemed poised, as she never had before in her husband’s company.

One of the earnest young reporters in the back row lifted his head at the draft of air—but he only glared at the entering company before bending back down to scribble on his paper.

“Lady Kathleen?” the magistrate asked. “Are you saying you can’t tell me where Lady Harcroft’s wife is?”

Kate smiled sunnily. “No, Your Worship. Now I can.”

Harcroft leaned toward Kate, his fingers curled, as if he could claw the knowledge from her. He was so intent on Kate that he did not hear the footsteps behind him, proceeding up the aisle.

“Is it necessary for me to do so, Your Worship?” Kate asked.

“It would be advisable,” Magistrate Fang said dryly.

Kate raised her hand gracefully. “She’s right there,” she said, pointing at Louisa.

Half the room stood, all at once. The judge banged his gavel to no avail a first time, and then louder. But it was only when he shouted a threat to have them all carried away that everyone subsided in their seats. In comparison with that roar, the silence that followed was so absolute Kate could hear the scritch of the reporters’ pencils against foolscap.

As for Harcroft… A thousand emotions seemed to flit across his face. Fear. Triumph. Concern. And then, as Louisa did not move forward down the aisle toward him, a hint of anger. He drew himself up.

A week ago, Louisa had curled into a ball, thinking of the possibility of confronting her husband. Kate could see Ned place his hand on Louisa’s shoulder. Louisa didn’t flinch.

Harcroft strode down the aisle toward her. When he was a few feet in front of her, he reached for her. But Louisa looked up. She squared her shoulders. And then without the slightest trace of uncertainty, she met his eyes.

Kate wanted to cheer. The earl stopped where he was.

“Where have you been?” He glanced about, as if searching for a hidden spring gun.

“Don’t you recall?” Louisa gave a little laugh. “I’d made plans to go to Paris. I was shopping.”

The moment of silence stretched in the courtroom, as hair-raisingly electric as the second before lightning struck. Kate could feel that energy, the back of her neck tingling in awareness.

“Shopping?” Harcroft repeated weakly. “Shopping?”

“Oh, yes. You don’t suppose I would leave for another reason, now, do you?”

Louisa gazed at him.

He was the first to look away. He looked to the back of the room—at the cadre of reporters, their pencils poised to record every word he spoke. Kate could see the visible calculation in his face. Harcroft was beloved of society.

Everyone thought he was perfect. He could no more announce his true thoughts to this room than he could fly.

“Ah.” He rubbed his head. “Shopping. Perhaps you forgot to mention.” His voice took on a darker tone. “I’ll see you home, then.”