Secret Brides [3] Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage (5 page)

The freezing wind whipped her hair, and it soon came unlodged from the tenuous bun she’d created moments earlier. The long red tresses wrapped around her face, partially blinding her. She tried to pull them away, tugging at the hair in her eyes, breathing in the icy night air, and watching the bridge draw closer and closer. She widened her eyes. In that moment she was absolutely exhilarated. She dug her fingernails into her palms as they approached the gate. The horse’s hooves thundered across the wood, echoing in her chest and giving her an even greater thrill of freedom as they made their way across the bridge. The guard in the watch tower saluted them, and Medford hoisted his hand to return the gesture. Kate bit her lip, wanting to smile. They were going to make it. They were going to get away.

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?”

“I do want to discuss the details,” Lord Medford replied with a firm nod. “Very much so. And I live extremely nearby.” He smiled at her then and her knees melted. “This is my house. You’re staying with me.”

CHAPTER 7

What happened next was all a very efficient business. Lord Medford issued orders to a variety of servants who soon materialized from the interior of the house. Kate had never seen such smartly dressed servants. Not a wrinkle in their clothing. Not a hair out of place. Not a single frown. Lord Medford pointed, ordered, and issued commands, and his words were met with a flurry of precise activity and a minimum of folderol. Kate watched the proceedings with wide eyes. Whatever else Lord Medford was, the man was entirely in control.

Lord Medford finally turned to Kate where she stood inching toward a corner, watching everything with great interest. “Mrs. Hartsmeade here will see you to your room,” he said. “A fire has already been started, and she’s laid out some furs and blankets to warm you.”

Kate nodded jerkily and glanced around. She looked up to see an older woman who stepped forward and took her bag. She was obviously the housekeeper. “And I’ve already got a nice, hot bath waiting for you, your grace,” the older woman said in a soothing, friendly voice.

Kate nodded again. It was all she could do. It had all happened so quickly. And it all sounded so wonderful. Since coming in the back door, she was already warming up, and she hadn’t had a proper bath in over a fortnight. No doubt she smelled like a foot. A very dirty foot. A bath would be absolutely heavenly.

She followed the housekeeper out of the room, with a backward glance and a thankful smile directed at Lord Medford.

*   *   *

Kate didn’t entirely realize just how grand a house the viscount lived in until the next morning when she had a chance to explore. She still couldn’t quite believe that Lord Medford intended for her to live under his very own roof. And how grand a roof it was. Even her husband’s town house hadn’t been this grand.

The man must sell a great many pamphlets.
She eyed everything with wonder, the delicate French wallpaper, the expensive Aubusson rugs, the ormolu clocks, the priceless works of art and portraits that hung on the walls. She’d never seen such a well-ordered home. Every single item was perfectly in place. The maids scurried about plucking nonexistent bits of dust from tabletops, the footmen stood at attention in perfectly pressed livery, and the butler and housekeeper were so thoroughly organized, Kate got the impression that they had their days scheduled to the second. In the humming precision that was Lord Medford’s house, Kate felt like a pigeon in a peacock’s nest.

Her breakfast had arrived that morning on a shining silver tray that held a precisely pressed linen napkin embossed with a scrolling letter
B,
a scone and homemade jam, a pot of chocolate, a china tea service. Even a tiny crystal vase filled with roses graced the setting. Kate plucked one of the sweet flowers from the vase and swiped it under her nose. She closed her eyes and breathed in its delicate scent. Where in the world did Lord Medford get roses in winter? She bit her lip. It wasn’t possible that he’d arranged for them after she’d mentioned wanting to smell roses last night, was it? No, it had only been a matter of hours since she’d made that comment. No doubt Mrs. Hartsmeade had chosen the flowers.

Kate watched with wide eyes as the efficiency that was Lord Medford’s household worked its magic around her. Everything was choreographed to the smallest detail. One maid whisked in and plumped the pillows behind Kate’s head, another brought her a decadently soft robe, a third stoked the toasty fire in the hearth across from the bed, and Mrs. Hartsmeade herself had brought the breakfast tray along with a wide smile. Oh yes, Kate had made a good bargain coming here.

“Are you feeling better this morning, your grace?” the housekeeper asked, deftly sliding the tray onto the bed next to Kate and promptly filling her teacup.

Kate couldn’t help but return the woman’s smile. “I am. Very much so. I must say I wasn’t treated this well at my own … my husband’s home.”

Mrs. Hartsmeade’s brow furrowed. “Lord Medford indicated that you were to be treated to our best and given whatever you desire. So please do not hesitate to ask for anything.”

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Hartsmeade.”

“I’ve taken the liberty of pressing the clothing you brought with you, and Lord Medford has sent one of the footmen to Markingham Abbey to fetch more of your things.”

Kate blushed at that. Lord Medford was fetching her clothing? Did no detail escape the man’s attention?

“And not to worry, your grace,” Mrs. Hartsmeade said in a lower tone. “You may rest assured that all of Lord Medford’s servants are utterly discreet. No one will know you’re here, not from the servants.” She gave a firm nod.

Kate expelled her breath. She had been a bit worried about that with so many people flitting about, but they all seemed so flawlessly proper. She couldn’t imagine any one of them gossiping the way the servants at Markingham Abbey were wont to do. She smiled at the older woman. “Thank you for that, Mrs. Hartsmeade.”

“I’ll leave you to your breakfast, your grace,” the housekeeper replied. “And later, Louisa will be in to help you dress.”

Kate nodded. Oh how she wished she could ask Mrs. Hartsmeade not to call her “your grace,” but she could just imagine the proper woman having conniptions were Kate to suggest any such thing.

After enjoying the breakfast that was infinitely better than the fare that had been served to her at the Tower, Kate stretched and relaxed back into the pillows on the bed. Ah, treated as a guest of honor in a fine town house in Mayfair. So much better than her cold dank room at the Tower. The hot bath she’d had last night had been so heavenly she’d nearly cried and she’d slept better than she had in weeks. It was all like a dream.