Secret Brides [3] Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage by Valerie Bowman

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.”

 
    CHAPTER 12
     
    James woke the next morning at his usual hour. With the help of his valet, he shaved and dressed. After he returned from his daily bout of fencing at the club, he breakfasted and made his way to his study. Themis followed him. Her tail wagging, she lay on the rug next to him.
    James tried to concentrate on the paperwork on his desk but the scenario from the night before kept replaying itself over and over in his mind.
    Kate had asked him if he’d brought her here to keep an eye on her. Yes, partially, but mostly because he had to ensure she was safe. If the public discovered she was staying in a Mayfair town house, they’d rip the bloody walls down around them, and James would be responsible for her being hurt or possibly killed. He couldn’t allow that. No, keeping her as close to him as possible was the best defense and he intended to do so, right here.
    But there was another reason if he were being honest with himself. One that made him shift in his chair, rather guiltily. Despite what he’d told himself last night, he wanted to be around her to get a sense of whether she was truly innocent. Did she kill Markingham or not? All external evidence indicated that she did. But she seemed so soft and sincere, as if she couldn’t harm a bug. There was something so incongruous about the woman herself and the charges that had been brought against her.
    James tossed his quill onto the desk and scrubbed his hands across his face. And why was he so bloody attracted to her? He’d lived the life of a monk. True, he’d had the occasional liaison here and there with a discreet widow, but he was hardly a profligate. He prided himself on being discerning. Meaningless intimate encounters didn’t interest him. And love had hardly been anything he’d been interested in either. He was a confirmed bachelor. But bachelor or no, Kate was making him feel things that had been dormant for … too long. Much too long. And it was entirely inappropriate. Good God, the woman had just lost her husband and was accused of murder. She should not be forced to endure James’s unwanted attentions. How many times had he stopped himself from reaching out and touching her hair last night? Not to mention her smell, a mixture of strawberries and soap … was slowly driving him mad every time he was in her presence. No. He’d keep his hands to himself, however difficult that proved to be. He was a gentleman after all. He couldn’t help his physical reaction to her, but he could bloody well help whether he acted upon that attraction, and he had absolutely no intention of doing so.
    A sharp rap sounded at the