Valerie Bowman - Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage

Kate made her way into the tiny adjoining chamber and retrieved the wool blanket that lay sprawled on the small bed in the corner. She wrapped the fabric tightly around her shoulders. It was so cold. December. Almost Christmastide. Where would she spend the holiday? If Viscount Medford didn’t accept her offer, she might spend it here, alone, in this sad place. If the viscount did agree to harbor her, she’d be in the home of a stranger. Either prospect was disheartening, but at least she’d be alive. This Christmas. She shuddered. Almost certainly her last such holiday on this earth.

She shook off the unwelcome thoughts and turned her attention to the viscount. She didn’t relish having to trust another man with her freedom or her secrets. And the money he’d offered meant little to her. But his other offer, the one to widely publish the pamphlet, to allow her to tell her side of the story, was tempting, even if it would redouble Society’s censure. Even if no one believed her, if the pamphlet were printed, her story would be there, published for all eternity, and that would count for something.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Would Lord Medford accept her offer? According to Lady Mary, he was known as a gentleman of honor and integrity, but he also seemed intent upon his trade. Despite his fine clothing, at first she’d had to wonder if he was poor. Why else would a peer engage in trade? But Lady Mary had quickly disabused her of that notion. “They say his fortune rivals the king’s,” she’d said. And it must be true. Obviously the viscount was rich, or he couldn’t have offered Kate a sum of money that had nearly made her choke. Either that or he was extremely confident that her pamphlet would sell very well.

The viscount was an eccentric, she’d decided. For some reason, printing scandals amused him, and he’d set his sights on the most scandalous of them all. Even sequestered in the country, Kate had managed to read his other famous works, Secrets of a Wedding Night and Secrets of a Runaway Bride. Though she hadn’t known they were his at the time. They’d amused her, made her laugh. But the story he was asking her for, there was nothing amusing about it. It seemed the viscount had turned his sights to a much more serious topic. Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage, he’d said. She hated that title. But she supposed it would help to sell the thing, and that’s why she wouldn’t object. The more copies that made it into circulation, the better, regardless of the salacious label.

Lord Medford had explained it all to her in intricate detail. His plan to publish and sell the pamphlet. His strategy to ensure it received the most notice and the widest distribution. He was obviously a skilled tradesman. He’d leaned over the table, smelling like a mixture of leather and soap, and looking like a statue of some Greek god come to life. Eccentric Lord Medford might be, but the man was also ridiculously handsome. Lady Mary was quite right about that. It surprised Kate, to be sure, to find herself attracted to the man. Any man, actually. She’d thought that part of her had died along with her freedom. Her own husband, who hadn’t touched her in years, might be dead, but she was still a woman who could recognize and appreciate a handsome man when she saw one. James Bancroft, with his long, lean build, sharp hazel eyes, and short, cropped dark hair was quite handsome indeed.

She curled up into a ball on her mattress, still hugging the shawl around her shoulders. Yes, she would write the pamphlet for Lord Medford, as long as he agreed to her bargain. She wanted to be freed from the Tower of London, as soon as possible. There was a degree of risk involved for the viscount, of course. After the riot that had taken place upon her arrest, the Tower was probably the safest place for her. Anyone found harboring her would certainly be placing himself in danger. But Kate refused to spend her last days in a prison. She wanted to live in a house and pretend to be as normal as possible. The truth was, she’d prefer to spend the days on her father’s farm. What she wouldn’t give to go back to a simple life for one month, one week, one day. Pretend she’d never met the Duke of Markingham, never agreed to be his wife. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for another chance at her past.

Kate closed her eyes. Viscount Medford had told her he’d be back today to give her his answer. What was her story really worth to him? Would he be able to convince the lord chancellor to allow her to stay under his protection? Would Lord Medford take the risk?

“How exactly do you plan to carry this one off, Lord Perfect?”

Devon Morgan’s voice snapped James from his thoughts. He was sitting in a wide leather chair at his club and the Marquis of Colton had just arrived.

“Yes, I for one cannot wait to hear this.” There was also no mistaking the voice of Jordan Holloway, the Earl of Ashbourne.

James glanced up at the pair. The two men were the husbands of Lily and Annie, and as such, James had developed something of an unspoken truce with them for the sake of his friends. In fact, Colton and Ashbourne were two of the only peers who knew for certain that James owned a printing press. Otherwise, he kept that fact a secret. He’d had to tell Kate, of course. He could only hope she didn’t disclose it as she’d promised.

He eyed the two other men again. Regardless of their more recent common bonds, the truth remained that the three had been classmates at Eton and Cambridge and they had long been rivals. Prior to their marriages, Colton and Ashbourne were known for their rakishness and serious drinking bouts while Medford had earned the nickname Lord Perfect for his love of order, his stellar reputation, his history of excellent marks, and his inherent tendency to always do the right thing. Today, James needed their assistance. So he’d summoned the marquis and the earl to Brooks’s for an afternoon drink. The perfect invitation with which to lure those two particular chaps from their warm studies on such a blustery day.

“It’s simple,” James replied, offering them both a seat. “I intend to speak with the lord chancellor.”

Colton and Ashbourne took their seats next to him in the large leather chairs near the windows. A fire crackled in the hearth across from them, and the smell of fine cheroots being smoked by a pair of gentlemen on the other side of the room filled the air. The club was nearly deserted this afternoon. It seemed many of London’s finest had decided not to brave the elements in search of their usual afternoon amusements.

Colton settled into his chair. “And you expect the chancellor to just turn her over into your care?”

“Yes. I’m a peer, aren’t I? That’s the law. As long as she’s in my personal care, she can be released from the Tower.”

Colton replied with a skeptical look. “And you want a murderess living under your roof?”

“There’s no proof that she’s a murderess,” James replied simply. “Yet.”

Ashbourne snorted. “And there’s no proof she isn’t.”

James shrugged. “I’m willing to take that chance. All anyone is talking about is this trial. If I have the story straight from the duchess, it will sell thousands of copies.”

“No doubt about it,” Colton replied. “I might even read it myself.”

“I won’t,” Jordan replied. “But something tells me Annie will and she’ll apprise me of every detail.”

Colton laughed. “You’re absolutely right there.”

Somehow Ashbourne had already managed to procure a drink and he tossed it back. “Sure you don’t want one?” he asked, holding his brandy glass in the air toward James.

James rolled his eyes. “No, thank you.”