Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage

James shook his head. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Specifically, he couldn’t stop thinking about their interlude in the library the other night. He’d called himself a dozen kinds of fool, cursed himself repeatedly, and vowed he would never repeat the act, but in the end, all he could do was replay it over and over in his mind. He could think of little else. Kate’s velvety soft skin, her maddening sweet scent, her luscious breasts filling his hands, her red-gold hair spilling over her shoulders, her perfect full lips. He pictured her that way, over and over again. Only when he pictured it, he pictured her in his bed.

Damn it. He was getting hard again just thinking about it. And he was doing nothing more than torturing himself. No doubt if she were to clear her name—and that was a huge if—she would want nothing more to do with aristocrats and marriage and the ton and Society. And he bloody well couldn’t blame her. But that’s all James was, those things. He had nothing more to offer her. Aside from a position as the authoress of a scandalous pamphlet, of course. Better to be known as an authoress than a murderess, he supposed. But how could they ever progress into anything more when they’d met under such dire circumstances? He’d hired her essentially, and she’d used him to get out of prison. Not quite the auspicious type of courtship one dreamed of.

And what was he even thinking, calling it a “courtship”? He wasn’t courting Kate. No, he was taking ungodly liberties with her whenever he had a chance because he couldn’t seem to keep his hands from her. He’d suffered his own mental recriminations for it time and time again, and he’d continue to do so, but now, right now, all he wanted to do was be in her company again.

He would talk to her about her defense, just as Abernathy had requested. Perhaps claiming provocation was the best course of action. Perhaps the House of Lords would look more kindly upon her if she told them the hideous way her husband had treated her when he’d been alive. Yes, he’d speak to her about it. Later. Right now, all he could think about was seeing her face.

He quickened his step. His boots crunched over the frozen pebbled drive as he strode to the front door. Oh God, he was anxious to see her. He was nearly running. He tugged at the front door’s brass handle and doffed his hat and coat. He shoved them toward the butler who looked a bit chagrined to have been thwarted in his job of opening the portal. Barely breaking his stride, James made his way to the library where Kate usually sat, writing.

He pushed open the door, a smile on his face.

His gaze darted across the room. Empty.

His smile faded. Leaving the door open, he turned on his heel and made his way back toward the front of the house to the gold salon. Was she taking tea?

He pushed open the door to the salon and strode inside. Also empty.

He frowned now. Perhaps she was napping.

He stepped back into the hall. A housemaid scurried past.

“Have you seen her grace?” James asked.

The maid cleared her throat. “No, my lord. Not today.”

James frowned again. She hadn’t come downstairs all day? That was unlike her. Perhaps she was feeling ill. Wanting to go up straightaway and see her, he stopped himself. It wouldn’t do to indulge himself like that. No. He shook his head. He’d send up a note later and check on her. He’d ask for a meeting with her, to discuss her defense. And he would sit safely on the opposite side of the desk from her when he did so.

Hoping to distract himself from thoughts of Kate, James made his way back down the hallway, past the library, to his study.

Themis leaped up from the rug and rushed to greet him. “Good to see you, girl,” he said, scratching the dog’s golden head.

Themis following him, James strode over to his desk and threw himself into his chair. He scrubbed his hands across his face and expelled his breath. Something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. There was a small bundle of parchment sitting on the top center of the desk. He furrowed his brow.

He leaned closer to get a better look. His name was written on it.

In Kate’s handwriting.

He grabbed up the letter, ripped open the wax seal, and unfolded the thing. His eyes quickly scanned the words.

Dearest James,

By the time you read this, I will be gone. I couldn’t put you in danger any longer. I’m so sorry for the damage I’ve done to your life. Enclosed is the pamphlet. I hope it is all you expected it to be. I’m hiring a coach and going back to prison where I belong. I think we both know we may never see each other again. It’s better this way. I’m prepared to face my fate. Thank you for everything. You were so good to me.

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.

CHAPTER 28

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