She risked a furtive glance at his beautifully manicured hands resting atop buff breeches that clung to well-muscled thighs. It came as something of a shock she’d never considered how much larger a male hand was than her own. His were darker than hers, though his skin was fair. And who knew men had a dusting of hair on the backs of their fingers?
The carriage became stiflingly hot when errant musings wandered to the color of the hair at his groin, assuming men grew hair there. They must, mustn’t they?
She had a vague memory of asking her mother why she didn’t have the same appendage as her brother when they were little children. She knew the answer now, no thanks to her evasive parent.
Was it possible the noticeable swelling at the apex of Halliwell’s powerful thighs was the same male appendage? If so, it must grow with time, which made sense since a woman’s breasts became larger.
A memory of Orion’s endowments in that regard came to mind. She doubted a foal would be born with such an organ. It would make walking difficult for a young animal.
Chuckling inwardly, she averted her curious gaze quickly when Halliwell took his attention off the scenery and glanced at her. She retrieved the fan from her reticule. She’d always had an inquiring mind but cerebral questions had never caused her to overheat so markedly.
It came as a relief when they arrived at the court, though it was a good thing Halliwell offered his strong hand as she alit from the carriage because she was feeling decidedly peculiar.
*
Griff ought tohave been amused by Susan’s surreptitious perusal of his person, but he found it annoyingly arousing, hence the unfortunate bulge at his groin—which she had definitely noticed if the persistent blushes and fan fluttering were any indication. For a bluestocking, Susan was a surprisingly practiced flirt.
She was clearly falling under his spell. He built on his progress by elbowing Frederick out of the way and assisting Susan to alight. Rebecca Waterman appeared to be sound asleep, so he was about to suggest they not disturb her.
Alas! All for naught. “Locked,” Frederick announced after trying the main door.
Further attempts to gain entry proved futile. The court was, in effect, sealed up tighter than a drum. An ancient, bespectacled watchman eventually appeared and informed them the justices had embarked on their usual circuit around Lancashire—interrupted by the special session for the trial of “them poor weavers.”
Uncertain what to do next, Griff raked a hand through his hair. Susan’s lips tightened into an unattractive pout.
He itched to suggest they repair straightaway to Clifton Heights, but that might scare her off and ruin the sympathetic persona he was trying to cultivate.
“Do you have a barrister?” she suddenly asked.
“Solicitor, yes. Rowbotham of Rowbotham, Bootle and Radcliffe. Their offices are not far from here.”
Her eyes widened. “He’s our family solicitor as well. We should ask his opinion.”
A Glimmer of Hope
When Susan enteredhis office in the company of Griffith Halliwell, Aloysius Rowbotham’s whiskered jowls ballooned. He removed his steel-rimmed glasses and held them up to the skylight.
She suppressed the urge to chuckle, noting Halliwell’s wry smile. The solicitor’s reaction wasn’t surprising. She and the earl did make an odd couple—not that they were a couple—and Rowbotham was clearly taken aback.
Having been kept waiting in the outer office for a full half-hour for no good reason she could discern, Susan wasn’t in a mood to waste time; much to Rebecca’s justified disgust, the solicitor’s nervous clerk hadn’t even offered a cup of tea. The straight-backed, wooden chairs were decidedly uncomfortable and too close together. It had been deuced difficult to keep her thigh from touching Halliwell’s. However, deciding, for once, to abide by society’s expectations, she held on to her temper and deferred to her male companion to explain their presence.
Apparently reassured he wasn’t hallucinating, Rowbotham shook hands with Halliwell. He then made a half-hearted attempt to lift his sizable frame in order to execute a bow in Susan’s direction. When he collapsed back into the chair, dust motes danced, settling eventually atop the thin layer already coating the file boxes piled on his desk.
Rowbotham bade them sit, then declared, “I assume you’ve come to discuss what can be done for your unfortunate tenants.”
Halliwell looked as surprised as Susan felt at this opening gambit, but he let the solicitor talk.
“Not to worry, old chap. As you suggested, I’ve been in touch with the Home Secretary, through the appropriate channels, of course. I may be jumping the gun, but I’m fairly certain the sentences will be commuted.”
The confusion left Halliwell’s face, but Susan floundered. She could scarcely believe the selfish earl had already set an appeal in motion. “Commuted?” she echoed.
Rowbotham explained. “It seems the Home Office is dealing with quite a backlash. Between you and me, there’s a rumor the Prince Regent himself deemed the judgment too harsh.”
Susan’s hopes rose. “So, are the men to be pardoned, the sentences quashed?”
Rowbotham’s rheumy eyes peered at her over the rim of his spectacles. “Dear lady, of course not,” he said with an indulgent smile. “They’ll probably get ten years hard labor.”
Outrage tightened Susan’s throat. A deafening pulse throbbed in her ears. She opened her mouth to speak, distracted when Halliwell put his hand on her arm.