Chapter 11 #3
"Not with the procedures. Not with the evidence.
" Damon held his gaze. "With the fact that you took the case at all.
A convicted Duke, abandoned by the whole of London, a case no barrister in the city would touch.
And you took it." He paused. "There is something personal in it.
I have not yet worked out what. But it is there. "
Charles was silent for a long moment.
"To be honest, Your Grace," he said at last, "you would have made an excellent lawyer. An excellent anything, I should think. What I have never been able to work out is why you chose to become this instead."
Damon almost smiled. "With all due respect, Charles—this is not about me." He rose from the chair. "If you do not wish to share anything personal, I understand it. And I respect it. I will leave you be."
He had taken a step toward the door when Charles spoke again.
"There was a carriage accident."
Damon stopped.
"My brother and my sister-in-law were inside the carriage.
" Charles did not look at him as he said it.
His eyes had gone somewhere else entirely.
"It happened during a case. A high-profile one.
The kind that makes powerful men nervous.
" A pause. "One that I handed to him myself—because he was the better lawyer, and I knew it, and I thought he deserved it. "
The silence held for a moment.
Then Damon lowered himself slowly back into the chair.
"I can see the guilt you carry," Damon said quietly. "For not being able to protect them. Do you—" He hesitated, then asked the question that had been simmering in his mind. "Do you think the carriage accident was more than an accident?"
Charles's jaw tensed, a flicker of something sharp in his eyes—pain, regret, perhaps suspicion.
"I have asked myself that for years," he said. "The timing was convenient. Too convenient. But I never found proof. Only theories, rumors, the kind of whispers you cannot put on paper."
He was quiet for a moment. Then, in a softer voice, he said, "When I took her in, I was a lifelong bachelor who could not boil tea, let alone raise a child. I did not know the first thing about children, let alone grieving ones. I was terrified of breaking her."
"You did not," Damon said.
"No," Charles agreed. "But I did not do it alone. She was always… different. Curious. Bold. She asked questions I was not ready for. Especially about the law."
Damon's eyes narrowed with interest. "She said she found legal books when she was barely old enough to read."
Charles smiled faintly at the memory. "That is true. I walked into the study one day to find her perched on a chair, legs swinging, flipping through a casebook as though it were a storybook. I told her it was too complicated for her, that she would not understand."
"And?"
"She did not care. She asked me about tort law the next day. I still do not know how she found the term."
Damon chuckled, then sobered. "You taught her anyway."
"I had to," Charles said. "Because even when I warned her of the world she was walking into, she did not flinch. She wanted it more. Not for glory. Not even for revenge. She simply… believed in it. In the system. In justice. Even when I did not."
Damon nodded slowly. "She said you were her north star."
Charles blinked. "She is mine, too."
A silence stretched between them—no longer tense, but contemplative.
"I failed her once," Charles said suddenly, voice lower now. "The man who caused her parents' death—he was the son of an Earl. The case was swept away. My evidence dismissed. I could not protect her from that. I still carry that guilt."
"You should not," Damon said. "You did everything you could."
Charles shook his head. "Intentions mean little in courtrooms. Only results matter. That is why I taught her. I wanted her to have the power I did not."
He looked at Damon now, eyes sharper. "And that is why I guard her so fiercely. She is not merely brilliant—she is vulnerable. To men like you."
Damon did not flinch. "I do not want to hurt her. I admire her. More than you know."
Charles studied him for a long moment. Then, surprisingly, his expression softened.
"I saw it," he said. "What you did with Franklin. The way you stood up for her. Most men would not have said a word. You did."
"She deserves to be defended," Damon said simply. "Not only for what she does, but for who she is."
Charles nodded once. "You may be a rogue, Your Grace, but you are not blind. That is something."
Another pause.
"I appreciate what you have done," Charles said. "Truly. But if your behavior clouds her judgment—if she loses sight of the case because of this, because of you—I will remove her from it myself. Without hesitation."
"I would not expect anything less," Damon replied.
Charles gave a tired exhale. "Good. Now, shall we return to work before she comes charging in and accuses us of loafing?"
Damon stood. "By all means. Though I would call it bonding, not loafing."
Charles gave a reluctant smile. "Do not push it, Your Grace."
They returned to the table, documents between them once more. But something had shifted—a thread of mutual respect woven between the lines.
And as they worked late into the night, Damon could not help but feel that, for the first time, he had begun to earn the trust of the one man whose opinion might matter most.
Not only for the case.
But for her.