I don't own LwD. Thanks readers and reviewers for the kind messages and reviews for this and Not Talking to You. You're the best!

In the last chapter, Casey played the role of an embittered step-sister trying to rescue Salter-Kress' daughter from the grasp of the villainous seducer, Derek. In her attempts, she managed to infuriate Peter Salter-Kress to the point where his only design now is to dissolve the marriage between Derek and Theodora. Let's hope Casey's plan does not backfire…

Chapter Twenty - Night and Morning

It was nearly eight and quite dark by the time my cabbie returned me to Rose Lodge. Small groups of departing travellers were standing around on the gravel drive, and there was a rather formidable looking Jaguar parked in front of the lodge.

I hoped I could slip upstairs unnoticed, and avoid dinner. My recent duel with Peter Salter-Kress had quite dispelled any appetite I may have had and left me in serious need of some alone time. But as soon as I pushed open the great Oak door of the lodge and shrugged out of my pretty jacket, my landlady came bustling up to me in the hallway and ushered me aside in a portentous manner.

'There's a gentleman here to see you, my love. Wouldn't tell me his name or his business, but seemed sure you'd want to talk to him.' She sniffed and looked rather uncomfortable.

Perhaps she thought I'd been giving out the address to strange men. And now they were calling on me in the twilight (with dubious intentions). The fact that he hadn't revealed his name made me feel awkward. But I'm Casey. I wasn't going to be intimidated so easily.

'Okay, show me where he is', I said warily, to convince her I was taking her implicit warning seriously; 'and believe me, I didn't expect any visitors. It's been an awfully long day.'

She cheered up mightily when I said that, and tutted to herself over my obvious exhaustion. Then she led me off to the left of the main hall and into what could only have been her own private sitting-room, so cosily was it furnished, with bright coloured rag rugs, and beautiful copper vessels hanging near a prepared but as yet unlighted fire.

A man was standing with his back to us, seemingly admiring some old golfing trophies in a cabinet.

'Sir', she called to him. 'Doctor McDonald is here.' Then she left us.

When he turned round, I realised I'd sort of known who it was the whole time. Henry Clarridge. Except that this time he was wearing a soft cream cotton shirt and dark blue jeans, and looked almost a decade younger than he had in his office. His fair hair was wind-ruffled and there were tiny smile-lines creasing around his eyes which were, for quite a long moment, openly taking in my appearance. He obviously liked what he saw, for he couldn't seem to speak or to look away.

I was still in my silk shirt (with it's single mother of pearl button) and tiny sharply cut skirt, with the ridiculous little bag dangling from my wrist.

I cast him an enquiring look.

'I've brought you something', he said hastily averting his eyes. He reached into a cardboard folder that he had placed on a table behind him, then held out a piece of paper towards me.

Scanning it, I let out a deep breath. The bond was paid in full. At least that one hold that Salter-Kress had over Derek had been loosened.

'Thank you. Thank you so much. How magically fast you did all this.' I looked up, eyes shining, and he appeared extremely pleased at the effect his news was having on me.

'There's more for you to consider, but I've put it all in writing and it's in that folder over there so that you can go over it with your step-brother at your leisure on your return. There's a set of issues for him to think about when he returns to have his final hearing; if he chooses to retain me as counsel, then we can move ahead with all of that. If not, I wish him well.'

'That's so kind of you. There's no question that he will wish you to act on his behalf when I tell him everything you've done.' I didn't quite know what else to say or what to do, as we were both still standing. He cleared his throat.

'Casey…' He said gruffly, 'Would you do me the honour of dining with me? I know that you are very shortly to fly back to Ontario but it would be such a … pleasure… for me to share some of my memories of your wonderful country. I worked there for several years as I think I told you.' I could see that he was not used to stammering. Even, perhaps, to asking a woman out at such short notice. Or perhaps it was that I was his client. That must have been some kind of barrier. So to have overlooked this professional etiquette, either he was just being polite to a stranger in town, or he was powerfully attracted to me.

Both scenarios made me squirm with discomfort. Good-looking and sophisticated as Henry Clarridge was, and kind as he had been to me, I could not imagine ever looking at him as anything other than my lawyer. But now that I had calmed down after my encounter with Theodora's parents, I was beginning to feel very hungry indeed. And, selfishly, I didn't want to hurt Henry's pride or make him turn against me in any way.

'Yes, Henry', I said. 'I'd love to dine with you. But please don't bill me – my purse has suffered rather a lot today already!'

Eyes twinkling, Henry held out his arm for me as we swept past a rather bemused looking crowd in the hallway.

--

The Jaguar, I learned, belonged to him. He whisked me off in it to a tiny candlelit English pub with beautiful old-fashioned food, and understated live music.

We conversed very happily throughout the meal about my recent research, about Quebec and Ontario, about differences in culture and tradition. Henry was clever and thoughtful, from the same class as the Salter-Kresses I learned, but quite different from them in education and sentiment. His work involved a diversity of clients and contexts – he was proud that he rarely let a client down.

I asked him if he ever defended anyone he didn't trust or believe in. He hesitated. I tried to wave the question away, realising I'd crossed a line, but he held up a hand.

'I work for a firm, Casey. There are senior partners involved. The firm chooses to take on a range of cases. Some of them get assigned to me. I try to use my instincts as much as I can to guide the decisions that get made. Sometimes inevitably I end up defending someone who does not quite meet my standards. Sometimes they are innocent in everything but the spirit of the law.'

'I appreciate your honesty.'

By the time the clock struck eleven and I'd finished a most delectable dessert of crème brule and cherries, I was extremely tipsy and couldn't stop smiling at him.

Then, as he steered the Jaguar effortlessly out into a now empty road, he asked if I would like to spend the night at his house. Just like that. And suddenly I was blushing and gauche again, like a teenager.

'I'm not sure that would be such a good idea,' I whispered, twisting and untwisting the little purse in my lap, and desperately hoping he hadn't thought I was leading him on. And then, 'In other circumstances, Henry, maybe… I might have asked you to have breakfast with me…'

He had the grace to laugh. We were turning through the gates of Rose Lodge. He walked me to the door.

'Goodbye, Casey. Perhaps we'll meet again when your stepbrother's case is heard?'

'Perhaps.' I leaned in quickly and kissed his close-shaven cheek. 'Goodnight, Henry. I won't forget our evening.'

'I won't either.' He said. 'I don't often meet a sister – let alone a stepsister – who is willing to do what you have done for Derek. You are an extraordinary woman, Casey McDonald.'

It could have been my imagination but I thought he blushed as he stepped towards me to take my hand. When he didn't drop my hand but continued to hold it momentarily, I gently withdrew it.

--

I was in bed, finally, after what seemed like an interminable day.

I had blisters on my feet from the new shoes, an empty wallet from the absurdly high cab fare earlier in the evening, and an ache in my heart that was usually buried so deep I didn't even know it was there.

Only today, having paid my entire life's saving towards his bond, lied about him, heard his name taken in tones of righteous anger by a most unworthy and despicable man and then again quite innocently by one who would have courted me had I let him, the possibility of ignoring the commonest of my symptoms was slim.

Aching hearts don't respond well to pills or potions. Besides, loving Derek was like a second nature to me.

There were things on my phone of course, that I could have listened to again – recent ones, older ones, quite a collection of his voice messages and texts I could have read and a few cherished shots of him taken when he was not noticing and saved from phone to phone over the years. But I was too weary and sad even for that.

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again the sun was shining and there was someone knocking softly at the door of my quaint little room.

Sleepily I looked at the tiny watchface beneath my pillow. Half past eleven. HALF PAST ELEVEN on Saturday morning? I had slept for ten hours without waking. I rolled out of bed and threw on my dressing gown over the T-shirt and shorts I'd slept in. The wooden floor was cool under my bare feet.

Then I asked, 'Who is it?' There was no reply but the knocking came again.

I yanked open the creaky old door.

I don't know who I had expected to see. Perhaps my landlady with a message about breakfast. Perhaps Henry Clarridge, come to try his luck for the last time. Perhaps one of Salter-Kress's minions, with orders to kidnap me for my role in his daughter's humiliation.

But the reality was far more perturbing, far more overwhelming.

Travel-weary and showing his stubble, but breathtakingly beautiful as always, the very stepbrother in question stood outside, knuckles poised to knock again. 'Shhh', he warned, 'that old witch thinks I have designs on your honour! She's put me in a room at the top of the house and only told me your room number under severe duress!'

I took two steps backwards and then burst into tears.

Derek, for his part, took two steps forward and pulled me quite ungently against his chest, kissing my tears and my forehead, my chin and my mouth with equal and most unbrotherly intensity. Will you be mad at me if I admit that just for once I simply lost control and kissed him back even before he'd kicked my door shut?

Phew! Review?