Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage

conversing with a good-looking chap about whatever daft idea he had was preferable to counting the cracks in the walls of her cell or writing letters to … no one. “Very well, you have my promise. Now tell me, who are you and why are you here?”

The stranger clicked his heels together and bowed again. “James Bancroft, Viscount Medford, at your service.”

She couldn’t help the tiny gasp that escaped her lips. The man was a peer. Why on earth would a peer pay her a visit? “Why are you here, my lord?”

Brushing back his coat, he pulled papers from an inside pocket and tossed them on the wooden table.

Her eyes still trained on him, Kate stepped forward and picked up the papers. It was a pamphlet. She scanned the first page and shuffled through it quickly, but the pages were blank.

She gestured to the papers with her chin. “What is this?”

His mouth quirked again. Distracting, that. “You might say I have a bit of a hobby on the side. I own a printing press.”

Her gaze snapped to his face and she stepped back, clutching the pamphlet, genuinely surprised. And a little bit intrigued. “A viscount in trade?”

He grinned. “That’s the secret.” His grin faded and he strode forward. Bracing his hands apart, he leaned across the table. “I offer women in scandalous situations a unique opportunity. This, your grace, is a chance to tell your side of the story.”

“What do you mean … exactly?”

His eyes blazed at her. His jaw tightened. “Write a pamphlet for me. It will be a top seller, I assure you.”

She shook her head. “A pamphlet? Telling my story? I don’t understand. What do I stand to gain from it?”

His eyes, dark green now, captured hers. “What do you want?”

Kate spun around, pacing across the small room. A chance to tell her story? A frisson of hope skittered down her spine. Yes. An opportunity to inform the entire city what a hideous husband George had been. To tell the truth. It was tempting. She must handle this carefully, however. There was something else she wanted.

She turned back toward the viscount. “Out of curiosity, if I agree to do it, what exactly will the pamphlet be named, my lord?”

His jaw relaxed and his eyes lost some of their intensity. He stood up again to his full height and regarded her down the length of his nose. “Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage.”

CHAPTER 2

“Medford, how can you be so flippant about all of this?” Lily Morgan, the Marchioness of Colton, asked, plunking her hands on her hips and tapping her foot on the wide Aubusson rug that adorned the floor of James’s drawing room.

They had just adjourned to the blue salon in James’s town house. A fire crackled in the hearth next to them and the smell of burning logs permeated the cozy room. James signaled to his butler, Locke, to pour the tea. Then he settled in for a visit with two of his very closest friends, Marchioness Lily and her sister Annie, the Countess of Ashbourne.

“Who’s flippant?” he asked, giving them both a grin.

“You are and you know it,” Annie replied, taking a seat and busily setting about plopping an extra lump of sugar into her teacup. She stirred the drink with a tiny silver spoon. “I, for one, think the poor duchess has been sorely mistreated. I’ve heard no evidence to make me believe she’s guilty.”

“I agree.” Lily nodded. Hands still on her hips, she paced the floor, refusing to take a seat. “Besides, I had the misfortune to meet her husband on more than one occasion and the man was a complete scoundrel. He made overtures to me time and time again. Can you imagine?” She turned back to Medford. “But asking her to write a pamphlet is entirely flippant of you.”

“I disagree,” James replied. “I think it will be a welcome opportunity for her. Not to mention I’ve asked her to name her terms.”

“And what did she ask for?” Lily wanted to know.

James shrugged. “Nothing yet. I’m returning to the Tower today to get her answer … and her terms.”

Lily shook her head. “Hmm. Shrouded in mystery Lady Katherine Townsende has been.”

Annie set down her cup. “I read that she was the daughter of a landowner in Kent. Apparently, she caught the Duke of Markingham’s eye when she was eighteen. They married, and she’s been kept tucked away in the countryside all these years.” She cleared her throat. “Ahem, until her husband’s untimely death, that is.”

Lily tapped her cheek with her fingertip. “Yes, well, now she’s a complete scandal. The entire ton is convinced she’s a murderess.”

Medford grinned. “Yes, but she’s a murderess with a story to tell. And that makes all the difference.”

“I didn’t say she was a murderess, I said everyone thinks she’s a murderess. I intend to reserve my judgment until I’ve heard more facts about the case. What did you think of her?” Lily asked, with an arched brow.

James’s mind retraced to his meeting with the duchess the day before. She’d stepped into the room. So slight. A dark cloak with a hood covered her head. Her face had been in shadow, but James hadn’t mistaken her momentary uncertainty, nor her pride. She’d held her shoulders erect, her head high. There had been a bit of anger, too. He sensed it when he’d narrowed his eyes on her delicate form. He didn’t blame her for being angry, his was not a social call after all. She was thin, perhaps too thin. Of medium height, she did not seem capable of murdering a grown man, let alone Markingham. The duke had been tall, and strong. A large man, her husband.

When the duchess had stepped into the shaft of winter sunlight and pushed the hood from her head, James had sucked in his breath. The Duchess of Markingham was absolutely stunning. In his thirty-three years he’d never seen her equal. She had alabaster skin, a straight thin nose, and a riotous mass of golden-red hair that tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. She’d glanced up, her cornflower-blue eyes shooting sparks at him from beneath the velvety blackness of her impossibly long eyelashes. The smudge of dirt on one of her high cheekbones only served to highlight the ethereal beauty of her face.

James had glanced away. He’d heard the duchess was a beauty, but he hadn’t been prepared. She was more than beautiful. She was a goddess come to life.

He glanced back at Lily. “She seemed … like a lady in a great deal of trouble.”

“Is she as beautiful as everyone says?” Annie asked with a sigh, a dreamy smile on her face.

Leave it to Annie to ask such a direct question. James tugged at his cravat. “She is … beautiful. Yes, I might call her that.”

Lily watched him carefully. “But what did you think about her? How did she seem?”

“To be honest.” He tugged at his cuff. “She surprised me. I’d half expected a termagant the likes of which I’d never encountered before. Instead, I wasn’t quite sure what to make of the woman.”

Lily stopped pacing. Her gaze scanned his face. “Why?”

James bit the inside of his cheek, considering the question for a moment. “I suppose it was because she didn’t seem fearful.”

“What do you mean?” Annie asked, leaning closer.

James shrugged and settled back in his seat. “She was poised. Calm. She carried herself like … like a duchess.”

Lily rubbed one finger across her chin. “Is it possible that she wasn’t afraid? She’s soon to be on trial for her life.”

“I cannot imagine.” Annie shuddered. “They say she was there, with her husband’s body, when they found him. He was lying on the floor of his bedchamber, shot with his own pistol in the chest.”