Secret Brides [3] Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage (17 page)

“Come in,” James called.

She pushed open the door and walked inside, shutting the heavy oak portal behind her. A quick scan of both men’s faces told her little. Their countenances were blank. They rose to greet her, however, and Abernathy held out the chair next to his in front of James’s desk.

“Your grace,” he said, bowing.

She nodded. “Mr. Abernathy.” She tried to get the words “Good to see you” past her dry lips but they wouldn’t move.

She dropped into her seat, scanning James’s face. Handsome as usual, but without a hint of what they were to discuss.

“Very well, Abernathy,” James began in a businesslike voice. “Now that Kate is here, tell us how the investigation is going.”

Abernathy cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “The case is progressing, my lord.”

Progressing?
That was vague. Kate concentrated on breathing regularly.

James leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “What exactly have you learned?”

Abernathy pulled something from his coat pocket. “The runner is investigating everyone, including Lady Bettina and his grace’s valet. Here is his card.” He tossed a small piece of paper on the desktop.

Kate sat up straight, her gaze shooting to James’s. “Runner?”

Abernathy nodded. “Yes, Mr. Horton, the Bow Street runner Lord Medford has hired to investigate your case.”

Kate braced her hand on the arm of her chair. The room felt as if it were twirling. “You hired a runner?”

James nodded once and returned his stern gaze to Abernathy.

Abernathy spoke in a measured tone. “Mr. Horton has spoken to the servants multiple times and gone to Lady Bettina’s town house twice. He’s indicated he has some interesting news to share when next we meet. I have an appointment scheduled with him in London on Friday.”

Kate’s breathing was coming in fast pants now. Her heart beat a staccato rhythm in her chest. Interesting news? What did that mean? Friday was far too long to wait.

“Has there been any information about the grand jury?” she managed to choke out, twisting her skirts in her hands.

Abernathy regarded her down his long nose over the rims of his ever-present spectacles. “It’s to be convened after the holidays, your grace. Right after the new year, after Twelfth Night.”

James nodded. “So we have only until then to gather the rest of the evidence and complete the investigation?”

“Yes, my lord, but Mr. Horton has agreed to work day and night, even over Christmastide if he must. With the amount of money you’ve given him, he—”

James cleared his throat and gave Mr. Abernathy another stern glare. Abernathy snapped his mouth shut and cleared his throat too. “Yes, well, quite right, all of that is neither here nor there.”

Kate glanced back and forth suspiciously between the two men. James was spending a fortune on her defense? Oh God. The thought made her elated and completely anxious at the same time. She’d had no idea he’d hired a Bow Street runner to investigate. And apparently he hadn’t wanted her to know. He hadn’t mentioned it to her. Perhaps he did believe in her after all. She bit her lip. But what if Mr. Horton didn’t find anything? Or what if after his investigation was complete, he came to the conclusion that she was guilty? She shook her head. “I don’t understand. What exactly does Mr. Horton hope to discover?”

Mr. Abernathy turned to face her. “Why, the identity of your husband’s murderer, of course.”

CHAPTER 22

Themis had been retrieved from the neighbors’ house in London, placed inside a coach, and sent to the country. She was now lying curled up on the floor at Kate’s feet while Kate made her own little comfy spot in the estate library that had become her new workspace. She stared at the scribbled-on pieces of parchment that lay strewn all over her lap and the sofa.

She’d made a vow, a vow to finish the pamphlet as quickly as possible, and today she was feeling quite proud of herself for she’d made headway. She’d decided to write from the heart. Be honest. Write the truth. And the truth was that while she’d felt hurt, rejected, and scared, while she’d been angry with her husband and unhappy in her marriage, never, never in all of her imaginings had she ever thought about killing him. That was the truth, and she meant to tell it, and the devil take the consequences.

There was a sharp knock just before the door opened, and Kate glanced up to see James stroll in. Her heart melted. He took her breath away, so clean-shaven and straight-backed. His close-cropped dark hair perfectly in place and an always pleasant look upon his face.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, and Kate had the urge to toss her quill and parchment aside and shout, “Absolutely not.”

“I can come back later,” he continued.

“No, don’t leave!” The words escaped her lips with a bit more emphasis than she’d intended. How unfortunate. She pinched her arm.

He moved forward into the room. Themis lifted her head and wagged her tail. James called the dog over to pet her. “You’re writing?” he asked Kate.

“Yes.” She swallowed. “James, I—”

He put up a hand. “No need to—”

She pushed the quill and paper aside. “There is a need. Please let me say what I must say.”

“Very well.” Still standing, he propped a booted foot on the stool in front of her.

Kate screwed up the courage that had been flagging ever since the fire. “I’m sorry, James. So sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you. I’ve turned your whole life upside down and—”

“We’ve been over this. There is no need to apologize.”

“I must,” she said, glancing down at her hands. “I was the one who insisted you take me in. I should have just agreed to write the pamphlet in the Tower, not put you in danger. You offered me money and a venue to tell my story. That should have been enough.”

“Kate, I cannot blame you for wanting to be free.”

“I didn’t need to insist upon going to the farm. That was foolish of me. Someone saw us returning. I heard you tell Lord Colton. I’ll never forgive myself for what I’ve done, hurting you.”

“Kate, if anyone is at fault here, it’s me. I should have been more aware that afternoon when we returned from the country. It’s my fault you were seen. I agreed to your terms, knowing the danger. The pamphlet is something I wanted, something I asked for. You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

She hung her head. “Yes, but how much money will the pamphlet have to make you to pay for the cost of your ruined town house?”

“You let me worry about that. I just want to keep you safe.”

His words tugged at her heart. This man, he trusted her. He believed in her. He’d … “You hired a runner for me,” she said softly.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Pulling his boot from the stool, he shifted on his feet, bracing them apart. “You didn’t seem inclined to do so on your own.”

“You think I’m innocent?”

His jaw was tight. “I want to have the answers. Mr. Horton will see to it that the truth comes out.”

Tears burned the backs of her eyes. “But you wouldn’t have hired him if you were convinced I was guilty.”

His voice was low. “I don’t think you’re guilty, Kate.”

She glanced away, uncertain how to respond, biting the inside of her lip to keep from crying. “I’m nearly done with the pamphlet.”

He nodded.

“I just can’t help but think—” She stopped and twisted her fingers.

“Think what?”

“You’ve such an opportunity, James. To help people.”

He narrowed his eyes on her. “What do you mean?”

“Your press, the pamphlets.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m privileged. I’m famous, well, infamous. All of London wants to know what I have to say. I’ve been given the chance to tell the truth, share my story. But I can’t help but think of all the others.”

“The others?”

“Yes, all the other prisoners who’ve been wrongly accused. There must be scores of them, hundreds. No doubt Newgate is filled with them. Especially women who’ve been accused of something they haven’t done. They’ll never get the opportunity to tell the truth.”

“They will have their day in front of a judge.”

“Yes, but they can’t afford things like Bow Street runners and no one will ever know the truth if they are sentenced to die horrible deaths. There are no pamphlets for them.”

“Unfortunately, the justice system does not always mete out justice.”

“I cannot stand to think of the wrongly accused who have no one to fight for them.”

“I can understand your concern, but for now I am only worried about you. Let Abernathy and Horton finish their investigation and then we can discuss the others.” He turned to go.

“James?”

He stopped, turning his head to the side. “Yes?”

“Why do you believe in me? My innocence, I mean?”

He straightened his stance. “Perhaps it’s because I know what it feels like to be innocent and accused of killing someone.”

CHAPTER 23

Wearing a spring-green gown, Kate slid into the chair next to James at the dinner table that night. He’d left earlier. Stalked out of the library just after he’d made that amazing statement about knowing what it was like to be innocent and accused of killing someone. He hadn’t given her a chance to ask any questions. The accusation couldn’t have been public knowledge. She would have read about it in the papers. There’d be whispers. Rumors. Lady Mary would have mentioned it. His reputation wouldn’t have been so pristine—well, prior to his association with her at least. No, there hadn’t been a hint of scandal around the man. He was obviously harboring a secret, however. What was it?

She took a sip from her wine glass and cast her glance over the beautifully set table. She traded the solitude of her room for his company at dinner. Their meals together had become the bright spots of her day. She’d been enjoying their interludes, looking forward to them. That thought scared her more than she cared to examine. But she refused to leave here tonight without learning what James had meant by his cryptic statement in the library earlier.

A toasty fire crackled in the hearth while the cold wind whistled against the windows outside. The smell of the burning logs and roasted meat permeated the air. It was positively cozy in the dining room tonight. Would it be the last time she’d ever feel cozy?

Kate salivated when the footmen served roasted beef with watercress. The dinners James’s French chef cooked were absolutely delightful, so much better than the meals at her husband’s estate. She took up her fork and knife and began with relish.

James glanced at her. “How did the writing go today?”

Kate bit her lip. Apparently, they would begin with innocuous conversation. Very well. But she was loath to tell him that she was nearly finished with the pamphlet. She would never be so sneaky as to lie and tell him it wasn’t done when it was, but she had to admit, despite her vow to finish as quickly as possible, she’d been procrastinating and daydreaming a bit when she should have been writing. She glanced away. She’d been dreaming of him, actually. But she wasn’t about to tell him so. Her heart ached. James was the sort of man she might have fallen in love with ten years ago, had circumstances been entirely different. Of course the circumstances were not different, but it didn’t hurt to daydream, did it?

“Very well, actually,” she answered noncommittally, taking a bite of the delectable beef from the plate in front of her.

“I’m pleased to hear it.” He smiled at her.

Oh God, if only he knew what she’d been thinking. She glanced down at her plate and stabbed her fork into her watercress.

Two hours later when the dinner plates had been cleared, Kate pushed out her chair and stood to go. She dropped her napkin onto her chair. Somehow they’d managed to spend an entire evening together, and she hadn’t been able to summon the courage to ask James what he’d meant earlier. And now she was about to leave him. This was always the most melancholy time of the evening. James usually went back to his study to read or work, and she went back to her room or the library to write and to do her best to forget how lonely she felt, how awful things were.

“Thank you for yet another lovely dinner,” she said with a weak smile, turning toward the door.

“Kate.” The tone of his voice stopped her. There was something about it. Something different.

She turned back toward him. “Yes?”

“Would you … would you care to have a drink with me, in the study?”

“Would I…? Why, yes I would!” She smiled at him brightly.

“Excellent.” He extended his arm toward her and she moved forward and took it, so happy to have a reprieve from her maddening thoughts for one evening at least.

They walked down the hall discussing their very favorite parts of the meal they’d just enjoyed. James stopped in front of the doors to the study and pushed them open with one hand. “My lady.” He bowed, allowing her to precede him into the room.

“Thank you,” she answered, laughing.

The room was dark, save for a brace of candles resting on an end table. James saw her settled on the sofa before striding to the sideboard and pouring two glasses of Madeira. He returned to the settee, sat next to her, and handed her one.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the glass from his strong, warm hand. “It’s been an age since I drank Madeira.”

“Me too, actually.” He winked at her.

She took a long draught and closed her eyes, letting the wine play across her tongue. Madeira. The fine Portuguese wine so popular during the war with France when French wine had been in short supply. She’d savor it. It might well be the last time she’d ever drink it.
Live. Live. Live.
The words scattered across her brain. They used to comfort her, but now they haunted her. James’s town house would still be standing if she hadn’t tried to live, live, live.

James expelled his breath. “I don’t want you to worry,” he said. “About the case, I mean.”

She snapped open her eyes. “Worry?”

“I could tell you were upset when Abernathy was here. Horton is the best Bow Street has to offer. He’ll discover the truth.”

She took another small sip of wine. “I wish that could comfort me.”