“You must stop teasing me,” Grace whispered in Hugh’s ear as he carried her from the library.

If she only knew that in “teasing” her he was torturing himself.

The close proximity of his own rooms made it punishingly tempting. A right turn here, a few steps there, and in moments they could both be stripped of their clothes and embarking on hours of making love.

He wanted her, there was no question of that. She stirred desire in him like no woman in his memory. And he knew she wanted him. She’d made that clear enough in the way she responded each time to his touches. Yes, their attraction was mutual.

But none of that mattered. He wouldn’t bed Grace in these circumstances. He couldn’t. He would not risk damaging her reputation, even though he was certain there wasn’t a person at Baronsford who didn’t know how attached he’d already become to her. Still, a line had to be drawn somewhere. He didn’t want to complicate her life as it stood now. He wouldn’t reduce her to the status of a mistress when he might . . . when he might what? What plans were brewing in the dark recesses of his mind? He would not make love to Grace until he knew exactly what it was he wanted from her. Hugh already sensed that making love to her was not enough.

As he carried her down the stairway, he heard the household staff below them.

“I insist that you allow me to walk on my own two feet.”

“Only if you insist,” he said, trying not to stare at her lips.

“I do. At the bottom of the steps.”

He noted the stubborn set of her jaw, the threatening glare intended to convey that he’d better do what she asked or there’d be hell to pay. He’d seen a glimpse of this look before. The Irish in her.

He smiled. “As long as you come with me to my study.”

“To work?”

“I already know you’re fond of the law. You’ve been enthralled by my mother’s collection of articles, and you told me the first night that you wanted to read my law books.”

“I was delirious with fever at the time, I believe.”

“True, but I can use your help on a particularly tricky case that has come to me.” He’d reached the bottom step and paused before taking the last one. “I’d like you to go through the published decisions of a few thousand cases or so and find a precedent that might clear up a contentious legal point.”

Grace cocked an eyebrow suspiciously, but he could tell he’d aroused her curiosity.

“You have a number of clerks. I’ve seen them coming and going.”

“True,” he admitted. “But not one of them provides anywhere near the pleasure I enjoy in your company. Not one argues with me about how long their stay at Baronsford needs to be. Not one possesses the brilliance or the recall of what they read, as you do. Not one—”

“And not one of them wields as handsome a cane as this one.” She shook the walking stick threateningly at him. “So if you’ll be so kind as to put me down, m’lord, I’ll use it to accompany you to your study.”

Hugh took the last step and gently stood Grace on her feet. He loved winning her over.

Before they could move a step, Mrs. Henson appeared out of nowhere to ask about the injured ankle. No sooner did the housekeeper have an answer than the butler arrived and wished to know if Miss Grace would be joining the family in the dining room tonight. Hugh knew Jo had already curtailed invitations to outside guests, and he watched Grace’s face as Simons told her that “aside from the immediate family, the only guests would be Mr. and Mrs. Truscott.”

When she hesitated, Hugh was about to answer for her, but thought better of it. Grace had an independence unlike any other woman he’d ever known. She’d looked after her father’s affairs on the Continent and in America, during the chaotic times of war and since the peace. Her insight and bluntness that night in the library about his blind prejudice had forever changed him. She was accustomed to thinking and making decisions for herself, regardless of how trivial or how significant.

“Thank you, Mr. Simons,” she replied after a pause. “I’d like to join the family this evening, if it’s not too much trouble.”

In response, the butler practically cooed. Hugh would have done the same if she’d turned her blue eyes on him and smiled.

“Pray tell me about this ‘tricky’ case, m’lord,” she said, as they started off toward his study.

As they walked, Hugh told her about Jean Campbell’s case, explaining that the Irish woman, a deaf-mute, had been charged with the drowning murder of her child. Because of her situation, she’d not been able to make a statement. Confused and generally distraught, the woman had been held in the Glasgow prison for six months while the judges remained in a deadlock over whether she was fit to stand trial. And now the case had been referred to his court.

“So she doesn’t know how to read or write.”

“That’s correct,” Hugh replied. “And I’ve received more information that damages the case for the defense, negligible as it is already. Her neighbors in Glasgow speak fondly of her. They assert that she’s hardworking and always showed herself to be an affectionate mother to her children.”

“How does that hurt her defense?”

“Because they also say that just days before allegedly throwing her three-year-old into the River Clyde, she’d been betrayed and deserted by her husband.”

“So you think a jury would see revenge as the motive for her action. She wanted to strike back at him by killing his child.”

“Exactly.” Hugh could not help but admire her mind. Grace had an astuteness that lent itself to the legal business. “And unfortunately, juries are not sympathetic to afflictions such as hers. The common prejudice is that her deafness is some punishment ordained by God. Some hidden moral failure. Added to that, because most Scots learn to read and write as children; this woman’s lack of education—along with the fact that she’s an Irish immigrant—will surely taint a jury’s view of her. If she stands trial, her chances of acquittal are practically nil.”

They walked into his study. He motioned to a chair next to the wall of bookcases, and she took a seat.

“But if she doesn’t stand trial because she’s unfit,” he told her, “she’ll be confined for the rest of her days in an asylum.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “Is it because of what I said? Is it because she’s Irish?”

Hugh thought about that for a moment. “I was ignorant of her plight until you reminded me of my duty. But I’m doing it because I believe that a person is innocent until proven guilty. I don’t know all the facts, but I don’t want the law to imprison or execute this woman unjustly, no matter where she came from.”

Hugh moved an upholstered bench in front her and, before she could protest, carefully lifted and placed her injured leg on it.

“So this woman may not even know what she’s being charged with,” Grace said. “And she’s been unable to give her side of what happened. How can she defend herself?”

“This is at the heart of the matter. She can’t. She will have no able lawyer to represent her because she’s poor and because she’s unable to speak for herself.”

“Someone must speak for her,” Grace exclaimed. “Someone needs to communicate with her.”

“My thinking exactly. I know a man by the name of Kinniburgh who runs the Edinburgh School for the Deaf and Dumb. My clerk Branson is arranging for him to meet with Mrs. Campbell. I’m hopeful Kinniburgh will be able to converse with her.”

Hugh paced the room.

“But it may not be enough. Before this case goes to trial, if it does, we must provide the defense that she cannot. We must see that the law acts for her as much as it acts against her.” He stopped and faced Grace. “As it stands now, a woman who may be innocent will either hang for murder or rot in a madhouse, which would be a fate worse than death. And with either outcome, her children will go to the workhouse and, if they survive that, eventually wind up on the street.”

The effect of his words cast a shadow across her fair features. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to find every decided case in Scottish law in which a deaf-mute person faced criminal charges. I need a summary of the facts of each case, the arguments presented that are relevant to the defendant’s affliction, and the rulings of the court.”

Grace turned to her task. “Where should I start?”

Hugh took down three large volumes. “You must start by becoming a better lawyer than anyone who might be dragged forward to represent her. These two books contain David Hume’s Critical Commentaries on Scottish criminal law. The third contains his Supplemental Notes and cases. Start with those.”

He moved along the wall.

“This section contains published records of Scottish legal cases, organized by date. Focus first on the last twenty years. Look for the cases involving deaf-mute defendants, but also look for precedents that are cited that refer to earlier decisions.” Hugh looked to see that she was following. Of course she was, he chided himself. “This next section contains the records of earlier cases. Every case must be combed through carefully. After that, these three rows of shelves contain commentaries on English law as well as published legal records. Since the union of the countries, it’s arguable that those precedents may be applicable in the Scottish courtroom.”

As he crossed the room to his desk, Grace opened the first volume and placed it on her lap.

“And while you’re doing that, I have unpublished records of more recent cases heard in Edinburgh. I’ll go through these.” He stood by his desk. “A woman’s freedom depends on this. What we do here is truly a matter of life or death.”

* * *

Throughout the afternoon hours and into the evening, Grace speedily paged through volumes, asking questions of Hugh and his clerks. The two assistants constantly moved in and out of his study, responding to the lord justice’s calls and bringing in documents for his signature. The clerks openly gaped at her when she first began to recite information from the cases she searched out. She didn’t need to keep notes, but offered summaries of the specific trials and referred to them by volume, page, and line. As Hugh had asked, Grace focused on cases involving deaf defendants. She found more instances than she expected. In nearly every case, the court and the jury needed to be convinced of their condition. Though the references were sometimes oblique, she’d also found that the accused had often been a victim of deception, desertion, and violence.

And the courts were not generally sympathetic to their plight.

Eventually, Hugh dismissed his clerks for the day. Grace herself would have continued through the night if Hugh’s sister hadn’t come to remind them that the Truscotts had arrived. They were to quit whatever they were doing, Jo told them, and they were to come in for their supper.

A light meal was being served in the smaller dining room, and Grace was thankful there was no need to change. She hurriedly pushed to her feet, thinking how horrified she’d be if Hugh tried to carry her in.

“If Grace ever suggests that she’s taking advantage of our hospitality,” Hugh told his sister as he came around his desk, “I want you to remind her of what she’s been doing to assist me.”

She was pleased with his lack of formality and happy to think she was of some use.

“A few hours of reading through some law journals is hardly repayment for all you’ve done for me.”

“You should see how valuable her work has been already, Jo. When we come in here tomorrow,” he added, turning to Grace, “I’ll show you the accounting ledgers and how much it actually costs me to keep my clerks. I think you’ll change your mind.”

He offered one arm to his sister and another to her. Grace was thrilled at the prospect of continuing work on this worthy project tomorrow. He was openly appreciative of her talent and her intellect. Daniel Ware was the only person who really appreciated her abilities. Until today.

Grace had been introduced to Mr. Truscott before. Stern and gentlemanly, he was first cousin to the Earl of Aytoun. The man exuded quiet confidence and was held in high esteem by everyone. She also realized how keenly perceptive he was of his cousin’s preferences when he’d closed the carriage door on her after the attack on the lane, telling her it would be best if she stayed with Hugh. As upset as she was at the moment, she’d had the distinct impression that he was signaling his approval of her.

If Walter Truscott was the stout oak, his wife, Violet, was the bubbling stream. Gushing and friendly in her greeting, she quickly won Grace’s affection. The lines on her round and rosy face and the light-colored hair streaked with bands of gray showed her years to advantage. She had the cheerful, kindly disposition that Grace imagined those young mothers and children taking shelter at the tower house needed in their lives.

In sharing Violet’s history, Jo had explained that she’d arrived at Baronsford destitute and with child. Sadly, she lost her babe and nearly died herself. As in a storybook romance, however, Violet and Truscott fell in love and married. Since then, countless desperate and homeless young ones had been blessed with the love she would have given to her own child.

“I’ll arrange it with Lady Jo,” Violet said when Grace asked about the families staying at the tower house now. “We’ll bring you down and introduce you. The circumstances of each mother are different. Some arrived still expecting. Others had a child in their arms. We’ve even taken in young runaways. In just a few cases, we’ve cared for young ones while the mother sought to establish a stable living before coming back for them. It’s a lively place, to be sure.”

“How do they hear about you?” Grace asked, as dinner was served.

“As you can imagine, we can’t very well advertise,” Jo replied. “Every parish in the country would be sending us their girls. The deluge would be overwhelming.”

“How do they find you?”

“Many of those we’ve helped so far have come through . . .” Jo paused and her gaze moved to her brother who was holding a quiet conversation with Truscott at the end of the table. She lowered her voice. “Often, these young women have run afoul of the law in some way. And a certain lord justice saw a better future for them here than in the Bridewell or the parish poorhouse.”

Grace’s eyes drifted to Hugh. She thought about the positions he’d taken in his court and the effort he was making on behalf of a deaf-mute Irish woman now. His compassion stirred a love deep within her. In every nation, more men like him were needed. It was beginning to frighten her how much she had come to care for him. His mind, his generosity, his courage all moved her.

Her gaze lingered on the long fingers holding a glass of wine. And his body stirred her, as well, but in a far different way.

Violet was telling Jo about a letter she received just that day from a mother who’d left them for a job last autumn. Grace forced her attention back to this end of the table.

This was a dangerous game she was allowing her heart to play.

Bits and pieces of the men’s conversation reached her. An inn on the Jedburgh road. The deserted woodcutter’s cottage on the lane near the attack.

“No question, they were lying in wait there,” Truscott said.

She knew they were talking about the men who’d attacked her and Darby.

“And I’ve no doubt they were from Jedburgh,” he added.

“Jedburgh?” Jo asked, picking up the last of the conversation. She turned to Grace. “Did you know that pugilism is a favored sport of miners? Jedburgh has a limestone mine and a whinstone quarry that is particularly famous for having the most vicious fighters in Scotland.”

“I wasn’t aware,” Grace replied.

“Pugilism also happens to be a favorite hobby of a certain honorable judge,” Jo continued, “who will remain nameless, but is sitting at this very table. In fact, that judge has been known to participate in bouts with those same miners.”

“With notable success, I might add,” Truscott threw in proudly.

Grace looked at Hugh. Now she knew the cause of the scars on his face. It was so much like him to pursue the sport among the working men of Scotland, rather than in private clubs.

“No longer a favorite hobby,” he corrected, looking at no one but Grace. “That pastime has dropped quite far down on the list.”

His gaze never wavered from her face, only slipping to her lips. For a few heartbeats, the conversation came to an abrupt halt. Five of them were sitting at the dinner table, but it may as well have been just Hugh and Grace in that room. Feeling a blush rising to the roots of her hair, Grace tried to divert attention away from herself.

She turned to Mr. Truscott. “Did I hear you correctly? You’ve identified the attackers.”

“Not quite. But we know where they might have come from,” he told her. “Tomorrow I’ll take a few men from Baronsford and the bailiff from Melrose Village. We’ll go down to Jedburgh. We should know more once we get there.”

Grace had never been to any kind of mine, but she’d read about them. Rough men who worked under hard and dangerous conditions, and for very little pay. It was easy to imagine such men might be persuaded to commit a crime if it meant putting that miserable life behind.

The faces of those men remained in her mind. Despite the shock of the attack and the mist, Grace was certain she would recognize them.

“I’d like to ride to Jedburgh with you tomorrow,” she told him. “You have no way of identifying these men. But I can, and I’d like to be of help.”

Jo almost choked on her wine. Hugh’s scowl grew so dark that Grace knew exactly how Mrs. Douglas must have felt earlier today.

“I fear each of these three is about to suffer a stroke, my young friend.” Violet smiled and took Grace’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “The mines and quarries around Jedburgh are not the most suitable places for young ladies.”

Grace didn’t know if she should be pleased by their protectiveness or insulted because they thought her too soft. The battlefields she’d been to would surely make these mines pale by comparison. She’d witnessed more death and destruction than most men.

What she offered was not unreasonable. She was not riding into the belly of the beast alone and unprotected. Grace wondered if her entire time at Baronsford would be overshadowed by memories of what Amelia had done. But she was not Hugh’s former wife. They were different women.

Anger bubbled beneath the surface of her skin and threatened to burst through at any moment.

“Truscott and the bailiff are planning to bring back any men who were absent from the mines over the past few days,” Hugh said, directing his attention only to Grace. His look was serious, but his quiet voice held no hint of scolding.

Grace decided she’d not been very successful in hiding her irritation. “You don’t intend to drag working men from their employment based on a vague suspicion, do you?”

Truscott looked at Hugh.

“And exactly how many men you intend to bring back?” she asked. “And when can I see them? With Mr. Darby injured, I’m the only person who can positively identify them.”

Words burned on her tongue. She wanted to say more. Her blistering temper. She was about to continue when Hugh cut in.

“We’ll get as clear a description of them as you and Darby can provide. No more than five men will be brought back,” Hugh told her. “And I will personally take you into Melrose when they arrive. You can identify them with the bailiff present.”

“And what if none of them are the assailants?”

“First, I’ll give each of them two days’ wages and a letter to their employers.” He looked into her eyes. “Then you and I will accompany Truscott and the men to Jedburgh the following day. Does that suit you?”

It did, and she smiled in appreciation of his understanding.