In the Barrister's Bed. Tina Gabrielle
Books by Tina Gabrielle
In the Barrister’s Bed
In the Barrister’s Chambers
A Perfect Scandal
Lady of Scandal
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
In The BARRISTER’S BED
TINA GABRIELLE
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by Title Page Dedication ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Epilogue AUTHOR’ S NOTE Copyright Page
For Gabrielle,
my angel love.
God has blessed me beyond measure.
I love you.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a book is a challenging task that I could not have accomplished without support. My sincere thanks to my wonderful agent, Stephany Evans, for her enthusiastic support of my Regency Barrister series. Thank you to my editor, Audrey LaFehr, at Kensington Books, who gave me the opportunity to hold the published books in my hands. Thank you also to my family and friends for their amazing support.
And as always, thank you to my readers. Without you, there would be no books!
Chapter 1
May 10, 1819
London, Old Bailey Courthouse
Honorable Barnard Bathwell, presiding
“You’re a bastard by birth. How could you inherit anything?”
“Me father wanted me to ’ave it,” Pumpkin O’Dool explained.
“So you just broke into your stepmother’s home and took this?” Prosecutor Abrams strode forward, a gold pocket watch dangling from his fingers.
“Well, I knocked first, I did,” Pumpkin claimed. “She peeked through the curtains and saw me and never opened the door.”
“And yet you still took the watch. Your illegitimacy prevents you from inheriting property from your father,” Abrams argued.
James Devlin jumped to his feet from behind the defense table. “Objection, my lord. Mr. O’Dool’s illegitimacy is not in question. What is in question, however, is the missing will. If the prosecution had exerted as much effort in locating the will as it did in prosecuting a grieving son, we wouldn’t be in court today.”
Judge Bathwell, a squat fellow whose bewigged head barely cleared the top of his perch, drew his lips in thoughtfully and looked to Abrams. “Has the prosecution any idea where the will is?”
Prosecutor Abrams shook his head. “No, my lord. The solicitor that drafted the will is deceased. The original was given to Mr. O’Dool’s stepmother. It has not been found.”
“No doubt stuffed under her mattress,” James drawled.
“Objection!” the prosecutor shouted.
Six of the twelve members of the jury guffawed; two others eyed the prosecutor with a critical squint.
And that’s when James Devlin knew he had them.
Juries disliked overaggressive prosecutors more than thieves. Pumpkin O’Dool was an impoverished bastard and without a written will saying otherwise, he was entitled to nothing.
No one understood this more than James.
But at least Pumpkin O’Dool wouldn’t be sentenced to death today.
Sunlight poured in from the windows and heated the crowded courtroom. The spectators’ gallery was packed with observers seated on wooden benches, and the air thrummed with excitement. Commoners in worn dresses and patched corduroy jackets sat beside wealthy merchants and nobility in fine gowns and tightly tied cravats. Women avidly fanned themselves as the temperature in the room rose with each passing minute, and perspiration formed