by Tarah Scott
“No, Jo, he won’t spread that, or any other, rumor about you,” Nicholas continued. “Though I don’t give a damn if he takes out an ad in the Times announcing that he took your virginity.”
“Rumor?” she repeated.
His gaze bore into her. “It’s been six years. If you didn’t wait for me, I would understand.”
But she had waited for him. Two long years, she’d clung to the two letters he’s sent. But a third letter never came and when he didn’t return even after his father’s death, she finally accepted that he wasn’t coming back—at least not to her. Despite his silence and her anger, all other men paled beside his memory. She told herself she was remembering a man of such character and sentiment that no flesh and blood man could rival the memory…the legend. Then he’d returned. A man who made the memory seem like a mere shadow.
“I suppose I’m to blame,” he said with a bitter laugh. “I was a fool to think I could allay our families’ fears by going away until you turned eighteen.” He released a breath. “I said it a dozen times. But you won’t talk to me.”
Yes, he’d said it a dozen times in the last month. I never dreamed your father would betroth you to Lord Helmsley the week after I left. I had no idea you didn’t marry him. I love you. I’m here now. Marry me.
The truth was, she longed to know why he hadn’t gone against his father’s wishes and eloped with her. Everything would have been different and they would have been happy—until the truth surfaced. And it would have. It always did. Just as it had only two days after she signed the marriage contract.
“Please, Nicholas, no more explanations. It is too tedious.”
“As you wish, no explanations. But I will not withdraw my offer.”
She gave a hollow laugh. “Of course not. It would cost you half your fortune.”
“Not quite that much,” he replied. “But I don’t give a damn about the money. I care about the fact that you waited for me. You love me.”
Josephine snorted. “You professed love, Nicholas, not me.”
He nodded. “You forget that first kiss after my return, before you got into your head whatever it is that has you rebelling.”
Why, oh why, had he mentioned that kiss? She remembered it like yesterday. Nick appeared at some party she attended. She’d been so startled to see him that when he’d asked her to dance, before she realized it, he’d whisked her out onto the balcony and into his arms. Her stomach gelled with the memory. How could a single kiss plague her so? But she knew the answer, for the one and only other kiss he’d given her before he left had plagued her all these years, as well.
She had been seventeen. He was twenty-five. Her parents took her to London where it would be more difficult for her and Nicholas to run back to Scotland to marry. He swore to be gone one year, then return for her. Then he’d drawn her to him and brushed his lips against hers. She was sure he intended an almost chaste kiss, but she’d melted against him and he’d pulled her across his lap and swept his tongue into the depths of her mouth until she trembled in his arms and begged him to do more. He’d held her so fiercely, as if he’d never let her go…as if he was afraid to let her go. Then he did.
The sting of tears pressed more fiercely against her eyes. She disguised the moisture she feared shone in her eyes by slanting him a sultry look from beneath her lashes. “I am a passionate woman. You are an attractive man. Passion is inevitable.”
His gaze sharpened. “Aye, and it occurs to me I have been remiss in that regard.” He set his glass down and stepped close to her. “I notice you’re still half dressed.”
Chapter Two
For a long moment, they stood toe to toe, Josephine’s heart pounding wildly. Then Nick’s arm lashed around her and he yanked her to him. His mouth crashed down on hers. Her head whirled and she shoved at his chest, as much to stop him as to halt the torrent of emotion that rammed through her. But Nicholas remained as unmovable as a stone wall, her hands trapped between them, his chest rising and falling with each powerful thump of his heart. This was all wrong, wasn’t what she had planned, and would ruin her. Worse, would ruin him. But his mouth moved on hers, hungry, demanding, as was his way with everything. He would have what he wanted. And he wanted her. God help her, she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
He groaned, deep and ferocious, and her knees weakened.
“Jo,” he murmured against her lips.
She couldn’t stop herself from entwining her tongue with his. He sparred, then sucked her into his mouth. Her stomach did a flip. Her father would never allow Nicholas to cry off if she gave him her virginity. She had to stop this, stop him. His hand slid down her back and over the curve of her buttocks and he undulated his arousal against her abdomen.
Her head spun. What was that spell he cast over her? Her defenses—her resolve—had gone weak to the core. His fingers tightened on her derrière and he thrust against her again. In the next moment, he was backing her up. Her legs bumped into the couch and he lowered her onto the cushion. His body came down on hers, his weight pressing her down, one heavy thigh between her legs. This wasn’t the young man’s rise to passion as it had been when she’s been seventeen, and was well beyond the heart-stopping kiss they’d shared on the balcony a month ago. This raw male need demanded what had long been denied. What belonged to him.
His tongue thrust unhurriedly into her mouth while he slid a hand over the curve of her breast. Josephine shivered, all too aware of the hard ridge of his erection against her mons. He slid his mouth along her jaw, then her neck, and still lower. His lips grazed the rise of one breast and she gripped his shoulders. He teased, gently nipping at the flesh. When he levered himself up onto an elbow and grasped the first hook on her corset, panic shot through her.
“Nick,” she cried. “We can’t.”
But he silenced her with a kiss, and in seconds had undone the hooks on her corset. Her breasts sprang free, taut against her chemise. He came down fully on top of her, and kissed her again, hard and without mercy.
Through the muddle in her brain, she became aware of his warm palm covering a breast. The thin fabric of her chemise offered little protection against the heat of his flesh. He grazed a thumb over her nipple and a delicious sensation connected directly with the juncture between her legs. His fingers, long, warm, and strong kneaded the flesh, and she couldn’t bear the sensation. He thrust his rod against her mons and she suddenly understood the true danger was in the demand he was creating inside her, in that secret place that she had for so many years dreamed he might one day touch.
He broke the kiss and before she realized his intent, he sucked a nipple into his mouth and drew on the pink bud through the fabric. Pleasure shuddered through her. This was nothing at all like what Lord Beaumond had done to her. He’d pulled down her bodice and stared at the rise of her breasts above the corset as he unfastened his trousers. It had begun just as she’d hoped, quick and without emotion. Another moment and he would have taken her maidenhead without ceremony—and without any of the pleasure that was bombarding her senses now.
Nicholas shifted, then grasped her thigh. Cool air wafted across her legs and she realized he was pulling up her petticoats and skirt. She started when his fingers grazed the inside of her thigh. He stroked higher. A shiver rippled through her. A finger slid between the slit of her drawers and rubbed her lightly. Josephine gasped. Nick released her breast and kissed her again, this time gently. She shoved her hands beneath his coat and around his back. Muscle rippled beneath her fingertips. He groaned and eased his shaft along her thigh while still stroking the place between her legs.
Jo writhed beneath him, half desperate to break free of the overwhelming sensations and needing release so badly it hurt. But he caged her with the weight of his body, rubbing her a little quicker while flicking his tongue against her mouth. His breath came in short pants and Josephine vaguely realized that desire was heating his blood. Panic rose to the top. This mustn’t happen. She couldn’t bear to hurt him this wa
y.
She turned her head aside, breaking the kiss. “Nicholas we mustn’t.”
“You would have with Beaumond,” he said in a savage voice. “You can with me. Did he make you feel this way?”
The demand startled her.
Nicholas eased a finger inside her and began an in and out motion that brought an onslaught of new sensations.
“I should have done this long ago,” he said, without faltering in his rhythm.
“No,” she choked, and was caught off guard by a wave of pleasure that crashed into her center.
Jo began to tremble. He stroked her sensitive nub with his thumb. Pleasure surged through. She rocked against his hand, unable to stop the blinding need that made her want him inside her, stretching her, taking what she longed to give him. She felt his warm breath in her cheek and tightened her arms around his back.
“I love you, Jo,” he whispered.
Then she fell over the edge.
“Nicholas,” she cried on a shudder.
Bliss, soul deep, ripped through her, and burst apart in her core. Her body tensed as pleasure reached clear to her toes and seemed to curl them. She arched into him and felt the rigid length of him against her thigh. Another climax rippled through her and she gulped air as if drowning. She was.
Ever so slowly, Nicholas stroked her as the waves swelled, then receded, and swelled again. He kissed her again, even more gently, until her surroundings at last came back into focus. She relaxed back onto the cushion to see that he was staring down at her.
“You didn’t…” Josephine let her voice trail off.
“I do not plan to bed you on a couch in someone else’s house,” he said.
“But you just—” She bit her lip.
“I came damn close,” he said. “I have no doubt had I taken your virginity that would put an end to your foolish actions this last month.”
Reality reasserted itself with jarring pain. “Then why didn’t you?” She tried to rise, but he kept her pinned with his heavy leg. “Get off me.”
“Nay. This may not be a bed and it is no’ our wedding night, but I will not please you, then scurry away like Beaumond would have.”
She knew his frustration was rising when his perfect English gave way to a mild Scottish accent, but couldn’t halt her retort. “At least he would have gotten the job done.”
Nicholas’ eyes darkened. “I believe I got the job done with a bang, Lady Josephine. After all, ye did call out my name when you trembled in my arms.” Embarrassed warmth flushed her cheeks warm, then intensified when he added, “I feel quite certain Beaumond didn’t have you anywhere near a pitched fever as did I.”
“You think highly of yourself,” she retorted.
Nicholas inhaled, then released a slow breath that lifted and expanded his broad chest. He traced a finger along her cheek and smiled. “No, my darling. It isn’t that at all. I am in love with you, and I wanted to please you.”
Her heart broke and the tears finally crashed through her defenses.
* * *
Nicholas saw the moisture—and the haunted look—in her eyes. His chest twisted. “God, Jo. Don’t cry.”
“Why did you have to come back?” she said.
“Love.” He sat up, pulling her up and across his lap.
She twisted in an effort to free herself, but he held her tight. Her bare shoulders were cold to the touch and he grabbed the afghan hanging off the left side of the couch. Nicholas draped it over her shoulders, then pulled her tight against him and rested his chin on her head.
“A man might worry when the woman he just made love to bursts into tears afterwards,” he said.
“I did not burst into tears. You were not supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to—” She broke off.
“Make you feel that way?” he offered.
“I want to go my room,” she said.
“In a minute. Tell me what’s wrong. You might refuse my suit, but I find it difficult to believe you would punish me this way. You were never a vindictive woman.”
“You do not know me.”
“But I do. You have grown up, but you are still the same girl.” Though he had glimpsed that girl far more in the first days of his return than he had lately.
She lifted her gaze to his face. “Just like you are the same boy?”
His chest tightened at sight of the weariness in her eyes. “Essentially, yes. I still love you. I loved you all along. I told you why I didn’t return as promised.”
“A dozen times.” She lowered her eyes and heaved a sigh. “You’ve told me everything a dozen times.”
“And I will keep telling you until you believe me.”
“I do believe you,” she said. “I know you thought I was to marry. But that was so long ago. I am long over it…over you, Nick, whether you want to believe it or not.”
“I returned the moment I learned you hadn’t married Helmsley,” he said.
“You would have done better to stay on your ship.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I’m not the girl you think I am.”
A murmur of voices sounded in the hallway.
She bolted upright. “Someone is coming.”
“You weren’t this concerned when I found you with Beaumond,” Nicholas said with frustration.
“You have no notion what my concerns are.” She pushed free of his hold and he released her.
“It really doesn’t matter if someone catches us,” he said as she jumped to her feet. The afghan slid from her shoulders exposing the stiff rosy areolas beneath the thin white of her chemise. The desire that had hammered through him when he’d had his mouth on her hardened nipple tightened his bollocks. “We are to be married, after all.”
“To be married.” The murmur of voices drifted past the room and she scooped the corset off the carpet beside the couch. “We are not yet married, and I will not have it said I trapped you with my body.”
“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” he said.
Josephine jerked her gaze onto his face. Her nipples seemed to tighten even more under his scrutiny and his mouth went dry.
She yanked the corset up over her breasts. “Nicholas.”
He lifted his gaze to her face. “You are very beautiful, Jo. I plan to look at you a great deal over the years.”
Her cheeks flushed pink. She wasn’t the jaded woman she would have him believe. He’d seen that same blush on her cheeks when he’d kissed her before he left six years ago. She’d been but seventeen, a girl on the cusp of womanhood, and he’d fallen hard. He’d missed seeing that blush, and planned to see her flush that way many a time in the coming years—most especially when he was inside her, bringing her to climax.
Her blush deepened and he half wondered if she’d read his mind—or perhaps had glimpsed the lift of his kilt. She whirled away from him and fitted the corset around her torso then latched the hooks in front. When she grasped the first sleeve of her dress to slip her arm inside, Nicholas rose and grasped her wrist. Her head snapped up, her eyes on his face as he gently guided her arm into the long, silk sleeve. He helped with the second sleeve, then stepped back. She adjusted the neckline, which dipped lower than most day dresses, but the look had been her fashion of choice since his return—and the neckline had lowered to the point of scandalous since they’d announced their betrothal.
A lock of her light brown hair fell forward across her cheek. She drew the hair back and ran her fingers along her hair where her chignon had loosened. “See what you’ve done.” She pulled out a pin and wound the lock around the chignon, then pinned it back into place.
“I see quite well,” he said.
Josephine paused in smoothing her hair and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t get too full of yourself, Nick.”
“Never,” he said.
Her lips pursed, but she finished fixing her hair, then he took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. “Shall we join the other guests in the grand parlor?” he asked. “I imagine
we can find a game of cards, or perhaps chess. You did say you wanted a chance to get even for my beating you last time.” He led her to the door and opened it.
“This meant nothing, Nicholas,” she said, as he closed the door behind them.
He started them forward. “Of course it did, Jo. You just aren’t certain what.”
Chapter Three
Josephine feared that the tremble working its way through her body would reach her hands. Nicholas’ warm fingers covered hers around his solid arm and the play of muscle beneath her fingers caused her heart to pick up speed again. Desire uncoiled in a languid stretch in her stomach. How she could want him again after what he had just done to her, she had no idea, but if he discerned how much his touch affected her all would be lost.
Nicholas slowed his stride to match hers as he led her down the hallway. She commanded her legs to remain steady and, minutes later, as they neared the grand parlor, Josephine glanced up at him, then stopped short.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“Your hair, it looks as though...”
“As though I’ve just come from my lover’s bed?” he offered.
Josephine shot him a recriminating look. He was right, which didn’t comfort her one bit. She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair in an effort to bring the thick mane into submission. Jo startled at the softness of the hair and forced a steady hand as she tucked a lock behind his ear.
“Keep that up, Jo, and I’ll drag you into the nearest closet and make love to you for real, this time.”
She jerked her eyes to his face. Were his eyes even darker than they had been when he’d—She yanked her hand back and started to step away. Nicholas grasped her hand, slipped it back into the crook of his arm, then strolled forward as if he hadn’t had his mouth intimately on her only minutes ago. They soon entered the parlor and, as he’d predicted, guests were playing cards and board games.
To her relief, Lord Beaumond was absent. She prayed Nicholas was right, and the marquess would flee like the rat he was. Nick hadn’t challenged him when he’d had the affair with Deanna, and it hadn’t occurred to Josephine he would do so now. The need to cry rose again, as much because of what had passed between them as the question of how she was going to get herself ruined—and allow him to call off the wedding—without getting him killed.
