Chapter 11
Eleven
T he morning light brought a new challenge as the House of Lords loomed before Selina, its imposing facade a stark reminder of the gravity of the day's proceedings. A sea of silk and lace surged around her, the cream of London society jostling for position as they flocked to witness Lord Henry Hawthorne's trial.
Her heart thundered in her chest, a staccato rhythm that threatened to overwhelm her as she clenched her gloved hands, willing them to stop trembling. "I can do this," she said.
James leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. "You are far stronger than anyone realizes."
His words, though meant to comfort, sent a shiver down her spine. It was not every day an earl faced trial, and this was her one chance to gain revenge for Nile. She drew in a steadying breath and squared her shoulders. She would have her retribution. And once she did, she would put all the ugliness behind her.
James patted her hand. And as they made their way into Westminster Hall, Selina caught sight of Lord Hawthorne being led into the building, his wrists bound in irons. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and the hatred that blazed in his gaze nearly stole her breath.
"Steady on," James murmured, his hand finding the small of her back. The touch, though fleeting, anchored her.
Inside, the Great Hall buzzed with excitement. Her gaze swept over the assembled crowd in the gallery, noting the mix of genuine concern and morbid fascination on their faces.
"Lady Hollyfield!" A shrill voice cut through the din. "How brave of you to attend. I daresay it must be dreadfully difficult."
Selina turned to find Lady Pembrook, her eyes gleaming with ill-concealed curiosity. "Thank you for your concern, Lady Pembrook," Selina replied, her tone cool. "But I assure you, I am quite capable of facing this day. In fact, I have been rather looking forward to it for some time." She gave a half-hearted smile.
James stepped forward, his presence a palpable shield. "If you will excuse us, my lady. We must take our seats."
As they moved away, Selina could not help but marvel at his protective instincts. It was a far cry from the rogue she'd first encountered, all charm and calculated indifference. This was a man full of substance and deference. The sort of gentleman a lady could count on.
Selina took her seat, acutely aware of the weight of expectation pressing down upon her. James settled beside her, his thigh brushing against hers in a silent show of support.
Lord Chancellor Eldon called the court to order, his voice resonating through the chamber. "We are gathered here today to determine the guilt or innocence of Lord Henry Hawthorne, charged with the murder of Nile Whitcomb, Earl of Hollyfield, and the attempted murder of Selina Whitcomb, Lady Hollyfield, and James Barton, Lord Blackwood."
Selina's breath caught in her throat. Hearing Nile’s name spoken so formally, in this context, made her heart ache anew. And to know how close she and Jame’s had come to losing their lives as well—it was nearly too much.
A chill ran through her as the first witness was called, a stable hand from the day of the fatal race. As he recounted the events leading up to Nile's death, Selina found herself transported back to that terrible day.
She swallowed hard as she clutched James’s hand, tears welling in her eyes.
"And you are certain you saw Lord Hawthorne near the earl's phaeton before the race?" The Lord Chancellor’s voice cut through her reverie.
"Aye, sir. He was fussin' with somethin' near the wheel, like."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Selina's gaze darted to Hawthorne, noting the tightening of his jaw.
James leaned in close. "All is going well," he said, his voice a quiet caress.
Selina nodded, her resolve strengthening. She had come too far, endured too much, to falter now. She pushed the threatening tears away and squared her shoulders in defiance.
As the prosecution excused the stable lad, Selina felt a gentle nudge from James. It was her turn to take the stand. With a deep breath, she rose, her chin held high as she made her way to the witness stand.
"Lady Hollyfield," the barrister began, "please recount the events leading up to your husband's death."
Selina's voice remained steady as she spoke. "My husband had been involved in Lord Hawthorne's business dealings. I recently learned that he had called for Lord Hawthorne to repay him a great debt that resulted from those dealings a few days before the race."
From the corner of her eye, she saw Hawthorne shift uncomfortably in his seat.
"And on the day of the race?" the barrister prompted.
"Nile was confident, in high spirits. But after the accident..." Selina paused, swallowing hard. "I felt that something was amiss. I hired a private investigator who brought me evidence that Lord Hollyfield’s phaeton had been sabotaged."
Hawthorne's barrister rose, his eyes gleaming. "Lady Hollyfield, isn't it true that you and Lord Blackwood have been... intimately acquainted since your husband's passing?"
A gasp rippled through the assembled crowd, filling the chambers. Selina's cheeks flushed, but she held her ground. "My relationship with Lord Blackwood is irrelevant to these proceedings."
"Is it?" the barrister pressed. "Or perhaps you concocted this story together to frame Lord Hawthorne?"
James stood abruptly. “Lord Chancellor," he called out, "I have additional evidence that corroborates Lady Hollyfield's testimony."
The Lord Chancellor nodded, allowing James to approach. Selina watched, heart pounding, as James produced a small leather-bound ledger.
"This, my lords," James announced, "is Lord Hawthorne's personal account book. It details not only his fraudulent dealings but also the payment made to the ruffians that attacked myself and Lady Hollyfield."
The chamber erupted with the hum of voices. Selina's eyes locked with James's, a silent thank you passing between them. As she stepped down from the witness box, she felt a surge of hope. Justice would prevail.
The verdict rang out like a thunderclap, silencing the packed chamber. "Guilty," the Lord Chancellor declared, his voice steady and resolute.
Hawthorne's face, usually a mask of charm and composure, contorted with rage and disbelief. His eyes darted wildly, seeking an escape route as his sentence was pronounced: “Death by hanging at Tyburn.”
Hawthorne made his move. With a sudden burst of strength born of desperation, he shoved past his guards and bolted toward the doors.
"Stop him!" James shouted, already in pursuit. His long legs carried him swiftly after Hawthorne, with Alexander chased close behind.
Selina's heart raced as she watched the chaos unfold. Spectators scrambled out of the way as Hawthorne barreled through, pushing past anyone in his path.
James's voice cut through the din. "Alexander, cut him off at the entrance!"
The two men split up, James following Hawthorne's direct path while Alexander veered to the left, anticipating the fugitive's route.
Selina held her breath, her fingers gripping the railing before her. She silently willed James and Alexander to succeed, knowing that if Hawthorne escaped, all their efforts may be for naught.
"You can't run forever, Hawthorne!" James called out, his voice a mixture of determination and taunting. “You are a convicted man.” His footsteps echoed off the marble floors as he gained ground on Hawthorne.
Hawthorne glanced back, his face twisted with desperation. "You'll never take me alive! If I am to die, it shall be on my own terms."
“I assure you, he will.” Nicolas Winters grinned as he cut off Hawthorne's escape. The cornered man skidded to a halt, his eyes wild as he looked for another way out.
James tackled Hawthorne, holding him down as constables put irons on his ankles. As the men brought Hawthorne to his feet, Selina ran into James’s arms. He held her close as they watched Hawthorne get hauled out of the building in chains.
Soon after, the heavy oak doors of the House of Lords burst open, and Selina and James emerged onto the bustling London street. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobblestones, illuminating the sea of curious onlookers who had gathered to witness the aftermath of Lord Hawthorne's sensational trial.
Whispers rippled through the crowd. "Did you hear? Hawthorne's to hang at Tyburn!" an elderly gentleman exclaimed to his companion.
"Good riddance," a woman in a lavender bonnet replied, her eyes darting to Selina and James. "And it is all thanks to Lady Hollyfield and Lord Blackwood. Such bravery!"
Selina felt her cheeks flush at the admirative glances cast their way. She turned to James, her voice low. "I never imagined we would become the talk of London society. Leastwise, not in this manner."
James's lips quirked into a half-smile. "I daresay it's preferable to the gossip that usually circulates about me. And soon, darling, it will be our wedding they are gossiping about.”
Selina smiled, her eyes sparkling at the mention of their coming union. “Indeed, they will,” she said.
Their carriage pulled up, a welcome refuge from the prying eyes and wagging tongues. As James handed her in, Selina felt a surge of emotion at the familiar warmth of his touch. Once inside, she let out a long breath, feeling the tension of the day ebb away.
"We did it, James," she murmured, her gaze meeting his. "We got justice for Nile and ensured Hawthorne will never bring harm to anyone ever again."
James took her hand in his, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her palm. "Indeed we did, my love. Though I must confess, there were moments when I feared we might fail."
Selina leaned closer, drawn by the vulnerability in his voice. "What gave you doubt?"
"Hawthorne's reach was vast, his influence insidious," James replied, his brow furrowing. "If not for his foolish move in showing up at your residence welding that pistol... He could have killed you."
“Oh, James,” Selina's free hand came up to cup his cheek. "I am alive. We are alive, and free now to move on with our lives together."
James leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly. When he opened them again, they held a mixture of tenderness and mischief that made Selina's heart skip a beat.
"Well, my dear," he drawled, "how would you like to spend the first hour of the rest of our lives?”
“Honor de?—”
The carriage jolted over a rough patch of road, causing Selina to sway against James. He steadied her with a muscular arm around her waist, pulling her close.
"Honor, you say?" James murmured, his lips tantalizingly close to her ear. "I am not entirely certain my thoughts at this moment are particularly honorable, Lady Hollyfield. "
A delicious shiver ran down Selina's spine. "Is that so, Lord Blackwood? And pray tell, what thoughts might those be?"
James's gaze darkened with desire. "I find myself contemplating how best to celebrate our victory. Perhaps with a private toast?"
Selina's breath caught in her throat. The proper response would be to decline, to maintain the facade of respectability until their wedding. And yet...
"I believe," she drawled, her voice husky with anticipation, "that sounds like an excellent idea."
Their lips met in a searing kiss, full of promise and passion. And as the carriage turned toward Mayfair, James's thoughts raced ahead to the evening before them. The trial might be over, but he sensed the most thrilling adventure of his life was only just beginning.