Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage

CHAPTER 11

It was the music that woke him. The haunting strains of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” played by a deft hand on the pianoforte in the ballroom. James raised himself on his elbow, shook off his sleep, slipped out of bed, and pulled his dark green robe over his shoulders. Securing the belt tightly around his waist, he made his way into the ballroom on the second story.

Kate was there, with a brace of candles barely glowing in front of her pretty face. She played the instrument with her eyes closed.

James cleared his throat. “You’re very talented,” he said, and his words echoed across the cavernous space.

She immediately stopped, hitting the last note incorrectly. She snapped open her eyes. “My lord!”

“Please don’t let me stop you.” He moved closer along the cold marble floor, recognizing that she too was wearing her nightclothes, including a robe. “It’s lovely.” But he wasn’t sure if he was talking about the music or the vision of her in her robe, her luxurious hair down around her shoulders, her scrubbed-clean face simply breathtaking.

“I’m so sorry to have wakened you,” she said, ducking her head. “I couldn’t sleep. I’d hoped it wouldn’t be too loud with the doors closed.”

He moved toward the pianoforte and rested his forearms on the back of the instrument, meeting her gaze over the top of it. “I’m a notoriously light sleeper, I’m afraid.” He smiled at her. “Besides, I’m glad to have heard it. I love that piece.”

She blushed and it was enchanting. “It’s my particular favorite,” she admitted. “I haven’t played the pianoforte since I was … arrested. I used to play every day at Markingham Abbey.”

He furrowed his brow. “Your time at Markingham Abbey doesn’t sound like it was particularly happy, your grace.”

Kate’s blue eyes flashed. “Please don’t call me that.”

James frowned. “I noticed yesterday, you asked Abernathy not to call you that either. You don’t like your honorific?”

She shook her head and the red-gold curls bounced along her shoulders. “No. I never have.”

He tipped his head to the side. “Why?” he asked quietly.

“It’s an odious title. As if I’m somehow better than everyone else. Your grace. Your grace. Your grace. I’ve grown to detest it.”

James eyed her carefully. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not a duchess,” she whispered, meeting his gaze with the deep pools of her eyes. “I’m just a girl who married a duke.”

James nodded. Somehow that made sense to him and somehow she never ceased to amaze him. Before they’d met, he’d expected her to be all superciliousness and attitude. Instead she reminded him of a lost soul.

She tossed her head slightly as if shaking off the seriousness of their conversation. “I suppose it’s completely inappropriate for us to be here together like this, wearing nothing more than our nightclothes.” She stared at his chest and then her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink.

James glanced down to realize his robe had opened a bit and a sliver of his bare chest was visible at the top of the robe. He smiled, propping his elbow on the top of the pianoforte and resting his chin in his palm. “Seems a bit late to be worried about appropriateness. I hate to say it, but nothing about our relationship is appropriate.”

She blushed again, and James was momentarily regretful of his words. He stood up straight. “I mean to say, nothing about our interactions is conventional.”

“Yes.” She smiled softly but didn’t meet his eyes. “I suppose you’re right.”

Silence fell between them before Kate spoke again. “May I ask you a question, my lord?” She fidgeted with her hands.

He grinned again. “Ah, now that is hardly fair. If I am not to call you ‘your grace,’ you cannot be so proper as to call me ‘my lord.’”

She gave him a mischievous smile that made his heart beat faster. “I didn’t realize you weren’t fond of your title.”

“Oh, I am,” he replied. “But I insist. If we’re going to be inappropriate, we may as well call each other by our first names. I’m willing if you are.”

She nodded. “Yes, absolutely. Please call me Kate.”

“And you may call me James,” he said, stepping back and executing a bow.

“Very well. May I ask you a question, James?”

He grinned at her. “I owe you an answer, I believe.”

She rested her fingers on the ivory keys of the piano but did not move them. “Why did you bring me here? To your home, I mean. You must own many properties.”

“I do,” he replied. “Several in fact. Here and in the countryside.”

She bit her lip. “Then why not place me in one of those houses?”

James rested his elbows on the back of the pianoforte again. “I couldn’t ensure your safety in my other houses.”

Her brow immediately furrowed. “You brought me here to keep me safe?”

“Does that surprise you?”

She nodded this time, her curls bouncing again, and James had to keep himself from reaching out and touching one of them. The one that rested against her soft cheek. “Yes.”

“Why?” he asked.

She shrugged slightly. “I assumed you wanted me here to keep an eye on me. To ensure I don’t run off.”

He grinned at that. “Do you intend to run off?”

She shook her head and squared her shoulders. “No. I shall face my fate.”

James watched her closely. She was telling the truth. He could sense that about her. She would face her fate. He’d thought many things about her since he’d met her but cowardice wasn’t in her. Whatever else her faults might be, Kate Townsende had courage. Real courage. The kind of courage that would face a death sentence. The kind of courage that would stand up to an unkind husband bringing his mistress into her home. The kind of courage that would ask for a divorce and face public censure and ruin in an effort to live an authentic life.

“When we left the Tower … how did you…?” She cleared her throat. “I saw you salute the guard.”

He stared off into the dark ballroom. Ah, so she’d noticed that, had she? A keen observer was the duchess. She reminded him a bit of … himself actually. He turned his head back to face her. “When I was very young, just out of university, I bought a commission. I served in the army for two years.

Kate gasped. “You have no siblings. Your father must have been beside himself with worry.”

He slid up his hand to cover his mouth and hide his smile. And it seemed the duchess had done a bit of research on him too. Well played.

“It’s true. I have no siblings. And my father and I, we…” He glanced away and narrowed his eyes in the darkness, searching for the right words. “Suffice it to say we rarely agreed on anything. Including my desire to serve in the army.”

She pulled her hands away from the keys and rested them in her lap. “I’m … I’m glad you made it out safely.”

He cracked another grin. “So am I.”

She returned his smile and then, “One more question,” she said softly.

James inclined his head. “Yes?”

“Why do you run a printing press? It cannot be because you need the money.”

Ah, there was that naïveté again. A woman born into the world of the ton would never mention money so blithely. But Kate was also perceptive. Damned perceptive. “You’re right on that score,” he answered. “It’s not about the money.”

“Then why?” She’d cocked her head to the side and the glow of the candles against her hair made it look like spun gold. He swallowed. She smelled like strawberries. He wanted to … taste her.

James groaned and ran his fingers across his face. She’d asked a good question. Why indeed did he run the press? For the challenge? The fun of it? The hint of scandal he’d never allowed himself in his “real” life? All of those answers were true but there was something else. Something he didn’t know the duchess well enough to reveal.

“Do you relish scandal?” she asked breathlessly.

“No, actually. Order, rules, truth. Those things have always been important to me. I am a storyteller of sorts. But above all I relish the truth.”

She glanced away. “But you don’t think I’m telling it.”

James set his jaw. He couldn’t afford to feel sorry for her. Couldn’t afford to continue to wonder whether she’d actually killed her husband. Lily was right. He had a long history of trying to “fix” everything and Kate was not about to become his new project. Besides, getting close to a woman who had a death sentence on her head was pure folly. He pushed himself away from the pianoforte. “I think, whatever your story, it will sell a great many pamphlets.”