Valerie Bowman - Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage

“Why?” he asked.

She shrugged slightly. “I assumed you wanted me here to keep an eye on me. To ensure I don’t run off.”

He grinned at that. “Do you intend to run off?”

She shook her head and squared her shoulders. “No. I shall face my fate.”

James watched her closely. She was telling the truth. He could sense that about her. She would face her fate. He’d thought many things about her since he’d met her but cowardice wasn’t in her. Whatever else her faults might be, Kate Townsende had courage. Real courage. The kind of courage that would face a death sentence. The kind of courage that would stand up to an unkind husband bringing his mistress into her home. The kind of courage that would ask for a divorce and face public censure and ruin in an effort to live an authentic life.

“When we left the Tower … how did you…?” She cleared her throat. “I saw you salute the guard.”

He stared off into the dark ballroom. Ah, so she’d noticed that, had she? A keen observer was the duchess. She reminded him a bit of … himself actually. He turned his head back to face her. “When I was very young, just out of university, I bought a commission. I served in the army for two years.

Kate gasped. “You have no siblings. Your father must have been beside himself with worry.”

He slid up his hand to cover his mouth and hide his smile. And it seemed the duchess had done a bit of research on him too. Well played.

“It’s true. I have no siblings. And my father and I, we…” He glanced away and narrowed his eyes in the darkness, searching for the right words. “Suffice it to say we rarely agreed on anything. Including my desire to serve in the army.”

She pulled her hands away from the keys and rested them in her lap. “I’m … I’m glad you made it out safely.”

He cracked another grin. “So am I.”

She returned his smile and then, “One more question,” she said softly.

James inclined his head. “Yes?”

“Why do you run a printing press? It cannot be because you need the money.”

Ah, there was that naïveté again. A woman born into the world of the ton would never mention money so blithely. But Kate was also perceptive. Damned perceptive. “You’re right on that score,” he answered. “It’s not about the money.”

“Then why?” She’d cocked her head to the side and the glow of the candles against her hair made it look like spun gold. He swallowed. She smelled like strawberries. He wanted to … taste her.

James groaned and ran his fingers across his face. She’d asked a good question. Why indeed did he run the press? For the challenge? The fun of it? The hint of scandal he’d never allowed himself in his “real” life? All of those answers were true but there was something else. Something he didn’t know the duchess well enough to reveal.

“Do you relish scandal?” she asked breathlessly.

“No, actually. Order, rules, truth. Those things have always been important to me. I am a storyteller of sorts. But above all I relish the truth.”

She glanced away. “But you don’t think I’m telling it.”

James set his jaw. He couldn’t afford to feel sorry for her. Couldn’t afford to continue to wonder whether she’d actually killed her husband. Lily was right. He had a long history of trying to “fix” everything and Kate was not about to become his new project. Besides, getting close to a woman who had a death sentence on her head was pure folly. He pushed himself away from the pianoforte. “I think, whatever your story, it will sell a great many pamphlets.”

James woke the next morning at his usual hour. With the help of his valet, he shaved and dressed. After he returned from his daily bout of fencing at the club, he breakfasted and made his way to his study. Themis followed him. Her tail wagging, she lay on the rug next to him.

James tried to concentrate on the paperwork on his desk but the scenario from the night before kept replaying itself over and over in his mind.

Kate had asked him if he’d brought her here to keep an eye on her. Yes, partially, but mostly because he had to ensure she was safe. If the public discovered she was staying in a Mayfair town house, they’d rip the bloody walls down around them, and James would be responsible for her being hurt or possibly killed. He couldn’t allow that. No, keeping her as close to him as possible was the best defense and he intended to do so, right here.

But there was another reason if he were being honest with himself. One that made him shift in his chair, rather guiltily. Despite what he’d told himself last night, he wanted to be around her to get a sense of whether she was truly innocent. Did she kill Markingham or not? All external evidence indicated that she did. But she seemed so soft and sincere, as if she couldn’t harm a bug. There was something so incongruous about the woman herself and the charges that had been brought against her.

James tossed his quill onto the desk and scrubbed his hands across his face. And why was he so bloody attracted to her? He’d lived the life of a monk. True, he’d had the occasional liaison here and there with a discreet widow, but he was hardly a profligate. He prided himself on being discerning. Meaningless intimate encounters didn’t interest him. And love had hardly been anything he’d been interested in either. He was a confirmed bachelor. But bachelor or no, Kate was making him feel things that had been dormant for … too long. Much too long. And it was entirely inappropriate. Good God, the woman had just lost her husband and was accused of murder. She should not be forced to endure James’s unwanted attentions. How many times had he stopped himself from reaching out and touching her hair last night? Not to mention her smell, a mixture of strawberries and soap … was slowly driving him mad every time he was in her presence. No. He’d keep his hands to himself, however difficult that proved to be. He was a gentleman after all. He couldn’t help his physical reaction to her, but he could bloody well help whether he acted upon that attraction, and he had absolutely no intention of doing so.

A sharp rap sounded at the door and James glanced up. Themis did too.

Locke entered and bowed to James. “My lord, two callers have arrived.”

James clenched his jaw. Callers? Who? He must keep Kate’s presence in the house a secret. Where was she? He must speak with Mrs. Hartsmeade about ensuring that Kate would not be seen when visitors arrived.

“The Marchioness of Colton and the Countess of Ashbourne are here,” Locke’s deep voice intoned.

James let his shoulders relax. Lily and Annie? Nothing to worry about. “Tell them I’ll be there shortly.”

The butler cleared his throat. “They are not here to see you, my lord.”

James looked twice, his brow furrowed. “Not here to see me?”

“No. They are here to see her grace.”

James leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. “They are, are they?”

Locke gave a curt nod. “Yes, they insist upon it.”

James shook his head. Lily and Annie were incorrigible. Only they would have the nerve to call upon a prisoner in a house where she wasn’t even supposed to be. “By all means, show them to one of the salons and notify her grace.”

Kate made her way to the blue salon, her palms sweaty and her heart racing. She stood outside the door and took a deep breath. She was about to meet with peeresses, ladies of the social class with whom she should have been rubbing elbows for years. Instead, the only peeress she’d ever met was her husband’s mother, and that lady had detested Kate on sight. Oh, and Lady Bettina. And a more awful woman Kate had never known. Kate pushed her hands down her skirts in an attempt to dry her palms and quell her nerves. Hopefully the Marchioness of Colton and the Countess of Ashbourne were not as awful and high-handed as her mother-in-law had always been or as haughty and cold as Lady Bettina.

James had told her that these two ladies were close friends of his, and they knew Kate was staying with him. Apparently, he trusted them completely. But could she? Were they only here to stare at her? Would they take jibes at her? Ask her why she insisted upon putting their friend’s home and life in danger?

Very well. There was no help for it. If these two were going to ridicule her, she might as well step inside and get it over with.

She reached out a trembling hand, pushed open the door handle, and stepped inside. Two young women sat on the settee in the middle of the room, chatting to each other and laughing. As soon as Kate stepped inside, they both immediately stopped talking and looked up at her.

“Why, your grace,” the older of the two—who was a breathtaking beauty—said, plunking her hands on her hips. “There you are.”

Kate blinked. She wasn’t sure how to react. The lady’s voice had been friendly enough, but Kate still wasn’t sure if these two were allies or foes.

“Come sit,” the lady continued. “It’s insufferably rude of Medford not to be here to introduce us and surprising, to be sure, because usually the man is so prompt. He didn’t earn the moniker Lord Perfect for nothing.” The beauty winked at Kate, and this time there was no mistaking. Whoever she was, she was friendly indeed. “But come and we shall introduce ourselves and have a much better time chatting together than we’d have with a stuffy old viscount around.”

She stood and held out her hands to Kate, and Kate made her way forward. “Officially, I am the Marchioness of Colton,” the lady said. “But you must call me Lily.” Another wink and Kate expelled her breath. Oh, how wonderful. They would not stand on ceremony. There would be no “your graces” here.