Wicked Highland Heroes

by Tarah Scott

  Josephine felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Breathe, she couldn’t breathe. The Bull wasn’t the Times, but that wouldn’t stop people from believing the story.

  “Is something wrong?” a familiar male voice said.

  Jo snapped her head in Nicholas’ direction. Ladies Evers whirled. Miss Henley, Jo realized, had melted into the crowd.

  Lady Evers looked as if she might bolt.

  “Lady Evers has accused you of murder, my lord.”

  Nicholas lifted a brow. “Surely, there is some mistake, Lady Evers? I cannot believe you would make that kind of mistake.” His voice was low, but the menace was unmistakable.

  “Oh, but she has,” Jo pressed, her fury amplified by terror. “She has read some drivel in the John Bull written by a solicitor, who did you say, Lady Evers—” Josephine’s mind raced “—James Stuart?” She looked at Nick. “I have not heard of him, my lord, have you? He was supposedly Lord Wylst’s solicitor.”

  “I can’t say that I have heard of him,” Nick replied.

  “Then he cannot be anyone of consequence,” Josephine said. “Yet, Lady Evers puts the greatest stock in his word, and she is impressed by the fact that some letter Lord Wylst wrote has been printed in the Bull. Can you imagine?”

  “No,” he said. “I cannot. I wonder that Harris lets you read that paper.”

  “My husband does not censor what I read,” she snapped.

  “Perhaps he should,” Nicholas said “Particularly since he might find himself defending what you repeat.”

  Her face paled.

  “But I feel certain we can avoid that—so long as you are careful not to repeat any more dangerous gossip,” Nicholas said.

  Anger flashed in her eyes, but she nodded and said through tight lips, “Of course, Lord Grayson. Please forgive me.”

  He canted his head in acknowledgement and she hurried away.

  Josephine felt as if she would collapse.

  “Courage, Jo,” Nicholas said. “If you swoon now that will only feed the gossip.”

  “Oh, Nick, the worst has happened. Lord Wylst has exposed me.”

  “That is far from the worst that could have happened, Josephine.”

  She startled and swung her gaze to his face.

  “The worst that could have happened is that you could have disappeared from my life in that damn convent.”

  Josephine was sure she would cry.

  “Lady Josephine, if you cry, I swear, I will toss this champagne aside, take you over my knee, and paddle your pretty bottom right here in this ballroom.”

  She blinked, and a sliver of the feminine anger she’d felt when he first returned was resurrected. “That is an outrageous threat, even for you, Nick.”

  “I do not make idle threats, as you know. And don’t think for an instant you are not going to marry me,” he went on as if they were discussing the weather.

  Josephine shifted her gaze to the crowd beyond them in search of Lady Evers. Who was the despicable creature telling her story to at this very moment? Jo shook her head. “This is only the beginning. I cannot marry you. Surely, you can see that. You will be ostracized from Society if you marry me.”

  “I could care less what Society thinks. We would not be the first couple to marry under the cloud of scandal.”

  “Not this sort of scandal.”

  He grunted a laugh. “You forget Lord Philips, who married his mistress, a lady who happened to be an actress.”

  “That is nothing compared to marrying a bastard.”

  “Do not use that word,” he said sharply. “Remember, Jo, no one is alive who can verify Wylst’s story. Therefore, it is nothing more than an annoyance. Now, have some champagne.” He thrust a glass into her hand. “Then we will dance.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Josephine entered the small parlor reserved for the family. Morning sunlight streamed through the window, but her spirits didn’t raise as they usually did when entering the cheery room. She crossed to the window and stared out at the garden. Sight of the roses alone usually brought her joy, but she could think of nothing but getting a copy of the Bull and reading the letter Lord Wylst had made public. She’d slept little, her mind turning over and over the possibilities.

  She and Nicholas had danced last night until the wee hours of the morning. No one else had approached them as Lady Evers had, but Jo hadn’t missed the furtive glances and whispers that stopped when she drew near. Lady Evers had spread her poison. Josephine prayed Nicholas had been bluffing with the threat of forcing Lady Evers’ husband to answer to her accusations, but Jo hadn’t known Nicholas to make an idle threat—including the one she knew still hung in the air between him and Lord Beaumond.

  The marquess hadn’t been heard from since he left Lady Allaway’s party, and she prayed the man had returned to England or, better yet, had fled to France as he had after ruining Nicholas’ sister. Jo felt on the edge of tears again. She had made a mess of everything. Nick was determined to marry her, despite the fact that everyone now knew the truth. If he one day regretted that decision—her chest tightened. She couldn’t bear that...nor could she bear to live without him.

  Josephine turned away from the window and walked to the couch. She stopped at sight of an oblong velvet jewelry box sitting on the cushion. She sat down beside the box, then picked it up and lifted the lid. Jo gasped. A single strand of pearls lay across the cloth. The pearls her father had given her. But how?

  A shadow in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she looked up to see Nicholas in the doorway, leaning, one shoulder against the jamb.

  Silent tears began to spill down her cheeks.

  “I believe I told you, Lady Josephine, that if you cried, I would take you over my knee.”

  “Did you do this?” she asked in a whisper.

  His gaze remained fixed on her face. “Aye.”

  She leapt to her feet, heedless of the pearls on her lap. They hit the coffee table with a clatter, skidded across the top, and dropped off the edge as Josephine rounded the table. She flew across the room toward Nicholas. He straightened from the doorjamb and took two steps into the room just as she flung herself into his arms.

  Josephine buried her face in his chest. “How-how did you find them?”

  “Finding the pawn shop was much easier than finding the solicitor Wylst sent that damn letter to. Did you know there are far more solicitors in Inverness than there are pawnbrokers? A staggering thought.”

  Josephine shook her head, unable to halt the tears. “Nicholas, you—”

  Strong fingers grasped her chin and tilted her face upwards. “No more tears, Jo.”

  “But you cannot—”

  “The Earl of Grayson can do anything he pleases,” he cut in. “Especially marry the woman he loves. The only woman he ever loved.”

  She shook her head, tears blinding her. “Everyone knows that I—” Her voice broke.

  “That you are the Marquess of Montagu’s daughter.”

  “Annabel must carry on my father’s title,” Jo said through a hiccupped sob.

  “Annabel will likely be carrying on a title of her own,” Nicholas said.

  Josephine shook her head in confusion.

  “The Marquess of Northington has offered for her.”

  “Offered for her?” Jo blurted. “Once he learns the truth about me—”

  “The truth—” Nicholas cut in, “is that Wylst tried blackmailing you with a falsehood, and when you refused to pay him and told your father, he went mad. A fact your father has already informed him of.”

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  “Your father is no fool, Jo. He and Annabel met the matter head on.”

  “They did?”

  “Of course we did.”

  Josephine started at the sound of her sister’s voice, and Nicholas turned slightly so that she could see her sister and father in the hallway. Jo started to pull away from Nicholas, but he held her tight.

  “Yo
u will forgive me, Montagu, but I am not quite finished with your daughter.” Nick started to close the door, then paused when Dobbs, the butlers appeared at her father’s side.

  “Henry Maxwell and another gentleman are here to see Lady Josephine and Lord Grayson,” he said.

  “That would be Reverend Williams,” Nicholas said. “Tell him we will be down presently.” Nicholas nodded to her father, and said, “Montagu,” then closed the door.

  “Nicholas,” Josephine cried. “You can’t close the door in my father’s face.”

  “I can.” He drew her close.

  She glanced at the door. “What is Reverend Williams doing here?”

  “In a minute, Jo.” He cupped her neck and held her firm as his mouth covered hers.

  The kiss was gentle, sweet, yet her stomach flipped, and she feared her knees would buckle.

  He breathed deep, then ended the kiss and looked down at her. “We had better hurry.”

  Her heart raced. “Nick, the reverend, we cannot—”

  “Don’t force me to lay you down on that couch and make love to you, Jo.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Your father might allow me a kiss, but he is liable to take exception to me bedding his daughter while he and the rest of your family wait with the minister who is to marry us.”

  “Nicholas, you wouldn’t.”

  “Aye, love, I would.” His eyes gleamed. “And with relish.” He drew her against his side and opened the door. “Your father tells me you have not seen Cecily since her son was born. I think a long honeymoon at Whitehall is just the things for us. You can visit her.” Nicholas looked down at her as they passed through the doorway. “Once we decide to leave my bedchambers.”

  ###

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