“Ah, but we will do something about that.”
He took a few paces, his movements once more abrupt. This man had a quickness of movement that fascinated her. Most of the people she knew moved, spoke and lived in studied gestures, practiced movements and words. Not this one. She had never met anyone remotely like him before.
“First of all, plead your belly. Understand?” He turned a piercing glare on to her, but she could meet it with equanimity.
She shook her head. “What do you mean?”
“Your father understands,” he said. “The courts will not execute a woman with a baby inside her. The child is an innocent, and should not bear the sins of the woman carrying it. If you do that, we will have time to investigate. I wish to look into this matter before I give you any conclusions, and I have only just begun.”
Pleading her belly? That was what they called it? That would give her nine more months. Or at least four weeks. Relief made her sag, but when he came to her, she waved him away. “But what happens when”—she paused, still uncertain about discussing such intimate details—“when my courses come.”
“If they do.” He flashed a brief grin. “My lady, I understand the workings of the female body. I have sisters. That tactic will give us another week or two, and will give me a chance to investigate further. The magistrates will wait until they know for sure that you are not pregnant.”
She had to accept that every part of her life was open to scrutiny, if she was to live. “If it happens, I cannot hide it from my maid.” Or her fellow prisoners, come to that.
“Unfortunate, but we do not have to use your maid. You said she reports to your father. We will do our best to ensure you are not spied on again.”
She allowed herself a small smile. “I doubt you can achieve that, sir, but I thank you for your concern.”
That frown returned, adding a storm cloud to his features. Oddly, she did not find the fierceness intimidating. She had to face the world. In a few days, she could be in court, pleading for her life. While she might avoid hanging day next week, there would be another next month. But she had weeks, not days. That was one step forward. And after all, she might actually be with child.
However much she repeated those simple facts in her mind, she could not entirely believe them. They seemed so fantastic, like something out of a novel. But it would happen, whether she believed it or not.
“Will they hang me?” She needed the words, needed to force herself to believe in the reality of what was happening to her.
His frown deepened. “The mob is calling for it. Sometimes mob rule prevails, but you have given me several aspects to work with. At least I am more positive than when I came in here.”
“So you are taking my case? You will speak for me?”
“Yes.”
Her breath shortened and stars danced before her eyes. She couldn’t breathe, and when she tried to speak, a choked sound came out. Everything rushed in on her, all that had happened, in every detail, and she spread her hands, grasping for something that was not there.
Chapter Seven
Juliana found herself propelled into the sofa, a handkerchief shoved into her hands. The tears came, the fissure fully open, and now there was no stopping it.
After five, perhaps ten minutes, Sir Edmund’s cool voice cut through her distress. “There is much to discover, but from the account you have just given me, you may not hang, even if you did kill him. If I find extenuating circumstances, I will not allow it.”
Sobs wrenched her throat, painful and choking. She emptied herself of the horror of the last week, and the rest of it, ever since she had been informed who her husband must be. Even before she knew the depths of his brutality, Juliana had known she had a hard length to hoe.
The murder was the culmination of a danse macabre that had taken hold of her for the last two months. Her life had been turned upside down. She was trapped, never more than now, never allowed to do as she pleased. She had no allies, no true friends, since her father deemed her too grand for any, too important to risk in childish games or girlish chatter.
Fear clutched her throat when she could not control her reaction, the breath sawing in and out of her.
Sir Edmund waited for however long it lasted, never encroaching, offering silent comfort.
He settled by her side, the action made easier because she took up less space than usual without the wide hoops. Slowly she recovered her equilibrium and turned to him. She must look a complete mess, but he did not appear perturbed. Handing her another large linen handkerchief, he waited until she had mopped up the tears and blown her nose.
“I wondered when it would come,” he said. “Nobody can go through the ordeal you have suffered without reacting to it. You must not hold these emotions in, my lady. It is not good for you.”
Why should he care what was good for her? Why should she, with the shadow of the gallows casting her into darkness?
“Let me tell you my opinion as I have formed it so far: You have no recollection of the event, none at all. You would surely recall something. I have observed you closely, and I saw no falsehoods in what you told me.”
She drew a shaky breath. “Sir, you are talking about my life. Please, I beg you don’t keep me in the dark. It cannot be worse than what I have been imagining.”
He gazed at her hand. Picking it up so the lace ruffles at her elbows fell back, he coolly examined the marks, the broken nails. Juliana forced herself not to flinch, but her
