Valerie Bowman - Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage

And then they were gone, into the shadowy alleys of London, into the dark cold night. Kate shuddered again, but she didn’t look back, afraid she would see a troop of guards behind them. Afraid they hadn’t indeed made this escape after all.

“Why did you come for me at night?” she managed to ask over the thunderous beat of her heart and the horse’s hooves.

Lord Medford leaned his head down next to her ear, and when she turned her cheek slightly she saw dark stubble along his jaw. He hadn’t shaved since morning, and oh my, but it made him look good. She shook her head to clear it of such thoughts, and then she shivered against the biting cold.

“It’s safer this way,” he replied. “I’m sorry I couldn’t bring a coach to make you more comfortable. Are you cold?”

He must have felt her shudder, and she read in his response the truth. He hadn’t brought a coach in case there was trouble. They would be more nimble this way.

Was she cold? All she could do was nod. Handling the reins with one deft hand, he somehow managed to whip his cape from his shoulders with the other and pull it around her. “Here, use this,” he said in a commanding voice that made Kate’s insides tremble.

“Won’t you freeze?” she asked hesitantly.

“I’ll be fine,” he intoned.

She didn’t wait for his answer. She was already tugging the cloak closer. It felt so good, warm from his body, and it smelled like him. She pulled the fine fabric against her face and inhaled its scent. It smelled like leather and something spicy and indefinable. Something wonderful. She prayed he wouldn’t notice her sniffing his cape.

“Live, live, live,” she whispered to herself, the words snatched away by the harsh night wind.

Kate closed her eyes. Who was this man? Lord Medford was obviously no ordinary viscount. Not only did he own a printing press for some unknown reason, but he obviously possessed the power and connections to free her from the Tower of London and to have a special request granted to do so alone in the middle of the night. There were no crowds or rioters because of his intelligent thinking. She was immensely grateful to him. But of course he had his own well-being in mind too. If he were planning to take her to one of his properties—and Lady Mary had assured her he owned a great many properties—and leave her there to write a pamphlet for him, he wouldn’t want anyone to know.

She clutched at the cloak at her throat. But what did any of that matter now? She was free. She smiled to herself and closed her eyes, sucking in the wind through her nostrils. She pulled the cloak around her, trying to ignore his scent on it. What was the maddening scent? Printing ink? She stifled the small laugh that bubbled to her throat. Good heavens. That had been the first time she’d laughed since George had died. Wait, no, since she’d been married, rather, she quickly amended with a wince. A sobering thought.

Lord Medford’s strong arm wrapped even more tightly around her waist, pulling her snug against him. Kate gulped. He was drawing her close, trying to warm her. A small smile popped to her lips. That was nice of him. Very nice indeed.

She held her breath as they raced through the streets. Kate concentrated, trying to remember every landmark, every building. It might be the last time she saw them. While under house arrest, she wouldn’t have much opportunity to leave whichever house Lord Medford brought her to, and her next trip might be to the gallows or worse … being burned to death. She shuddered.

The spire of St. Paul’s rose in the black night sky, and she stared at it in wonder as if seeing it for the first time. Christopher Wren’s masterpiece. It made her feel tiny and powerful at the same time. She’d first seen it when she’d traveled to London with her mother eleven years ago to shop for her wedding trousseau. Back then she’d been so full of hope, the city so full of promise. She’d talked her mother into stopping at the famous church, and she’d entered slowly, reverently, gazing at the cavernous ceilings and soaring heights. It had taken her breath away. And it did so again, tonight, even just its outline standing proudly in bold relief against the night sky. She had paused in the great cathedral. Bowed her head and prayed that her marriage would be happy and blessed. That particular prayer hadn’t been answered, of course, but tonight she said a new one as Lord Medford’s horse thundered past the shadow of the church. A new prayer that she desperately hoped would be answered this time.

She swiveled her head, intent upon taking in the sights and sounds of the town even as it lay quiet, dark, and cold. Minutes later, they passed the Houses of Parliament, racing alongside the Thames. She breathed it all in, savored it. Enjoyed it. This was living . Flying along on horseback in the dark of night, the wind whipping her hair, a handsome man’s arm wrapped around her waist.

“Are you all right?” Lord Medford asked, brushing her cheek with his stubble again and sending a shiver through her.

“Yes,” she nearly shouted. “I’m alive!”

“Ah, so this is what you meant when you said you wanted to live?” he asked. She could feel the hint of his smile against her cheek.

She nodded eagerly. “I want to play with animals, smell roses, and dance the night away.”

She heard his laughter this time. “Let’s get you home safely, and then we’ll see about the rest of it.”

Kate nodded. “Where are you taking me?” she asked as they passed St. James.

“Mayfair,” he answered. “We’re nearly there.”

Mayfair, of course. She’d assumed he’d install her in one of his lesser properties, but perhaps all the viscount’s properties were grand houses in Mayfair. Or perhaps he wanted her close to keep an eye on her. She could hardly blame him. She had no intention of running off, but he wouldn’t know that, and his reputation would be in jeopardy if she did escape.

The horse thundered through a paved alley and around a set of mews, a public house, some grand looking white town houses. Her husband’s town house had been here somewhere though she’d only seen it once. Was it nearby?

They turned down a short alley and came to a stop behind an impressive four-story town house. “Here we are,” Lord Medford said in her ear, leaning down again. His stubble brushed her cheek once more, and she had to force herself to concentrate on his words.

He dismounted quickly, tossed the reins to a groom who materialized from the shadows, detached her bag from the saddle, and reached up and swung her down. Her body slid against his, and she didn’t meet his eyes. He was strong and hard and muscled in all the right places. He’d lifted her as if she weighed no more than a doll.

He let her settle on the ground and then pulled her by the hand through the gravelled alley and up the back steps. He opened the door with the same hand that held her bag. He shoved open the door with his booted foot, swung her inside, followed her in, and pushed it closed with his elbow.

They were standing in what looked to be a breakfast room, and Kate could tell immediately the town house was quite grand. If this was one of Lord Medford’s lesser properties, the man was quite wealthy indeed. She glanced around. No doubt there would be a housekeeper or someone who might help her find her way around, otherwise she’d most likely be quite alone here. Still, better than the Tower.

Clutching Lord Medford’s cape around her shoulders, Kate turned to say her good-byes to him. “Thank you very much, my lord. Will you be coming by tomorrow to discuss the pamphlet?”

He arched a brow. “Coming by?”

“I mean from your house. I assume you will want to discuss the details before I get started. Do you live nearby?”