Jasper was confident he could repel all comers, but the more people involved in the affair, the greater the chance of a scandal. And there would be scandal enough to contend with once the fashionable world learned he’d spirited away a vulnerable heiress.

He needed to get Julia out of London. To marry her and convey her, with all speed, to Goldfinch Hall. There, she could rest and recover her strength, if not in luxury, at least in safety; free from the dangerous influence of her parents and the oppressive attentions of Lord Gresham. Every moment spent in the parlor with Finchley was a moment wasted.

Unless Jasper could turn the conversation to matters of law.

It was difficult to do so given Finchley’s suspicions.

“Is Ridgeway aware of your plans?” he asked.

“There’s no plan in effect,” Jasper said, “other than a desire to render Miss Wychwood assistance. She finds herself in an impossible situation.”

“In such cases, marriage can provide a viable escape. I don’t disapprove of it.”

Jasper fixed the solicitor with an icy glare. “Your approval makes little difference. My affairs and those of Miss Wychwood are no concern of yours.”

Finchley only smiled. “I concern myself with the plight of all people in impossible situations. A habit of my profession.”

“Miss Wychwood isn’t your client. You’d be of no use to her. What she needs is a husband. Someone to look after her—to protect her. She hasn’t anyone else to do the job.”

Understanding registered on Finchley’s face. “You care for her.”

Jasper felt a rare twinge of vulnerability. It wasn’t safe to want something as much as he wanted Julia Wychwood. It threatened to make him incautious. To strip him of his carefully wrought armor, leaving him entirely exposed. “I count myself her friend,” he said.

“And she feels the same about you, I gather.” Finchley frowned. “I know something of her family situation. An unfortunate one, to be sure, but . . . are you certain this isn’t making things worse?”

“She’s not safe in Belgrave Square any longer.”

“And you can make her safe?”

“I can,” Jasper said. “I will.” He’d never been so certain of anything in his life.

Finchley’s expression turned thoughtful. “You’re right, it is none of my business. However, if you’d like my advice—”

Jasper uttered a humorless huff of laughter. “I doubt I could afford it. Ridgeway tells me you count the most powerful men in London among your clients.”

“Perhaps once,” Finchley said. “I’ve recently changed the focus of my practice.”

Jasper owned to a flicker of curiosity. “A crisis of conscience?”

Finchley’s mouth hitched. “Something like that. Why? Are you in need of a solicitor?”

“I have a solicitor. A fellow in York who deals with estate matters.” Jasper chose his next words with care. “He’s not well versed in questions of criminal law.”

“I see,” Finchley said. There was an extended pause. “Do you require advice on a criminal matter?”

Jasper stood abruptly. He walked to the cold fireplace, setting his booted foot on the edge of the empty grate. He was silent for a long moment as he struggled with how best to convey the crux of his dilemma.