Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage

CHAPTER 3

This time when she was led into the small, cold room in the Tower, the duchess greeted James with something of a curious smile on her face.

“Good morning, your grace.” He bowed over the delicate hand she presented him. No. He hadn’t been imagining it before. She was ethereal.

“My lord,” she replied in an unhurried tone.

James was once again captivated by her startling beauty. No wonder Markingham had married her. The man must have snapped her up the moment he’d laid eyes on her. James didn’t blame him. But, alas, the duke obviously didn’t realize what marriage had in store for him.

“I trust you slept well,” James said, wondering why his stomach was in a knot around this woman. He was never nervous. Ever. It was a singularly unique experience for him. He watched her closely as if her countenance would give a clue as to why his heart beat a bit faster in her presence.

The edges of the duchess’s mouth turned up in the hint of a smile, and James was immediately reminded of how different she was. She was supposed to be all refinement and perfection but instead she had a sort of realness to her that drew him in. Made him want to see what she would do or say next. She was … captivating. That was it. That was what he was responding to.

She tugged on her shawl. “I never sleep well in this place.” She gestured with her chin to the stone walls surrounding them. “It’s freezing and not particularly comfortable, as you might imagine.”

James furrowed his brow. His voice deepened. “Are they treating you ill?”

“No, of course not. They’re treating me with all the respect due my illustrious title.” She nearly spat the last two words.

James motioned for her to sit and he waited until she’d done so before he took a seat across the table from her. “You don’t enjoy being a duchess?”

Her bright blue eyes pinned him. “Enjoy it? What has being a duchess ever brought me? A loveless marriage, a lonely existence, and now a death sentence.” She laughed a humorless laugh.

James ducked his head. For a moment he felt a twinge of regret for her. Regret and a bit of guilt. Here he was, attempting to profit from her situation. If she were innocent. But that was a very large if. For if she had indeed killed her husband, James had no reason to feel sorry for her. After all, it was possible that she was just angry that she’d been caught. Regardless, it did little good to discuss the details with her. She’d have the opportunity to put whatever she wanted into the pamphlet. Once she agreed to write it, that was.

It was time to discuss business.

He cleared his throat. “Have you made your decision, your grace? Will you write for me?”

She watched him, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re very direct, my lord.” She raised a perfect golden-red brow.

James nudged at his cravat. Was it hot in the room all of a sudden? “I’m not sure there is much else left to say.”

“Locked in the Tower,” she murmured, a faraway look in her eyes. “Not something I ever expected when I was growing up on a farm.” With one fingertip, she traced a pattern on the rough-hewn tabletop. Her voice was tight. “Life is unexpected sometimes, is it not, my lord?”

He nodded. “Indeed.”

Expelling a long breath, she stood and paced to the window, arms folded over her chest. She glanced out. “There.” She motioned with her chin. “There is the lawn upon which Anne Boleyn lost her head.” She turned to face James who looked at her with narrowed eyes. What was she getting at?

“And what was Queen Anne’s crime?” she continued.

“Adultery,” he answered. “Treason.”

Kate’s head snapped around to face him. “Ah yes, treason, or so said her husband, the one with the power, the one who made the laws. She was brought through Traitor’s Gate and put to death, the mother of the future queen, and all for failing to make her husband happy.”

James stood and cleared his throat again. “Anne Boleyn was not accused of murdering King Henry.”

Kate turned on him with flashing eyes. “’Tis true, though not the best way to win my favor, my lord. Tell me again why you think I should agree to your offer. A dead woman needs no money, you know?”

He relaxed his stance a bit. “No, but a woman who is on trial for her life needs the best defense she can afford and the opportunity to tell the public her side of the story, which is priceless. Writing the pamphlet will provide you with that opportunity.”

“Do you think I’m innocent, then?” she challenged him, drumming her fingertips along her opposite elbows.

He met her gaze directly. “That I do not know.”

“Then why provide me with the opportunity to state my case?”

“Every accused person deserves as much, do they not?”

She tossed a hand in the air. “I’ll have my day in court, and the papers will cover every bit of it.”

“True, but the papers will only cover what your barrister will allow you to say in court. The pamphlet can contain whatever you choose.”

She arched another brow at him and scoured him with those arresting eyes. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

“You’ll do it?” James pulled a set of folded papers from his inside coat pocket. “I’ve brought the contract.”

“A contract?” She smiled ever so slightly. “My word isn’t good enough? You don’t trust me?”

He tossed the papers on the worn wooden tabletop that stood between them. “I always use a contract.”

She tipped up her chin. “That was a jest, my lord.”

He turned toward the door. “I’ll ask them to bring a quill and—”

“Just a moment,” she said, grabbing up the contract with one hand and perusing it. “I haven’t agreed … yet.”

He turned back to face her. “You plan to refuse?”

“I haven’t said that either.”

He bowed. “I await your decision, your grace. Though you should know that if you agree, you’ll be breaking Society’s rules again and the reaction may not be—”

Her sharp bark of laughter stopped him. “Society’s rules. Bah. What do I care for Society’s rules? Did you know that I’d been planning to ask my husband for a divorce? I’d already accepted my future being ruined by scandal. Besides, I’ve learned a bit about you, my lord. There is a lady here whom I’ve befriended. She knows you. She tells me you are a rule follower yourself, Lord Medford, despite your illicit printing press.”

He kept his face blank. “Ah, so my reputation precedes me.”

“I followed the rules my entire life, too,” she continued, “and look where it got me. In a loveless marriage with a death sentence hanging over my head.”

James glanced away, but for some reason her saying her marriage had been loveless made him feel sad for her although inexplicably pleased for himself. Why was that? It made no sense.

He shook his head. Regardless, he had to ensure she knew what she was getting into. He’d be no sort of gentleman if he did not explain it to her in detail. “Be that as it may, the pamphlet will have a very wide distribution, and there’s every reason to expect—”

She regarded the papers again. “As I said, I’m done following rules, my lord.”

She spent the next few moments reading before she tossed the papers to the tabletop and met his gaze. “I’ll agree, upon two conditions.”

He watched her face closely, trying to ignore her stunning beauty. This was business. Only business. “Two? What are they?”

“First, I want you to employ for me the best barrister money can buy.”

He nodded. “I was expecting such a request. You’ll have the very best. What is your second condition?”

She straightened her shoulders and faced him head-on. “I may not have long to live, my lord. I know that much. I’m not a fool. I have a matter of months at the most. I’ve spent the last ten years practically a prisoner at my husband’s estate in the country, and now I’m sentenced to death.” She smoothed her hands down her dark skirts. “I may not have much recourse against the charges that have been brought against me, but I can and will choose how I spend my remaining days.”

“I see, and how do you wish to spend them?” he asked, reminding himself he shouldn’t care what her answer was.

She moved back over to the window and glanced outside. “I want to do the things that make me happy. Enjoy myself a bit.” She turned her head to face him. “I want to live.”

James furrowed his brow. Live? “I’m not sure I understand.”

She whirled around and made her way back to the table where she planted her palms firmly on the top and leaned toward him. “The law allows for me to reside under house arrest as long as I am under the supervision of a peer.”

James’s gaze shot to her face.

She squared her shoulders. “I want you to get me out of here.”