“I’ll see you tonight,” Rafe said firmly ashe looked down at me once he’d finally pulled back. It wasn’t a question; it was a command. His eyes were troubled as they held mine. When I broke eye contact, his hands came up to my face to tilt my head back so I was looking at him again.
“You’ll be here tonight.” His voice was laced with steel now. “I mean it, Clara. You run away, and I’ll come looking for you.”
No, he wouldn’t.
After today Rafe Sterling wouldn’t want anything to do with me.
Chapter 27
Clarabelle Mason
Rafe
I wentover the documents in front of me one last time, trying my hardest to concentrate, but I couldn’t shake my worry over Clara. Last night and this morning there was still that desperate quality about her that scared me, and I still had this weird feeling that she was saying goodbye.
I shook my head. That was ridiculous. Of course she wasn’t saying goodbye. She was bringing Ozzie home today like she did every Monday. I gritted my teeth in frustration. The secrecy was going to end today. No more lying to Ozzie. No more hiding. I was taking Clara out on a goddamn date, and then I was introducing her to all my family and friends as my goddamn girlfriend.
I ground my teeth together. I was the most eligible bloody bachelor in London, according to theGuardian. There were women vying for a chance to be my girlfriend all the time. Why, then, did I have to fall hopelessly in love with one who’d rather bonk me in secret and not tell a soul?Wasn’t that what the billionaire lord was supposed to be doing to his staff, not the other way around? How had everything got so out of my control that nowIwas the dirty secret?
Bollocks tothat.
“Lord Sterling?” the court attendant said as he poked his head around my door.
I huffed. “I’ve told you lot to call me Rafe,” I snapped, and the poor man looked like he was going to soil himself. Worry had frayed my patience and temper so much that now I was snapping at innocent, if slightly wet, court staff.
“Yes of course, Lor… I mean Rafe.”
I sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Er… I just wanted to warn you that… well…” the court attendant trailed off, and I raised my eyebrows as I waited for him to finish. Luckily, I was saved from snapping at him again by Willow.
“It’s an absolute shitshow in there, Your Lordship,” she said as she pushed my door wide open and strutted past the court attendant, giving him only a cursory look. Willow was an absolute shark of a barrister, and I was glad to have her on this case with me. We’d been working on it together for months and it was airtight.
“Stop with the bloody lordship stuff. You know it pisses me off. And what are you on about?” I hoped nothing was going to jeopardise our hard work. If anyone deserved to be taken down it was the pond scum on trial today. Putting that violent shitbag behind bars today would ensure the larger, more complex case would go to trial – and then the rest of his family would be going down with him. Successfully prosecuting these two cases would make my career, and my pathway to being a high court judge would be assured.
“The courtroom is absolutely rammed,” she told me.
I shrugged. “Well, it’s a high-profile case.”
She shook her head. “It’s not just reporters. There’s all sorts out there. I’ve never seen such a circus.”
“Well, we can’t let any of their fuckery put us off,” I told her. “This is too bloody important.”
Willow’s jaw set with determination. She wanted this conviction as much as I did. “Fine. Let’s go.”
I adjusted my wig as we stood outside Court Number Three, the horsehair irritating my neck. To be honest, I just wanted this first court day done and dusted so that I could get home and check on Clara. As I stared at the heavy oak door in front of me, I had the most bizarre feeling of impending doom. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Willow glanced up at me with a frown.
“Ready?” she whispered.
“Always,” I said, clenching my jaw and willing myself to get my head in the game as we pushed open the courtroom double doors.
Willow was right – the court was packed, with the public gallery completely full. Nothing like a violent crime to draw spectators. I noticed the plaintiff’s family sitting immediately on the left side, their faces tense. The plaintiff himself, Dawson, was among them, the scar under his left eye visible even from this distance. The poor man had been a bouncer at a central London nightclub when a drunk Freddie Mason had attempted to cut the line and stumble into the club holding a bottle of vodka. Dawson unwisely tried to bar entry, which led to Freddie screaming, “Do you know who the fuck I am?!” in his face, smashing his bottle and then using the broken glass in a sustained and frenzied attack on Dawson, only stopping when two of his cronies eventually pulled himoff.
Freddie Mason was a fucking animal, and I was going to enjoy nailing him to the wall. The Masons likely had assumed that Dawson would not testify against them; they’d certainly got away with much more serious crimes routinely in the past, but what they did not anticipate was that Dawson’s son had been a drug addict who was supplied by the Masons’ network. Unfortunately, the twenty-year-old had died earlier that year from an overdose. Dawson told me he had nothing left to lose and that if taking the Masons down was his last act on this earth, then so be it.
As I walked to the prosecution table, my gown billowing slightly with each step, I glanced up at the rest of the gallery out of habit. The right side would likely have the Masons and their associates, unsavoury as they were.
That’s when I saw her.
