by Wendy Vella
“Only a coward fights an unarmed man,” Nicholas said.
“You attacked me,” Wylst said. “I am only defending myself.”
Jo sidled past him.
“Jo,” Nick warned, “get back.”
She plastered herself against the wall. Wylst took three quick steps toward him. Josephine grabbed the other sword from its mounting. Horror rammed through Nicholas at the realization that she intended to impale Wylst with the sword.
“Josephine!” he shouted.
She gave Wylst a shove with a booted foot to his arse. He stumbled, but quickly righted himself and faced Nick.
“Nicholas!” Josephine tossed the sword so that the hilt pointed to the ground.
“No!” Wylst swung his sword down in a heavy blow.
Nick caught the rapier and brought it around in an arc to block the blow. “I am calling in your marker, Wylst.”
Fury twisted his face. “You will not live to collect.”
Wylst advanced and, with a quick movement, slashed through the left arm of Nick’s left sleeve. Blood colored the fine lawn shirt he wore.
“Stop it,” Josephine cried. “Stop it. Wylst, if you kill him, we are finished.”
Nick jerked his gaze onto Jo.
“Nick!” she shouted.
He saw Wylst’s sword swinging toward his face—saw the opening beneath his arm—and lunged.
“No!” Josephine shouted. “He is my father.”
* * *
Josephine stared in horror as Nicholas’ rapier penetrated Lord Wylst’s stomach like butter in the instant before Nick’s head snapped in her direction. The baron’s blade clattered to the stone floor and Nicholas yanked his sword from Wylst’s body. The man dropped to his knees, then fell face forward with a sickening thud.
She stood frozen, breath coming in heavy gasps. Then Nicholas was at her side. A murmur of voices penetrated the haze and Josephine realized other people had entered the foyer. She found herself lifted into strong arms and pulled tight against Nicholas’ chest.
“Good God,” a male voice boomed. “What happened?”
“The baron attacked Lady Josephine,” Nicholas said.
A chorus of loud voices broke out and Jo buried her face in his neck.
“Henry, see to Wylst.” Nick whirled.
Josephine fisted his lapel in one hand and cried in heavy sobs.
They reached her bedchambers minutes later, and she felt herself being lowered. Josephine held onto him for dear life.
“Shh,” he soothed.
Nicholas sat on the bed, settling her across his thighs. He hugged her tight while murmuring something she couldn’t understand. Jo heard another male voice—her father—but couldn’t discern his words, either. Nicholas stroked her hair until, at last, her tears abated. She opened her eyes to find her family standing beside them with her mother sitting on the bed with them. Her heart began to race again.
Nicholas gently leaned away from her and said, “You have nothing to fear, love. But you must tell us what happened.”
Panic twisted her stomach and she couldn’t tear her eyes from her mother, who watched her, brows furrowed in anxiety.
“Josephine,” Nick said in a firmer tone, forcing her attention back to him. “You said Lord Wylst was your father.”
Jo heard her mother’s soft gasp and she began to cry again. How could she hurt her father by telling him that the woman he loved had lied to him all these years? How could she tell him that the little girl he’d raised, the girl who adored him, wasn’t really his daughter? Why, oh, why had she blurted out those words when Nicholas killed Lord Wylst?
“Jo.”
She jumped at the harsh note in Nick’s voice.
“You must tell us what happened,” he said.
“What does it matter?” she said in a whisper. “He’s dead.”
“Do not be certain of that. He was still breathing when we left him.”
Josephine snapped her head up. Her heart wrenched at sight of the fear in Nicholas’ eyes.
“Make no mistake,” he said, “I will kill him. But if you do not tell us what happened, I will wrest the truth from him before ending his miserable life.”
“Josephine,” her mother said.
Jo flinched when her mother placed a hand on her arm.
“What did you mean by ‘He is my father’?” Nick demanded.
Josephine sat up straight and swiped at a tear that escaped her eyes. “Ask my mother.”
Her mother glanced at Jo’s father, but shook her head. “I do not know the man.”
Jo shoved from Nicholas’ lap and stood on unsteady legs. Fury tightened her insides and her words shook. “My God, even now with the truth exposed to everyone here, you will lie?” She swung to face her father. “I am sorry. I—no daughter could love a father any more than I do you, but—” a sob choked the words “—I am not your daughter.”
Anguish filled his eyes and tears once again began to roll down her cheeks.
“Josephine,” he said in a hoarse voice, “my daughter.” He opened his arms and she fell into his embrace.
She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but when her tears slowed and she realized he was speaking. “...should have told you the truth long ago. But I thought—”
Jo drew back and looked up at him. “Told me what?”
Nicholas rose. “Perhaps I should leave.”
He shook his head. “Nay. It is only fitting that you stay. You have as much right to know the truth as does Josephine. Let us sit.”
She held tight to his hand as he guided her to the couch in front of the hearth, and they sat with her mother beside him and Nicholas in the wing backed chair nearest her.
Her father squeezed the hand that still gripped his. “I scarcely know where to start. I am at a loss as to how Wylst—” He broke off and shook his head. “Nay. The beginning and end is that you are, in every way that matters, my daughter, and I love you.”
The door swung open and Annabel burst into the room. She halted, her brow furrowed as she cut her gaze from one to another of the group. “What has happened? They said Lord Wylst—” She took the few steps to the couch “What is it?” She looked at Josephine. “Are you hurt?”
“She is fine,” their mother said. “Perhaps you should go to your room and rest.”
Annabel shook her head. “I will not. I am not a child and, last I recall, I am a part of this family. I deserve to know what has happened.”
“Let her stay, Blair,” their father said. “She is right. She is no’ a child, and she should know the truth along with everyone else.”
It seemed their mother would argue and anger flared in Josephine’s heart. “Even now you would cover up your lie, if you could.”
“Josephine,” her father’s sharp voice cut in.
Jo shook her head. “You don’t know what she has done, Papa.”
He released a weary sigh. “I know everything, Child.”
She gave a cold laugh. “Nay. You do not know this. She has lied to you all these years. She told you I was your daughter, but I am not.”
“What?” Annabel said. “What does she mean, Mother?”
Pain filled her mother’s eyes, but Josephine remained unmoved. “Tell her, Mother.”
Her father squeezed her hand. “Josephine, hush. Annabel, close the door and come sit with us.”
She obeyed and Nicholas stood, giving her his chair. Once she sat, Josephine’s mother said, “Carson is this best?”
“Aye, Blair. She cannot go on thinking you cuckolded me all these years, and worse, that you passed off another man’s child as mine.”
Josephine stared. “What are you saying? ‘Tis not true?” Her heart began to beat fast.
“It is true, you are not my daughter,” her father said. “At least, I am not the man who fathered you.” A tentative smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “I am, I hope, your Papa.”
Her heart constricted. “Of course you are. No one else could be. But,” she glanced
at her mother, “I do not understand.”
“We didn’t tell you because we did not want you to feel any less our daughter, nor did we want Society to ostracize you,” he said.
“Papa, you are frightening me.”
He nodded. “I know, but there is no easy way to tell you this. Your mother never lied to me. You see, I knew.”
Josephine drew a sharp breath. “You knew?” She cut a glance to her mother. “And you forgave her, even though I was not your child.”
“No, Josephine,” he said. “There was nothing to forgive.”
“But—”
“The man who fathered you—” anger flickered in his eyes and a chill sped up Jo’s spine as the truth slammed into her even as he said, “forced himself upon your mother.”
* * *
Josephine’s eyes widened and Nicholas realized she had guessed what had become apparent to him moments ago. She shot to her feet and he tensed. He started to reach for her, but caught the warning Montagu gave with a shake of his head. She took one step to her mother, dropped to her knees on the carpet and threw her head into her mother’s lap.
“I have been so wicked to you,” she sobbed.
The marchioness stroked her hair. “Nonsense.”
Jo shook her head. “I believed the worst of you—and when you have always been the best of mothers.”
Her mother gave a shaky laugh. “I would not say always. Do you remember the time I wouldn’t let you play in the garden with Cecile because I believed a meteor was going to hit you?” She sent the marquess a glance. “Your father warned me that Gypsy was only trying to bilk me for money.”
Josephine lifted her head and met her mother’s gaze. “What I remember is that only yesterday you risked your life to save me.”
The marchioness leaned closer to Josephine and said in a mock whisper, “Your father has not yet learned all the details of our adventure. It is best we keep some things to ourselves. I do not wish to be punished.”
Josephine blinked, clearly uncertain how to react to her mother’s levity, then she clasped her mother’s face in her palms and said, “I will not let him.”
The marchioness’ mouth opened in a soft gasp, then she pulled her daughter to her and they both cried silently for several moments.
Nicholas stood motionless as a statue. He had never seen his mother cry once, yet today he had seen his fiancé crying for nearly half an hour. Now her mother—he realized silent tears were slipping down Annabel’s cheeks, as well. A sense of panic rose. What did a man do with three crying females?
He looked at Montagu, whose hand rested on his wife’s shoulder. The man was utterly calm. Is this what came of living with three women? Nicholas shifted his gaze onto Josephine. There were worse fates.
Cool fingers touched his and he was startled to find that Annabel had slipped her hand into his larger one. Her attention remained on her sister and mother as she swiped at her tears with her free hand. Nicholas’s chest constricted. Today, he had become a part of this family. He had known this family for most of his life, and had wanted Josephine for so long that he couldn’t remember what life was like before he realized he loved her. He’d planned on having a family with her. But it hadn’t occurred to him that he might become a true member of her family.
“Now,” the marquess at last broke the silence. “We have a very important mystery to solve.”
The two women separated and Annabel gave his hand a squeeze, then released him. The marchioness brushed the remaining tears from Josephine’s eyes, then they both looked at the marquess.
“How is it Lord Wylst knows the truth?” Montagu looked at Josephine. “He told you he was your father?”
She nodded. “Aye, Papa.”
“What proof did he offer?”
“Not enough,” she muttered.
“Never mind that,” Lady Montagu said. “Come, sit on the couch and tell us what he told you.”
Josephine took her seat, and said, “He showed me a miniature of his grandmother.” She looked at her mother. “We have long joked about my light hair. You and father are dark. So is Annabel. I am the only one with light hair. I am the spitting image of his grandmother. There was no doubt in my mind.” She looked at her father. “I do not understand. If he isn’t my father, how can she and I look so alike?”
“I know little of his family,” the marquess said. “He has been in France for many years.”
Josephine turned to Nicholas, “You said you knew him in France. Do you now his family?”
“I met his grandmother once. She was quite elderly, close to eighty. Her husband was long dead and she had returned to France where her family lived. I have the distinct impression she cared nothing for Lord Kanton’s family in England, which isn’t unusual for the French, as we know—”
“Kanton,” Lady Montagu cut in. “Lady Linette Kanton?”
“Why, yes,” Nicholas said.
The marchioness exchanged a startled look with her husband.
“What is it?” Josephine demanded.
“Linette Kanton is your father’s grandmother,” the marchioness said.
“But you said Lord Wylst isn’t my father.”
“He isn’t,” Lady Montagu said. “But if she was Lord Wylst’s grandmother, then that means he is—”
“My uncle,” Josephine finished.
They looked at each other and Nicholas knew they were all thinking what he was thinking: How did Lord Wylst know his brother was Josephine’s father?
Chapter Thirteen
A sharp rap on the door caused Josephine to jump.
“Come in,” her father called.
Montague rose as the door opened and Lord Allaway entered.
He approached, then stopped beside the couch. “The doctor has arrived.”
“Wylst is alive?” Nicholas asked.
“Thus far.” Lord Allaway’s gaze shifted onto her father. “Forgive me, but the sheriff is also here. You understand, I had to summon him.”
Her father nodded. “Of course.”
Lord Allaway looked at her. “Are you all right, Lady Josephine?”
She nodded. “I am, sir, thank you.
“Wylst is asking to see you.”
Nick barked a laugh. “Nay.”
She rose. “I must see him.”
“Josephine—”
She held up a hand. “I will have my answers. My father can accompany me.”
“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 whi
le 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.”