Swan's Grace (35 page)

"Then I'll have to be close at hand to keep the other men at bay."

"What if—"

"No more what-ifs." He ran his hands down her arms, then took her hands and looked at her fiercely. "I love you, Sophie, for you, any way you want to be. Just as you have loved me. Always. We are perfect together. And we will be perfect together in Swan's Grace, or another house that I will be happy to build you. We'll keep Sweetie, and you
can
have your ragtag group of hangers-on live with us wherever we are."

Her lips parted on a surprised intake of breath. "You mean you'd let Margaret and Deandra and Henry stay?"

"I'll convince them myself, if that is what you want. I'm in need of a good assistant, since you ran mine off." He chuckled. "Besides, I can't think of a better person than Deandra to salvage what is left of my career."

With a cry, Sophie threw her arms around his strong body. "Oh, Grayson, I love you."

"Then say you'll marry me. Say you'll never leave me again." He set her at arm's length and looked her in the eyes. "I need you, Sophie, not because you are my weakness, as I thought before, but because you are my strength."

Joy filled her soul. "We are two halves of a whole, each made complete by the other. So yes, I will marry you. And we will live in Swan's Grace. Just as I intended all those years ago."

He kissed her forehead, then pulled her close. "Good, then let's go home. We have a music room that needs finishing."

Read on for a sneak peek at

NIGHTINGALE'S GATE,

the final installment in Linda Francis Lee's

breathtaking trilogy, coming in Summer

The city sweltered.

Alice Kendall absently curled a loose tendril of white-blond hair behind her ear. It was unbearably hot in her small law office in the South End of town, but she hardly noticed.

Pulling a folded rectangle of newsprint from a file, she reread the startling headline that she hadn't been able to get out of her mind.

Prominent Son Charged in Murder

Last week she had cut the article from the paper, though she couldn't say why. She had made something of a name for herself in the short nine months she had been an attorney by defending small but difficult cases. Even though a murder charge was well beyond what she could reasonably expect to take on at this point in her career, it was just the kind of case she dreamed of defending one day. Big and important.

Tapping the newsprint in thought, she started to read.

Lucas Hawthorne, son of prominent citizen Bradford Hawthorne, has been charged with the murder of Lucille Rouge, a well-known courtesan found dead in Beck-man's alleyway in the early hours of Sunday morning. After his arrest Tuesday afternoon, he was set free on a five-hundred-dollar bond.

Equally well-known as the owner of the infamous gentleman's club Nightingale's Gate, Lucas Hawthorne was unavailable for comment The elder Hawthorne son, Grayson, emphatically declared his brother's innocence. Matthew, the middle Hawthorne son, is reportedly returning to Boston from Africa. It is to be expected that the three Hawthorne brothers would show such solidarity. What is unexpected, however, is that Bradford Hawthorne, the venerable patriarch of the clan, has refused to make any comment at all.

The article went on, but Alice sat back and barely felt the bite of hard wood pressing her whalebone corset against her. The murder had occurred nearly two weeks ago, and something had been written about the case every day since.

Even before this, Alice had heard of Lucas Hawthorne— didn't know anyone who hadn't. It was no secret he was the youngest son of a very fine family, someone who seemed to relish his black sheep image. Boston didn't take kindly to a man who laughed in the face of propriety. Neither did her father, Boston's highly successful district attorney for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

No one within a hundred-mile radius dared cross Walker Kendall. During his tenure as lead prosecutor for the Commonwealth, he had won far more cases than he had lost.

Alice cringed for the poor fool who would be faced with the task of defending Lucas Hawthorne. He didn't stand a chance against her father.

While she had never met any of the Hawthorne family, she felt sure that, given their name and money, not to mention the fact that Grayson Hawthorne was considered one of the finest lawyers in town, there would be a fight.

Intrigued in spite of herself, she resolved to ask her father what he knew about the case when they met for lunch at Locke-Ober's.

A sharp rap on the frosted window in the door shook her from her reverie. She blinked at the large, distorted form that stood behind the glass.

Instantly, the article was forgotten. While she had successfully defended the few cases she had gotten, she'd practically given her services away for free. As a new lawyer, not to mention as a
woman
lawyer, she didn't have clients banging down her door. Slowly, she was developing a solid reputation. She knew that. But that solidity had yet to translate into solvency. And if Alice didn't start bringing in some sizable fees soon, she'd be hard pressed to stay in business. A solid reputation alone, she was fast learning, didn't pay the bills.

"Come in," she called out in her best professional voice, quickly dabbing the sweat from her brow, before grabbing her pen and a file in hopes of looking busy just as the door swung open.

A man filled the doorway. A stranger. Her breath hissed out of her at the sight.

Despite his expensively tailored suit, he looked dangerous. He was tall with broad shoulders, seemingly un-fazed by the staggering heat. His hair was dark like a raven's wing. His jaw was hard and chiseled, just like the man. And his lips. Full and masterfully carved, sensuous. The effect of such a mouth on a face so masculine was blatantly sexual.

Alice felt an odd tingle race through her, then settle low.

But it was his eyes that demanded her attention. A vivid shade of blue, they flickered over the interior of her office with quick efficiency, before settling on her—and when they did, his body went still and his eyes narrowed. His gaze was unnerving. Intense, unreadable.

Locked in his stare, she couldn't move. Her world seemed to shift and change. Minutes ticked by in some distorted facsimile of time passing. An empty, hungry feeling flared unexpectedly inside her—a feeling she could hardly fathom, much less explain.

His gaze drifted over her like an insolent caress, judging, assessing. An embarrassing sense of inadequacy spun through her. She might not know much about the affairs of men and women, but she did know that she didn't have the body to impress such a ruggedly handsome man.

Pulling up bravado like a shield, she gave him her coolest glare. "May I help you?" she asked, forcing her voice to be steady.

At the question he smiled, a slow quirk of lips making him look like a devilish schoolboy. "I think you can."

His tone made it clear that his words had nothing to do with the practice of law. He was making a pass at her. Alice couldn't have been more surprised if he had fallen to his knees and begged her to marry him. Shaking the absurd thought away, she wrote her pounding heart off to outrage.

She pushed up from her seat in a stiff rustle of taffeta skirts and the scrape of chair against hardwood floor, certain he must be lost. Hoping he was lost. Or did she? she wondered when she felt a tiny flare of that odd, breathless feeling. Her gaze drifted to his lips, which just as quickly pulled into a wider smile.

Her head jerked up, and she felt the instant burn in her face at his knowing look.

"Can I direct you somewhere?" she inquired crisply.

"I'm looking for Alice Kendall."

Her spine straightened in surprise. "For me?"

The man's indolent smile froze into a hard line. "
You
are Alice Kendall?" He glanced around the small office as if he expected to find someone else.

Her chin rose a notch, hating the fact that every time anyone met her they couldn't imagine she was old enough to practice law. This wasn't the first time someone had come into her office and assumed she was the receptionist. "Yes, I am."

His blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "What the hell?" he muttered, more to himself than to her. "I need a lawyer, not a date for an ice cream social."

She realized in that second that he was going to leave.

Instantly her brain raced, but not with thoughts of this powerful man and what he made her feel, rather with thoughts of a client. A real, live, breathing client. And if his clothes were any indication, he could actually afford to pay her.

"You're looking for a lawyer?" she burst out.

He hesitated, his gaze no longer sensual. He regarded her with disdain and an inexplicable flare of anger.

But Alice wasn't about to be put off. She thrust out her hand like any good businessman, fighting off the very real desire she felt to dash out the door. "Alice Kendall, attorney at law, at your service."

He made no attempt to shake her hand. He hung back, contempt shimmering around him like the waves of gauzy heat outside.

She tried to convince herself that he wasn't a hopelessly dangerous criminal. Truly, his clothes were nice. He shaved. His hair wasn't overly long. All right, so it was, she amended at the sight of dark hair brushing his collar. Even so, what did it matter? Didn't every man, woman, and thug deserve a lawyer?

Her heart did a little dance of excitement.

"Why do you need an attorney?" she asked, her mind spinning with thoughts of a breach of contract case, or simple mistaken identity. She'd even do a little estate planning if that was what he wanted. A client was a client.

But before he could answer, another man stepped in behind him.

This one was every bit as tall as the first, his hair as dark, though his eyes were black pools instead of blue. He looked familiar somehow, and she had the distinct impression that she should know him.

"Miss Kendall," he said, his voice smooth and polite, so different from the first man. "How nice to see you."

She tilted her head in confusion as she tried to place him, but couldn't. "Who are you?" she asked bluntly, forgetting all her hard-learned lessons in propriety. "And why are you here?"

He didn't answer at first as he noticed the article lying forgotten on her desk. Before she knew what he was doing, he picked it up and glanced at the black print. With a sigh, he handed it to her, and said, "Everyone charged with murder needs a lawyer."

"Murder?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"You're Lucas Hawthorne?"

A brief flash of pure joy raced through her at the thought of such a client. But disappointment followed quickly on its heels. She needed a case she actually stood a chance of winning. The last thing she needed was for Lucas Hawthorne to walk into her office.

The man shook his head. "No, I'm not Lucas Hawthorne."

Relief, a resurgence of enthusiasm. Visions of solvency returned.

"He is."

Alice swung around to face the man who had taken her breath. Dark hair, vivid blue eyes. This was Lucas Hawthorne. In the flesh. More intimidating than she had heard.

So much for a nice little breach of contract case.

Damn.

"Why me?" she demanded.

"My question, exactly," Lucas Hawthorne stated, his eyes flickering over her frilly blue gown. "Aren't suffragettes supposed to be mannish and wear ties?"

"Lucas," the other man warned.

"For your information, I am not a suffragette. I'm a lawyer, and a good one, I might add," Alice snapped, her temper short as she swallowed the bitter pill that this wasn't a case she could reasonably take.

Lucas raised one black brow and looked at her in a way that was meant to intimidate.

Alice was too disappointed to care, and she glared back. "Unless rumors are mistaken—"

"I've never been one to listen to rumors."

Her smile was thin and caustic. "I'm sure that makes your mother proud. I, on the other hand, enjoy a good rumor now and again. I'm always amazed at how much information they provide. And rumor has it that you have more money than God, and a brother who's a lawyer." She jerked her head to the other man. "You're Grayson Hawthorne!"

The older brother nodded his regal head.

Stunned that two of the most well-known men in New England had showed up on her doorstep seeking her help, Alice sat down in her chair and refolded the article, then carefully straightened her already straight papers, giving herself time to think.

"So," Grayson said, "are you interested in the job?"

Her heart lurched. These weren't two run-of-the-mill thugs. They weren't lost, and they actually wanted her.

Okay, so only Grayson Hawthorne wanted her, but Grayson Hawthorne belonged to the pantheon of great lawyers as far as she was concerned.

Despite the fact that it was ludicrous to consider, blood drummed through her veins in exhilaration. This was what she had dreamed of for years. A big case. To be sought after and respected by the very lawyers who shaped the law.

But to defend a murder charge when she had only been practicing for less than a year? This was too much, too soon. Any lawyer in town would know that. At least a good one would, and Grayson Hawthorne was a good one.

Disappointment flared once again, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You never answered my question," she stated, looking at the accused directly. "Why me?"

Lucas Hawthorne leaned back against the wall and glanced wryly at Grayson. "Call me naive, big brother, but shouldn't the lawyer be convincing us, rather than the other way around?"

"More than that, why aren't
you
defending him?" Alice challenged.

Grayson glanced between her and his brother.

"First of all, I deal in civil matters, not criminal. Beyond which, no jury in the land will believe that I can be objective about my own flesh and blood. We need someone from outside my firm."

"Then what about the slew of other attorneys in this very building?" she asked caustically.

"Not everyone here graduated number one in his class in law school, and not everyone aced the bar exam. You did."

A brush of pride washed over her at the words. Alice felt a slight softening in her stance despite the fact that she knew she hadn't received a single compliment from anyone except her father since she'd decided to wear her hair up at eighteen. Undoubtedly she was desperate and susceptible to the most blatant forms of flattery. But still, it felt good.

"I've also heard you were the best strategist in your class," Grayson added. "We want someone new. Someone hungry." He eyed her carefully. "And if my guess is correct, you have something to prove. A winning combination, as far as I'm concerned."

It couldn't be more obvious that Lucas Hawthorne didn't agree. In fact, he looked downright antagonistic. She bit her lip and studied him. The man was angry. Dangerous. With large hands that easily could have ended a woman's life.

A shiver of something raced down her spine, but this time it had nothing to do with feeling drawn or intrigued.

"What is the charge?" she asked Grayson, as if his brother weren't there. "Murder in the first degree? In the second? Manslaughter?"

"Murder in the first," Lucas answered for him, crossing his arms casually on his chest as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Her heart fluttered, and she tried to ignore him. "The Commonwealth must have some pretty solid evidence to go for such a charge."

Deep lines etched Grayson Hawthorne's face. "What they have is a very solid hatred for my brother and the way he has chosen to lead his life."

Unable to help herself, she turned to Lucas and studied him, took in the small, half angry, half amused smile pulling at those lips that had made her heart flutter.