by Tarah Scott
“I am coming.”
“Nicholas, no.”
“Yes,” her father said. “He has not only a right, but an obligation to be there.”
She wanted to argue, but knew it was fruitless. “As you wish.”
Lord Allaway said, “If you will come with me, I will show you where he is.”
They followed him to a small bedchamber that Josephine estimated to be in the west wing. She recognized Dr. Weir, who had seen to the young Lord Crenshaw yesterday and—she swallowed—Sheriff Boyd.
Doctor Weir paused in setting a glass of water on the nightstand and looked over his shoulder at them.
“Doctor,” her father said.
Dr. Weir nodded. When he straightened, Josephine caught sight of the brooch, her rings, the handkerchief, and Nicholas’ letters sitting on the nightstand with the pouch. In the fray, she’d forgotten about the items. It suddenly seemed strange that she had planned to use them to pay for entrance into a convent.
“How is he?” Nicholas asked.
The doctor gave a small shake of his head. “I have given him laudanum for the pain. There is little more I can do.”
“Can we speak with him?” Sheriff Boyd asked.
“If he wakens. I will take some tea and look in on him when you are finished. If anything happens in the meantime, call for me.”
The sheriff nodded, and he left.
“Lord Wylst has made some serious accusations,” Sheriff Boyd said when the door clicked shut.
“Such as?” Nicholas asked.
“He swears you attacked him while he was speaking with Lady Josephine.”
“I caught him attacking her,” Nicholas replied. “I was defending her.”
Sheriff Boyd shifted his attention to her. “Is that true?”
She nodded. “Yes, and Lord Wylst drew a sword on Lord Grayson first. Nicholas was fighting only with his fists, but he was forced to defend himself with a sword in order to keep Lord Wylst from killing him.”
“Lord Wylst swears you asked to meet him,” the sheriff said.
“Meet him? That is untrue. I happened upon him in the hallway.”
“He would not be the first man you have met in private.”
Josephine gasped. Nicholas took a step toward the sheriff, but her father said, “Hold, Nicholas.” Then said to the sheriff, “What do you mean by this accusation?”
“According to Wylst, two days ago, Lady Josephine was seen slipping away with Lord Beaumond, and Wylst says she met him in the chapel only last night.”
Her father didn’t so much as flick a glance in her direction, but Josephine knew he realized the accusation was true. “Surely it must be clear that Wylst is trying to tarnish my daughter’s reputation in order to stay out of prison.”
“I seriously doubt he will live long enough to go to prison,” Sheriff Boyd said.
“He may not agree.”
The sheriff took two steps to the nightstand and picked up the brooch and rings, then looked at Josephine. “He claims you agreed to run away with him and intended to sell these items.”
Nicholas cast her an odd look. Her heart picked up speed, but she casually nodded to the letters, and said, “Did he account for why I had the letters from Lord Grayson?”
“That is why he said you quarreled.”
“He is obviously lying,” Nicholas said.
“I am sorry, my lord, but you are the last person who would accept that your fiancé would run away with another man.”
“I tell you, I was not planning to run away with him,” Jo insisted.
“Can you explain why you had those personal items with you?” he asked.
“She does not have to explain,” Nick cut in. “It is his word against hers. That is not enough to convict her of lying.”
“You are correct,” Sheriff Boyd said. “But if you believed she was running away with Lord Wylst that would be a good reason for you to attack him.”
“You are free to try and prove that in a court of law.”
The sheriff nodded. “I will be speaking with the magistrate about doing just that.”
Josephine looked from Nick to her father in panic. This couldn’t be happening. “Sir—”
“Josephine?”
Jo jumped at hearing Lord Wylst call her name.
Nicholas was at her side in an instant. “Josephine, you should not be here.”
She shook him off and hurried to the bedside. The baron looked up at her.
“You are dying,” she said.
He laughed, but the laugh turned into a wet cough that made her shudder.
“I am not yet dead,” he rasped.
“I have told my father the truth,” she said.
The baron’s eyes flicked to her father, then came back to rest on her. “I am sorry, Josephine. I know how you once felt about Grayson, but I had to tell the sheriff the truth.” He looked at her father. “I regret you had to find out the truth this way, Montagu. I wanted to come to you, but she insisted we run away—” he coughed again “—and inform you after we were married.”
“How dare you?” Josephine whirled and faced the sheriff. “Sir, there is one very good reason I would never have run away with Lord Wylst to marry him.”
“What is that?”
Nicholas grasped her arm. “Josephine.”
She looked at him. “I will not have you go to prison to protect me.”
“I will not go to prison.”
She returned her attention to the sheriff. “Because Lord Wylst is my uncle.”
Shock registered on Sheriff Boyd’s face.
“What the devil?” Lord Wylst burst out. “Josephine, what do you mean by this?”
She cut her gaze to him. “Your lies are finished, sir.”
“Is this true, Montagu?” the sheriff demanded. “Is Wylst your brother?”
He shook his head. “Not my brother.” Her father looked at the baron. “He is the Duke of Carlisle’s brother.”
The baron’s face mottled in rage and he tried to push upright, but collapsed onto the mattress wheezing.
“What does all this mean?” Sheriff Boyd demanded of her father.
“It means, I am not the man who fathered Josephine. Wylst was blackmailing her to keep the truth secret.”
Josephine started. She hadn’t told her father Lord Wylst had been blackmailing her.
The sheriff stared for a moment at her father, then shifted his attention to the baron. “It seems you are the one who should face charges, Lord Wylst.”
He coughed again, harder this time, and Josephine stared down at him. He was truly dying.
He turned feral eyes on her father. “If I go up on charges, the truth will become public.”
The sheriff’s mouth turned down in distaste. “You will not live long enough to tell anyone.”
Fear widened his eyes. “The doctor, I want to see—”
He coughed again and Josephine shivered at the sight of blood in the corner of his mouth. She turned and Nicholas pulled her into his warmth, then led her from the room.
He kept to the narrow hallway and up a flight of stairs until they came to a small library. Inside the room, he closed the door and pulled her into his arms.
* * *
“Nicholas,” was the only word Nicholas let Josephine speak before covering her mouth with his.
He knew his kiss was savage, but he could no longer halt the tide of emotion that had coursed through him since seeing her struggling with Wylst. He thrust his tongue inside her mouth and devoured her.
Josephine whimpered. Heat flashed through him like a sudden tsunami. Then she was kissing him back with the same violent need and Nick knew he had to stop before it was too late.
He dragged his mouth from hers and buried his face in her hair. “I am so sorry.” His chest tightened. “I didn’t know. All these weeks—”
“Don’t,” she cut in.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and went up on tiptoes as she pulled his mouth back to h
ers. Her lips touched his and blood thundered through his ears. His cock swelled to what felt like fatal proportions and he feared he truly wouldn’t be able to stop even if she begged him to. She pressed her body against his. It had been madness to duck into this room.
“Jo,” he said against her mouth. “Your mother will be expecting us.”
“Please.” She wrapped her arms around his back. “I need you.”
She sucked his tongue into her mouth. His bollocks drew up in exquisite pain.
The world vanished. Nicholas backed her up against the wall. His bulging cock was crushed against her abdomen and for an instant he thought he would spend himself in his trousers. She arched her breasts. Nicholas yanked one sleeve down her arm. She wore not corset, and one perfect pink bud jutted toward him. His breathing turned harsh.
He took the nipple in his mouth and sucked. Her sharp intake of breath fueled the fire coursing through his veins. Her hands slid down his back and over his buttocks. When she squeezed, pleasure raced through him. He should put a halt to this insanity. Her father might overlook Nicholas making love to her, but this was animal need.
She squeezed his arse again and his cock throbbed. He sucked harder on her nipple. Her fingers dug into him and he could no longer stand the torture. Nicholas straightened and fumbled with the fastening on his trousers, nearly tearing them free. He yanked up her skirt, then lifted her. Josephine threw her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. He fitted his rod between the opening in her drawers and, in in great thrust, entered her. She cried out and fear sliced through him.
“Jo,” he rasped. “Did I—”
“God, Nick, don’t stop. Please.”
One hand braced against the wall, he pulled back then drove inside her again.
“Again,” she begged.
He obeyed, again and again until she cried out, and his own shuddering release followed in blinding pleasure. Breathing heavy, Nicholas hugged her close and managed to stumble to the small couch on the left wall. He collapsed onto the cushion, her small body on top of his. She went limp across his body, and he swore no one would ever again hurt her.
Chapter Fourteen
A prickle of awareness crept up Josephine’s arms when Nicholas stepped closer, edging her deeper into the corner of the crowded ballroom. He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. His eyes lifted and met hers as his mouth pressed against her fingers. The music in the background faded and she was conscious only of his warm fingers grasping her hand, his moist mouth flush against her flesh. Her pulse jumped as she remembered those lips on hers, sliding lower—a couple, dancing, swung into view. The orchestra blared and the buzz of conversation broke the spell.
A flush warmed Josephine’s cheeks. The twitch at the corner of Nick’s mouth told her he was pleased with having made her blush in the very public ballroom.
He straightened. “Shall I fetch refreshments, Lady Josephine?”
“That would be wonderful. You wore me out with that last dance.”
“I have yet to wear you out. But I will, and very soon.”
Another flush went through her, this one hot and fast like lava. Would she ever stop feeling this way when he looked at her? She cast an embarrassed glance around the ballroom, but no one seemed to notice their tête-à-tête.
Nick glanced at the crush of people milling about the room and grimaced. “You realize I take my life in my hands by venturing into that mob.”
She laughed. “I imagine you will do well enough.”
He gave her a doubtful look. “If I don’t return, do you promise to shut yourself up in a nunnery and mourn me the remainder of your days?”
Jo was suddenly catapulted back in time to the previous month and her plans to do just that.
The amusement vanished from Nicholas’ expression and understanding transformed his expression into pain. “Damn it, Jo. That’s what you had planned.”
Words refused to form in her mouth. She feared if even one word passed her lips she would break down into tears.
“Why did you not tell me?” he asked.
Despite the buzz of conversation around them, he spoke low, urgent, but she heard—understood—every word...the underlying meaning: what else have you not told me?
She gave a small shake of her head. The guilt that had subsided to a dull reminder roared to life with a fury that staggered her. Despite the fact that the public sensation Nick had caused by killing Lord Wylst had subsided, the fear of discovery haunted her dreams nightly. Sheriff Boyd had remained true to his word and hadn’t revealed their secret, but—
“Josephine.”
Nick’s sharp voice brought her back to him.
“You have nothing to fear.”
She hated it when he read her mind.
“Nothing has changed,” he said. “The plans we made, our promises to one another...” He lifted his brows. “You understand?”
For the thousandth time, she recalled Nick’s promise to give to Annabel their father’s estate when he was gone. That had eased the guilt slightly, for she couldn’t live with herself knowing she had received what was rightfully her sister’s inheritance, even if it was by an accident of birth that she had no hand in. There was no way to pass the title to Annabel—to do so was to tell the world Josephine wasn’t the Marquess of Montagu’s daughter—but their father’s property and the majority of his wealth would see Annabel through life comfortably.
“Now,” Nick placed a finger beneath Jo’s chin and tilted her head up toward his, “shall I bring you something cool to drink?”
He stared at her, dark eyes intense, yet soft and warm. She nodded. He smiled and for an instant she feared—and thrilled—that he might kiss her despite the fact they were in a crowded ballroom. But he released her chin, then turned into the crowd. She watched him shoulder his way through the throng until he disappeared down the hallway leading to the refreshments room.
Josephine leaned against the wall and watched the dancers. This was the first party she’d attended since Lord Wylst’s death. Her days had begun to take on a sense of normalcy, but she knew that was because she filled the hours with work in the garden, correspondences, shopping, anything to keep herself busy. Nicholas—her heart squeezed—Nicholas had wrapped her in his protective arms and kissed her nightly before he was finally forced by her parents to return to his own home.
She had scarcely allowed herself to hope that they might return to life as they knew it before Lord Wylst came into their lives. Josephine’s gaze caught on Annabel on the dance floor. Calum Denton, the 7th Marquess of Northington, was dancing with her too close for Josephine’s liking. She scanned the room as best she could for her father. Marquess or not, her father would not be pleased the young man was taking liberties.
Lady Evers stepped into view, accompanied by Miss Henley. Lady Evers’ eyes caught, then narrowed on Josephine. “I wonder that you can show your face here.”
Jo stiffened. Apparently news of Lord Wylst’s death was still on the minds of some small, petty people.
“A person such as yourself has no business in a respectable home such as this.” Lady Evers scanned the people nearest them. “Is Lord Grayson here with you? I daresay he is. His audacity knows no bounds.” Her eyes came back to Josephine. “How a murderer can think to associate with decent folk—”
Miss Henley gasped in unison with Josephine’s “Murderer?” Fury flashed through her. “If you are referring to Nicholas defending himself against Lord Wylst, you are mistaken. It is not a crime to protect oneself.”
“Do not pretend you don’t know about the letter that was printed in the John Bull by James Stuart, solicitor for Baron Wylst,” Lady Evers shot back. “Poor Lord Wylst. It is now plain Lord Grayson did, indeed, murder him.”
The letter printed? Darkness squeezed in around Josephine’s vision. Lord Wylst had made good on his threat to publish the truth upon his death? She, Nicholas, and her family had talked about this, knew it could happen. Despite Nicholas
’ efforts, he had been unable to locate any solicitor who admitted to doing more for Lord Wylst than the passing legal matter. He owed money to half a dozen solicitors and Nicholas had concluded that even if the baron’s threat were true, he was so deeply in debt that it was unlikely he had paid any solicitor enough money to guarantee that his wishes would be carried out upon his death.
But Nicholas had been wrong,
The thought snapped Josephine from her stupor. Nick had been wrong and he would suffer as a result.
She took a step toward Lady Evers. “I advise you to beware what accusations you throw about, my lady. Lord Grayson and my father will not take kindly to attacks on his lordship’s reputation and character.”
Lady Evers shrunk back in uncertainty. She darted a glance at Miss Henley, whose eyes had gone wide as saucers.
Anger pinched Lady Evers’ mouth. “The truth cannot stay buried forever.”
Jo gave a harsh laugh. “Indeed not, as Sheriff Boyd demonstrated when he proved that Lord Grayson defended me against Lord Wylst.”
“And you expect us to believe that the fact you are not truly Lord Montagu’s legitimate daughter has nothing to do with Lord Grayson killing the baron?”
Her heart began to pound. If the news had reached Inverness from a small paper like the John Bull that could only mean that all of Great Britain knew. Her mind came to a sudden halt.
“The John Bull?” she repeated. The story hadn’t been printed in the Times? “Isn’t the John Bull that new paper published only this year by Theodore Hook?” Josephine gave a condescending laugh. “My God, I am surprised that even you are fool enough to believe anything printed in disreputable paper like the Bull. Only the most uncouth of persons reads such a paper.” Which meant a great many in Society.
“The Bull is a perfectly respectable paper,” Lady Evers shot back. “They publish parliamentary reports.”
“Putting a dress on a sow does not make it a lady,” Josephine gave her a cold look. “I thought you were cut above that. It seems I was wrong.”
Lady Evers drew a sharp breath. “How dare you?” A malicious gleam lit her eyes. “My father arrived with the paper from London just this afternoon. I wager Lady Beecham has yet to learn the truth. I feel it is my duty to seek her out and inform her that you are not who you pretend to be. She will not appreciate a person such as you being in her home.”
