Valerie Bowman - Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage

Kate

James read it again twice more, as if the words would change if he repeated them enough times. The sapphires, the ones he’d given her the night of their ball lay on the desk. He clenched the necklace in his fist.

“No, Kate,” he whispered, letting the note fall to the desktop. He grabbed up the other pages and shuffled through them. There it was, her story. The pamphlet. What she’d wanted to say about what had happened to her. But he didn’t need to read it. He already knew. He’d heard her story as he’d come to know her over the last several days. She was innocent. She was innocent and lovely, and she might die because of the callous treatment of her husband and the failure of some sniveling coward to admit to murder. It was an injustice. It wasn’t fair.

James crumpled the papers in his hands and threw them to the floor. By God, he’d hire another runner, a dozen runners! He wouldn’t stop until they unearthed every single fact of what had happened that night, until they proved Kate’s innocence.

He was going to save her. He had to.

When James returned to London, he went straight to the club. He wanted nothing more than to sit there and have a drink … or three. He wasn’t a drinker, never had been, but the pastime always seemed to help Colton and Ashbourne when they were out of sorts. Might as well take it up. And God knew now seemed as good a time as any.

James sat alone at the club. It seemed the other club members had read all about his scandal in the paper. And while the club had admitted him, he was certainly not greeted by his usual string of friends and acquaintances. In fact, the room he’d entered had managed to empty quite soon after his arrival. He took a seat near a table and rested his chin in his propped-up palm. He didn’t give a bloody damn about the ton’s opinion of him right now. All he could think about was Kate. How was she? Sitting in the Tower? Was she cold? Scared? Lonely? Bloody hell, she must be all of those things. And he couldn’t even visit her. It would be too dangerous. For her and for him and for more reasons than one.

He’d barely downed the first half of his glass of brandy, when Colton and Ashbourne slid into empty seats next to him.

“I’m warning you both,” he growled. “I’m in no mood for your antics this evening.”

Ashbourne flashed a smile. “Antics?” He poked Colton in the ribs with an elbow. “Now how do you like that? Antics. And after you’ve been so good to him and offered to let him stay in your house, Colton.”

“Thank you, but I’ve got plenty of houses of my own,” James replied, downing the rest of his glass and calling for another.

Colton stretched out his legs and crossed them casually at the ankles. “Yes, well, I’d like to know what sort of antics you ascribe to us. We merely came here for a drink. Had very little idea you’d even be here, Medford.”

James narrowed his eyes on them. “Why do I seriously doubt that? Besides, shouldn’t you both be at home with your wives?”

Ashbourne snorted. “What? Don’t tell me you haven’t already guessed that our wives were the ones who sent us?”

“Yes,” Colton replied with a nod. “They aren’t welcome in the club, or I daresay they’d be here themselves.”

Ashbourne glanced across the room. “Though to be honest, I wouldn’t put it past Annie to climb in the window.”

James growled under his breath. “Where is the footman with that bloody drink?”

Colton’s eyes widened. “Well, well, well. This must be serious. You, Lord Perfect, are not one to imbibe. And two drinks in one night no less. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.”

James gritted his teeth. “Lord Perfect,” he mumbled. “That damn moniker. And that’s exactly what I’ve always been. The perfect student, the perfect peer, the perfect friend, the perfect printer.” He let his voice trail off. But there were two roles he’d failed at. Two that haunted him. Not so perfect after all.

“What are you saying, Medford?” Ashbourne cupped a hand behind his ear.

James tossed a hand in the air, dismissing the question. “Let’s get this over with, shall we? What exactly do you two want to know?”

“Want to know? Don’t you think you owe us an explanation?” Ashbourne reached for his own brandy from the footman who had returned with three glasses.

James watched them through blurry eyes. Seemed Ashbourne and Colton had a standing drink order at the club. No surprise there.

James exchanged his empty glass for a full one. “Not particularly,” he drawled.

“There’s nothing you want to tell us?” Colton took a sip of his own drink.

“Like what?” James feigned ignorance.

Colton motioned to James’s snifter. “Like why you’re set on drinking yourself into oblivion tonight?”

Ashbourne shook his head. “Yes, Medford, I must admit I never saw this coming.”

James growled again before taking another hefty swallow. “It’s not as if I’ve murdered a man.” He glared at Ashbourne. Ashbourne had killed a man last spring. A man who had just shot and nearly killed Colton, granted, but if he were going to judge, two could play at that game.

Colton glanced around to ensure no one else overheard them. He lowered his voice. “No, but Kate has … possibly.”

“She has not!” James slammed his fist on the table and the glasses bounced.

Colton’s brows shot up. “You sound certain of that.”

“I am,” James replied through clenched teeth.

“Has Horton found the proof, then?” Ashbourne replied.

“Not yet.” James shook his head.

“And what of the pamphlet?” Colton asked. “Will you be printing it in time for Christmastide reading?’

James pulled the crumpled papers from his coat pocket and tossed them on the table. Colton grabbed them up, and Ashbourne leaned over and read across his shoulder. The pair was silent for several minutes while James continued to drink.

Then Ashbourne whistled. “Sounds as if the duchess had one hell of a time being married to Markingham, poor woman. This pamphlet is sure to raise a few eyebrows.”

Colton tossed the wrinkled pages back onto the table. “I agree.”

“I don’t give a damn about the pamphlet,” James ground out, tossing back a large amount of his drink.

Ashbourne whistled again. “But it’s sure to be a considerable source of income for yourself, is it not?”

James’s voice was savage. “I told you I don’t give a bloody damn about it.”

Colton rolled his eyes. “So, that’s it. You just plan to restore your house, let your reputation and hers suffer, and go on about your life as if nothing ever happened?”

“No, first I intend to see Kate cleared of the charges. Then I’ll go about my life.” James signaled for the footman to bring him another drink.

“Please tell me you’re not thinking of actually having a life with the duchess,” Ashbourne said. “You do know her reputation is shredded beyond all repair. You’d have to leave London, your business, Parliament, your entire life, to be with her.”

James’s only reply was a narrowed-eye glare. And then, “Haven’t you seen the papers? My reputation is already in shreds. Besides, she’s gone back to the Tower. I used her for what she could bring me. I wouldn’t blame her if she detests me.”

Colton sighed. “But yet you still want to fix it. Just like our Lord Perfect.”

James half stood and leaned menacingly over the table toward the marquis, his fists braced against the wood. “I’m warning you, Colton, say another word…”

Colton put up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Good God, Medford. I wouldn’t fight you in the mood you seem to be in at present. I value my life and so does my wife.”

James sat back down and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He downed another gulp of his drink. “Good.”

Ashbourne whistled a third time. “Drinking? Not caring about business? Mussing up your hair? Bloody hell, Medford. Look at you. You’re a mess. Don’t tell me you’ve gone and fallen in love.”

“My lord. My lord.” Abernathy’s voice shook as he hurried into the study James had been temporarily using at one of his other London properties. Locke hadn’t even announced the man. Abernathy must have raced through the house without stopping.

James tossed his quill aside and sat up straight. “What is it?”

“I had a visit from Horton today.” The older man was breathing heavily and his face was quite red.

“And?”

Abernathy paused in an attempt to catch his breath. “The Duke of Markingham’s valet confessed after another one of the servants came forward and pointed the finger at him.”

James’s eyes went wide. He scrubbed his hand across his face and jumped up from his seat. “Say that again.”

Mr. Abernathy barely paused for a quick breath. “One of the footmen at Markingham Abbey claimed the valet had confessed to him.”

James sucked in his breath. No. This couldn’t be happening. Could it? He braced his hands atop the desk and stared Abernathy in the eye. “Why did the servant just now come forward?”

“Perhaps his conscience was tugging at him, my lord. I don’t know. But the magistrate was called in and the confession was repeated in front of him. He’s on the way to report the entire affair to the lord chancellor here in London this morning.”

James searched the barrister’s face. “What does this mean, Abernathy … will Kate—”

Abernathy nodded rapidly. “She should be freed in a matter of hours, my lord.”

James closed his eyes and reopened them again, slowly.

“There will be a great deal of legal work still to be done, my lord, to be sure, but once the accusation is retracted and the charges dropped, her grace shall be a free woman. And given her title, they’re sure to expedite the matter with all due haste.”