by Meara Platt
John tightened his grip around her waist as she faltered on the last step. His big, muscled arms drew her close. Perfect arms, but she refused to think about their impressive strength. John did not care for her in that way and never would.
He paused in front of the fourth door on the right. “Here we are.”
She said nothing as he opened the door to reveal a cozy fire blazing in the hearth and a comfortable-looking bed that took up most of the small room. John’s travel pouch rested on a chair beside the hearth. “Where are the rest of your belongings, John?”
He leaned against the door frame as though afraid to enter his own chamber. Even at this distance, his dark gold hair managed to glow magnificently in the firelight. His eyes were a mix of pine green and lethal gray… yes, that’s what they were, a dangerous, haunting green, like the eyes of a predator. A wolf, perhaps. How many times had she lost herself in their vibrant depths? “Jordan’s farm is not far from here. That’s where I’m staying for grouse hunting season. But we’d planned to spend a few days hunting in these hills since the game is plentiful in this area, so we took rooms here to get an early start in the morning.” He nodded toward his pouch. “I have a spare shirt in there.”
“Soap and a comb, by any chance?”
He nodded. “Use whatever you need. Ask the maid to help you undress when she brings up the stew.”
“Would you mind terribly helping me now? Just a few tugs on the laces and I’ll manage the rest. The cold has seeped into my bones.”
To her surprise, John suddenly seemed panicked. No, she must have been mistaken. The man had ice in his veins. He was the coolest, most levelheaded person she’d ever known. Nothing ever rattled him, not even the threat of imminent death. She’d seen him in action at her uncle’s summer cottage when a ring of Napoleon’s spies had come after him and her brother, Julian. “Very well,” he said, walking toward her with such obvious reluctance, she wanted to tell him to go back downstairs and she’d fend for herself.
But she was cold and now shivering despite standing beside the fire. Its heat was not enough to warm her, not while she was still in her soaked gown.
“Raise your arm,” he said when he reached her side, the request sounding more like a tersely barked order. He bent his head to look at the wet, gnarled lace strings, his breath warm against her neck as he leaned closer. He’d been drinking ale, but the steel glint in his eyes revealed he was quite sober.
Indeed, this was John. Always in control of his surroundings and of himself.
A bolt of heat shot through her as his fingers grazed her waist while unknotting the laces. She tried to hide her response to his touch, but it felt too exquisitely good. It wasn’t his fault that he was big and handsome or that she found his touch intoxicating.
Curiously, he always tried to make himself look unexceptional. He wore the most unattractive spectacles, for one thing. But she’d long ago seen through that ruse. His keen eyes and senses rivaled those of any beast on the prowl. Most young ladies in Society considered him a crushing bore. That was the face he showed to all but his closest friends, that of a scholar and a small game hunter who loved the dullest, most esoteric topics imaginable, ones that were purposely intended to have everyone yawning within moments of meeting him.
She wasn’t sure why he felt the need to push everyone away.
It hadn’t worked with her. She knew the sort of man he truly was. Well, no one truly knew John beyond the few surface layers he deigned to reveal. She’d pierced a few more layers than most, but she still had not come close to penetrating his heart.
She was amazed and honored that he’d allowed her to see in that far. Surely, he must have felt some level of comfort with her.
Perhaps he even liked her a little.
She wasn’t sure, for he did not appear to be particularly happy with her at this moment. In truth, she sensed nothing but coiled tension.
“There, done.” His voice was raw and husky, sending tingles through her body, which showed how pathetic she was to respond to a man who barely tolerated her out of duty to her brother.
He turned away quickly and headed for the door.
“Thank you, John,” she called after him.
He nodded. “Get some rest. We’ll discuss what to do about your situation in the morning.”
Nicola knew what she was going to do. She was going to pack up her aunt and uncle, and then cut all ties to the Marquis of Somersby.
The only question in her mind was, would John help?
CHAPTER 2
JOHN AWAKENED AT the cock’s first crow, too on edge to sleep any longer. Not that he ever got much sleep. His nights were always fitful, sometimes harrowing, and last night had been particularly bad knowing Nicola slept in the room next to his. He wasn’t certain which dreams were worse, the nightmares that had begun in his childhood or the hot, wild dreams of Nicola. He always awoke with an ache from those of her, a burning ache that he wanted to dismiss as purely carnal. But he couldn’t, for the girl had a way of slicing through his empty heart.
He quietly rose from his pallet and crossed to the window to peer out of it.
The rain had ended shortly after midnight, and a quick inspection of the road that stretched out from the tavern into the hills revealed it would be passably dry within a few hours. It would only take the heat of the morning sun to dry out the lingering puddles and mud.
His gaze drifted to the distant hills that were filled with rolling waves of purple heather. He loved the Highlands, the heather and thistles, the rowan and gorse growing wild. There was abundant life hidden beneath the blanket of shrubs.
His gaze lifted to the sky and the goshawks quietly circling overhead on the hunt for prey. The clouds gathering over the hills resembled gray-clad clansmen on the march to war, and the wind whistling through the valleys brought to mind the keening wail of bagpipes.
The Highlands suited his temperament, appearing serene on its hard, cragged surface, but scratch below the layers and one would find the wildness simmering beneath. John had learned early on to survive on his feral instincts, much like the wild game that nested in these hills. He’d had no choice. It was the only reason he’d survived.
That was him, the lone survivor.
Those childhood memories still haunted him.
Back then, he’d been too young to protect those he loved, but he was a man now. This was how he awoke to each new day, with a solemn vow to fight anyone who would harm those dear to his heart.
He silently vowed to protect Nicola to his dying breath.
He shook his head and groaned, knowing he was being as ridiculously dramatic as Nicola had been last night. She wasn’t in any danger, but if she was firm in her decision not to marry Somersby, there could be some unpleasantness. He would arrange for her and Lord and Lady Darnley to be safely returned home.
After sparing a glance at Jordan, he set about quietly washing and dressing. But perhaps he didn’t need to tiptoe about the room. Jordan had remained in the taproom well into the wee hours and was now sleeping like the dead, stretched diagonally across the bed, fully clothed with his boots still on. A thundering herd of horses could have galloped through these quarters and Jordan would not have heard a single hoofbeat.
John could not recall a time when he’d ever let down his guard that completely.
No, he never had.
He left the room to go downstairs for a light repast, but paused first beside Nicola’s door. Was she awake yet? He hesitated a moment and then knocked lightly.
He heard Nicola’s graceful footsteps moving toward the door. “Who is it?”
“John.” He shouldn’t have disturbed her at this early hour, but was glad that she was already up and about. He wanted a little time alone with her. He always wanted time alone with her, but never allowed himself to give in to the urge. This was different. She’d come to him so obviously distraught last night.
“Oh, thank heaven.” She opened her door and cast him an angelic smile. “I
need your help to tie me up.”
“Tie you up?” He quickly dismissed the notion that rushed into his head which was too obscene to reveal to Nicola. “Ah, your lace strings.”
She nodded. “My gown is dry but the laces are still a little too stiff for me to manage.”
“I’ll do it.” He stepped into her chamber and shut the door behind him. No one would know. No one would see them. Only the guests embarking on their hunting expeditions would be up at this early hour and most of them were downstairs already. “Did you sleep well?”
Nicola sighed. “No. How about you? I’m sorry you had to sleep on the floor. Between that and Mr. Drummond’s snoring, I doubt you got any rest.” She cast him another smile, this one more impish. “I could hear his snores through my wall after he came upstairs. I thought a flock of geese had taken up lodgings in your chamber, he honked so loudly through the night.”
John shook his head and laughed. “He was a bit loud, but he’s sleeping like the dead now.”
He forced his hands to slip off Nicola’s luscious body the moment he was done. “Are you hungry?”
She nodded.
They made their way downstairs and had no sooner finished a breakfast of oatmeal, bangers, and tea than John heard a commotion at the entry. “Where is she? Tell Lady Nicola she’s to come downstairs at once.”
John shot to his feet at the sound of Somersby’s arrogant voice. “Nicola, get behind me. Seems your husband-to-be is here and he doesn’t sound happy.”
“I told you last night, that loathsome snake will never be my husband.”
He ignored her scowl and nudged her behind him. “You’re still angry. The two of you need to calm down and talk this through.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. He’s a monster. He won’t listen to me. Besides, I’m not taking wedding advice from you.”
John rolled his eyes. “Did you ever hear the adage about not biting the hand that feeds you? I’m trying to help you and you’re insulting me.”
She stepped in front of him even though he’d been trying to gently push her behind him for her own protection. “Nicola, do as I say.”
She cast him the defiant glare that she’d perfected, that pouty-lipped, chin up in the air and sultry, eyes blazing look that made him want to throttle her and at the same time kiss her into eternity.
Lord, the girl was a nuisance.
Her chin tipped up a notch higher. “Talking to him is a waste of time. He won’t listen. He means to drag me back to his lodge and punish me for running off. He has a cabinet full of whips of all shapes and sizes.”
John growled. “You’re making that up.”
A rose blush stained her cheeks. “Perhaps. So what if I am? I’ll wager that he does. All depraved villains have them. Whips and chains and black masks and lots of naughty leather things that must serve a shocking purpose, although I have no idea what that purpose could be. Not to mention the other wicked instruments of—”
“Where did you hear such nonsense?” He ran a hand through his hair in consternation. “Just get behind me and keep quiet. Can you do that? I’m trying to get us both through this encounter without fists flying.”
She nodded and stepped behind him, resting her hand against his back as though needing to hold on to him. “And I don’t like the way his lips curl upward in a sneer.”
He dismissed her comment as her touch rippled through him. He wanted to tell her not to do that, for his concentration fell to pieces whenever she touched him. “Nicola, wait by the back table where we sat last night. I want you well out of the way while I first approach him.”
“Oh, all right. But don’t trust him, John.”
“Right. Got it. He’s a depraved viper.” He was glad that Nicola no longer cared for the man and refused to marry him, but was also disgusted with himself for wanting Nicola to be his without any intention of offering for her.
If anyone was a depraved viper, it was him.
The girl deserved happiness and a good man to love her.
“Somersby,” he said, approaching the scowling marquis who stood in the entry hall with five rough-looking men. “You needn’t worry. Lady Nicola is safe. Mr. Drummond and I will return her to your lodge in a little while. I’m sure her aunt and uncle must be wringing their hands in concern.”
Somersby sneered at him, bringing Nicola’s words to mind. Whips and chains and toss in a wicked sneer. “She comes back with me now, Bainbridge. Don’t interfere or you’ll regret it. This is between Lady Nicola and me.”
“Are you threatening me? Because I don’t take kindly to threats.” Gad, had Nicola been right about this arse?
“Where is she?” Somersby raised his hand, about to motion for his ruffians to search the inn, but he must have noticed the lethal glint in John’s eyes, and stilled his hand in midair. “Very well, what do you propose?”
“Merely that you speak to her. She was caught unawares last night and was shocked by what she saw.”
Somersby nodded. “So she told you.”
“She would have sought out her brother had he been here. I was the next best thing. That’s all. I am neither condoning nor condemning what you did, nor am I in the habit of gossiping. What matters is how you address the situation this morning. Treating her with kindness and respect will help. She’s to be your wife, after all.”
“That’s right. My wife, not yours. She will never be yours.”
Never. That one word struck like a knife to John’s heart and momentarily stole his breath away. Had he imagined it, or was there a purposeful malice in that statement? A wicked sense of glee in twisting the knife in him?
What had he ever done to offend the man?
Somersby was too busy glancing around and scowling at the small crowd of men now gathered around them to notice that he’d struck deep. Nor did he appear pleased to have these men as witnesses, but John was glad they were present if only to keep the man’s temper in check, for he was still riled. “Mine. I will not allow her to make a fool of me.”
“No need. You’re doing an able job of it all by yourself.” John knew he should not have goaded him, but the man needed to be taken down a peg or two. He willed himself to remain calm and not curl his hands into fists, but it was no easy thing. He itched to plant the pompous oaf a facer. One solid punch to lay him low. “You’re mistaken if you believe Lady Nicola can be threatened or intimidated. You are dangerously mistaken if you believe I will stand back and do nothing to protect her.”
Somersby poked him in the chest with his finger. “And you’re mistaken if you think to interfere. She is my betrothed. She will be my wife. Do we understand each other?”
John folded his arms over his chest. “She isn’t your betrothed yet, nor will she ever be if this is the way you intend to treat her. Put your hand on me again and I’ll break it. Put your hand on Lady Nicola and I’ll kill you. I think we understand each other very well.”
Somersby noticeably blanched at his remark. Good, he wanted to leave no doubt that he’d be watching the marquis. He could tell by the man’s nervous glance that he was reconsidering his approach. John smothered a grin, glad that he’d gotten his point across. Even the curious onlookers had hurriedly moved off, obviously not intending to be caught in the crossfire if shots were fired.
“Bainbridge, I am obviously out of sorts. What happened last night distressed me as much as it did Lady Nicola. Of course, I will respect her. She’s to be my wife. She will bear my children. She’ll be my duchess when I inherit my father’s title. I will talk to her. I will apologize to her on bended knee if I must. I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right.”
John dared not believe a word of his pretty speech, but Nicola must have been listening and did appear to accept what the bounder had just said. She stepped into the hallway and came to his side. “Lord Bainbridge, it’s all right. I’ll return to Lord Somersby’s lodge with him now.” She cast both of them a wan smile. “I’m so sorry I worried everyone. How is my uncle? And Au
nt Bess?”
Somersby’s anger seemed to fade away as Nicola reached his side. “Lord and Lady Darnley are quite distressed, my dear. The sooner we return to the lodge, the better.”
She nodded. “I’m ready to go back now. I behaved like a child. Can you ever forgive me?”
A meek and biddable Nicola?
One who was now apologizing to a man she’d called a viper and a monster only moments ago?
John knew her better than to believe his own ears. What was she up to?
“Thank you for everything, Lord Bainbridge,” she said, the soft sparkle in her eyes causing his heart to beat a little faster. “Please extend my good wishes to Mr. Drummond. You will both attend this evening’s party, won’t you? I insist on it. My uncle will be devastated if you refuse.”
What? No, he and Jordan were on the hunt for dangerous smugglers. The last thing they needed was to lose a night sipping champagne and listening to Society’s elite grumble about how sparse the grouse were this year.
But the short hairs at the nape of his neck were prickling.
Despite Nicola’s presently demure appearance, she was going to refuse the marquis’ proposal of marriage. Perhaps this was her way of asking for his help in keeping her and her family safe when Somersby’s anger erupted. “Of course, Lady Nicola. We look forward to it.”
Somersby shot daggers at him with his gaze. “See you tonight then, Bainbridge.”
“Count on it, Somersby.” Hell. Hell. Hell and damnation. He’d have to pack an armory of weapons on his person because the evening was going to turn ugly. So much for catching rebellious smugglers. King and country would have to wait while he rescued Nicola.
He remained in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest and the cool breeze blowing through his hair. The sun was out and beginning to dry the wet roadways. The marquis’ carriage kicked up little dust as it disappeared around the bend and made its way toward his grand lodge. His so-called footmen rode behind the carriage, but he noticed one or two of them glance back at him.
