The morning had been torture for Gwen. Watching her family become the target of mockery was awful, and having it come from the charming Patrick O’Neill made it even harder. She sat between her grandfather and her cousin Edwin during the morning proceedings.

Actually, Edwin was a second cousin, but he was one of her more interesting relatives, having made a living buying and selling antiques he collected during his world travels. He was only two years older than she was, so they naturally paired up during family gatherings. With his floppy blond hair and lazy elegance, Edwin had always been one of her favorite cousins.

“Oscar is getting his head handed to him,” Edwin whispered to her during the hearing, and Gwen silently agreed. Wasn’t it strange how humor could be such a lethal weapon? Time seemed to drag as she watched Patrick smile and tease and laugh as he eviscerated Uncle Oscar all morning, and she braced herself for more after lunch.

At least Judge Rothwell began the afternoon session with a stern warning to the spectators.

“I won’t tolerate any more outbursts,” he said. “I am willing to clear the courtroom and hold the rest of the hearing behind closed doors. You have been warned.”

She could only pray the warning would have the desired effect as Uncle Oscar headed toward the stand and their attorney began questioning him about potential damages that could result from Malone’s book. It was warm in the courtroom, and her eyes glazed over as he delved into tedious financial details. Her attention wandered over the spectators behind the defendant’s table, who so far were better behaved this afternoon, but that probably wouldn’t last.

One man caught her attention. Instead of watching the proceedings like the others, he was watching her. He was a good-looking man despite the scar splitting one eyebrow, but his stare was so disconcerting that she immediately turned her attention back to Mr. Fletcher as he continued guiding her uncle through his testimony.

“Has Mr. Carnegie pulled out of the deal?” their lawyer asked.

“No, Mr. Carnegie knows we are a bank of faultless reputation,” Oscar said. “We are grateful for his support, but Carnegie Steel represents only a fraction of the proposed merger, and others could lose faith in the bank.”

The questioning continued, and she peeked again at the scar-faced man across the aisle. He was still watching her. His scrutiny kept shifting between her and her grandfather.

The way he stared was rude, and she lifted her chin, refusing to let him bully her into looking away. He was handsome in a rough sort of way, with dark hair that needed a trim. He had pale green eyes and reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t place him.

She elbowed her grandfather.

“What?” Frederick asked.

“There is a man in the third row on the opposite side,” she whispered. “He’s been staring at us.”