by Tarah Scott
“No? The marriage contract is signed, banns are read, and the wedding is two months away, yet you continue to snub him as you did when he first returned. I understood it then, at least somewhat, but now? Why, lass?”
“I made it clear I signed the contract under duress.”
Her father nodded. “So you said. But your mother and I both see how you look at him. And there’s no missing the way his eyes follow you the moment you enter the room.”
“I-I don’t know what you mean.”
“Nay? Are you saying you don’t know he loves you?”
“Even if he does that does not mean I have to love him back,” she said with heat.
“No,” her father agreed. “But you do. However, while your behavior toward him is extreme, we have noticed that you are not yourself.”
“That is ridiculous,” she said.
He shook his head. “You stopped going to parties. You seldom entertain friends. You quit asking to see friends as you just did Cecile—I am well aware, by the way, that your request to see her is an effort to avoid Nicholas.”
“Papa, honestly, you have an overactive imagination. I have simply grown tired of parties and female prattle.”
“Is that all?” he asked.
“Should my life consist of balls and pretty dresses?”
“That is a particularly fine day dress you are wearing,” he said.
“I do not have to be obsessed with fashion to dress reasonably well.”
He nodded. “I might agree, if not for the most puzzling thing of all.”
Her heart beat faster.
“Do you deny that there is something amiss between you and your mother?”
“What could possibly be wrong between Mamma and myself?” she asked.
“I wish I knew. I was certain at first, I was mistaken, but you avoid her company, and that is not like you.”
“Is it possible I’m telling the truth when I say I am simply unhappy at the prospect of marrying Nicholas?”
“You are unhappy, I grant you that,” he said. “As to marriage, you are three and twenty. ‘Tis past time you settled down and had children.”
The familiar ache rose in her breast and the burn of tears rose before she could stop it.
“Josephine,” her father said. “What is amiss, lass?”
His anxious face came into focus and she realized her expression had given away her sorrow. “I will not marry simply to have children,” she said.
She would not have children at all, in fact. And Nicholas deserved children—he also deserved not to be bled dry, which is what the man who was blackmailing her would do if she married Nick.
“You and Mamma love each other,” she said—though since discovering the truth, she wondered how her mother could love her father all these years and lie to him. “Do I not deserve to marry a man I love?”
“Aye, lass,” he said in a gentle voice. “But I know you too well. You love Nick. Now, you can tell me what’s bothering you or not, but I will not have a repeat of what happened this afternoon.”
She tensed. “What happened this afternoon?”
“I know you went to the west wing with Lord Beaumond.”
Josephine startled. Surely, Nick hadn’t told her father she had tried to seduce Lord Beaumond? “When did it become a crime to walk with a gentleman?” she asked.
“It is inappropriate for a young, unmarried woman to be alone with a man—as you know. I thank God Nicholas found you and not someone else.”
She seethed. Nicholas had the nerve to tell her father he’d found her with Beaumond, but she would wager he hadn’t said a word about what he had done to her. A tremor went through her with the memory.
“I am quite capable of taking care of myself,” she said, and Nicholas would soon learn that, for she would not allow him to touch her intimately again.
“On that we might disagree,” her father replied, his earlier compassion gone. “But you know that such behavior for a betrothed woman is scandalous. Beware,” he added, when she opened her mouth to interrupt, “you might think a scandal will cause Nicholas to cry off without consequence, but he is determined not to make the same mistake he made six years ago and let you go.”
Her pulse skittered at the thought of not being able to escape Nick, then her ire piqued at her own weakness, and she said, “Then he had better beware. For the girl he let go is no longer a girl.”
Her father’s expression hardened. “Aye, she isn’t. I will make myself plain, Daughter. If you are disloyal to Nicholas before your marriage, I will force you to marry the man with whom you dishonor yourself. Can you imagine yourself married to Beaumond?”
Jo gasped.
“So I thought,” he said. “And make no mistake, I will not risk you giving birth to a bastard. Have you forgotten that as the eldest daughter, the title and all our property passes through you?”
Nay, she thought bitterly. She hadn’t forgotten. That fact was half of what plagued her.
“Nicholas has proven himself worthy to run my estates and give you a son who can take my title along with his title,” her father went on. “I will not have you throw it away in a tantrum.”
“A tantrum—”
“You’re a grown woman acting like a spoilt child,” he cut her off. “I have had enough.” He rose. “Try me, and I will take even more drastic measures.”
Josephine’s heart pounded. What could be more drastic than forcing her to marry a man like Lord Beaumond?
Her father’s gaze sharpened on her. “You may wonder what can be worse than being forced to marry the man you duped into taking your chastity.”
Her father was right, she thought with frustration. He did know her too well.
He lifted a brow. “Perhaps it is marrying the man you love.”
Chapter Five
Nicholas stood with Montagu near the hearth in the great hall as the guests assembled for dinner. Lady Montagu stepped from the stairs into the hall followed by Annabel and Josephine. Jo had changed into a dress of soft gold silk, but she still wore the pearls her father had given her. He didn’t like the drawn look on her face and was tempted to ask Montagu if he had spoken with her and made any threats.
“The ladies have arrived,” he told Montagu.
The marquess turned as the ladies approached and when they reached the hearth, he said first to his wife, “You are looking particularly well, my dear.” She smiled and allowed him to kiss her hand. He looked at his daughters. “Annabel, you are beautiful as always.”
She smiled and gave a quick curtsey. “Thank you, papa. Mamma picked out the dress. You may thank her for the bill when it arrives.”
“As you never curtsey to me, I imagine I should be sitting down when I open the bill,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “It’s a shame there is no ball tonight as there was last night. You will no’ be able to show yourself off as you should.”
“Do not worry on that account,” she replied. “Mamma has assured me that we shall have a ball when we return home and I will wear the dress then. It is quite all right do wear the gown twice, as we are only an intimate party tonight.”
“She is quite right,” Montagu agreed, then looked at Josephine. “Did your mother pick out your gown as well, Josephine?”
Nicholas had the feeling there was more to the question than met the eye, but Josephine answered with aplomb. “Nay, papa. This one is my choice, so you may blame me when you receive the bill.”
His mouth twitched in amusement. “I shall bear that in mind.”
Nick greeted Lady Montagu and Annabel as well, then said to Josephine, “Would you walk with me to the balcony, Lady Josephine?”
Her eyes lit with perverse satisfaction, and she said, “My lord, what will people say if I disappear onto the balcony unchaperoned with a man?”
“They will say it is broad daylight and you are within sight of everyone while on your fiancé’s arm,” Montagu said.
Her eyes cut to her father and she sent him a mu
rderous look before giving a curt nod to Nicholas. “It seems I am in your hands, my lord.”
Not quite yet, he thought. But she would be, and he had no intentions of letting her go. Nicholas offered his arm and she accepted—though he had the impression she was picturing separating his arm from his shoulder as one might a turkey wing. He started them at a stroll across the room to the balcony. Lady Allaway boasted one of the finest gardens in all of Scotland and hated that guests had to navigate a labyrinth of hallways to access the gardens from the great hall. So she had a balcony added to the hall two years ago. Nicholas and Josephine stepped from the warmth of the room to the cool of the early afternoon air.
They took only two steps when Josephine yanked her hand from his arm and whirled on him. “There is a word for a person like you.”
He quirked a brow. “Where would you have heard such a word?”
“Talebearer,” she spat, and he wanted to laugh. “When you told my father you found me in a comprising position with Lord Beaumond, did you also tell him that you compromised me far more than the marquess did?”
Nicholas grasped her arm and pulled her to the left, just out of view of the great hall. Montagu might want them in plain sight, but would prefer that everyone not see his daughter throw a tantrum.
“Do you think your father would object to my making love to you, Jo?”
“The two of you are ones for propriety—except when it suits you,” she retorted.
“It is not uncommon once a contract is signed for the couple to consummate the union,” he said. “And, by the way, I didn’t tell your father that Beaumond compromised you. If I had, he would be on his horse riding after the marquess this moment.”
Her brows dove down in a frown and Nick realized her father had guessed exactly what Josephine had been up to with Beaumond, and had addressed the matter with her. Montagu was no fool.
“Why can you not leave me alone?” she said.
The desperation in her voice startled him. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he demanded.
“What’s wrong is that you are forcing me to marry you when I do not want you.”
A heartbeat of silence passed before he said, “If I truly believed that, I would let you go.”
Hope flared to life in her eyes and for one bleak instant he believed she meant it.
“Then believe it, Nick. It is true. You were right earlier. I am not a vindictive woman. Yes, I was hurt when you first left, and my pride was piqued when you returned and acted as if you could have me for the asking. But I would not make you pay for any of that silliness. In truth, I understand why you left and that you thought you would return.” She gave a little laugh. “We were both so young. Perhaps our parents were right in not allowing us to marry.”
“Do you think so?” he asked.
“Surely you can see for yourself. I grew up and learned that those feelings were not the feelings of a long-lasting love,” she said. “Isn’t your marriage offer nothing more than you trying to revive a boy’s dream?”
“When I was at sea, I often wondered if it hadn’t been a dream,” he said in honesty. “But the moment I learned you hadn’t married I realized you were the most real thing in my life. I have loved you since you were a girl. And I recall you telling me that you have loved me since you were thirteen.”
“Thirteen!” She rolled her eyes. “Do you hear yourself? How can a girl of thirteen love a man?”
“Your kisses tell me you love me.”
“Don’t be a fool,” she said. “A woman’s kiss can lie.”
“Aye, but that does no’ mean she is convincing. And you are not a liar at heart, Jo. Only this afternoon, your father told me that he regretted not letting us marry when I came to him those years ago.”
Her mouth parted in surprise.
“Would you have regretted marrying me then?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You know I would have married you but, as I said, I do not feel for you what I did then.”
“What of our encounter earlier?”
“You are a man of the world. Don’t act as if you have never experienced passion without love.”
“That I have, but it was nothing like what just passed between us.”
“Then you are a fool,” she retorted.
“Perhaps. But I am an enlightened fool. You just confessed that you harbor no ill will toward me for leaving. You say you understand we were young and that you knew I planned to return.”
Josephine waved a hand in exasperation. “What of it?”
“I now know that your actions this last month are not because you are angry at me. Therefore, something else is wrong.”
She scowled. “That is a ridiculous conclusion. Just because I don’t hate you does not mean I love you.”
“You have forgiven me for leaving. I recognize a woman in love when I see one.”
“My God, you are arrogant. Were you always so? This is a fault I do not find attractive.”
He laughed. “I agree, we have much to learn about one another. But fifty years of marriage will cure that.”
“If you have any feelings for me at all, Nick, let me go.”
“Nay,” he said.
Something flickered in her eyes, then the look was gone, and she muttered, “You will be sorry.” She whirled and stalked toward the great hall.
Nicholas watched until she stepped from view, and knew what he had to do.
* * *
Josephine took several steps toward the sideboard sitting against the right wall where champagne waited, then stopped short. Half a dozen guests clustered in the center of the room around the last man she expected to see at the party: Lord David Wylst. The room swirled around her and she feared she would swoon. She remembered the chair located against the wall near the balcony doors and forced herself to turn and walk the few paces back, then sit down.
Her heart hammered. Her blackmailer here? What could this possibly mean—and how had he managed an invitation? Lady Allaway was a kind woman, but she was a product of society and did not deign to include in her parties anyone beneath her socially. Someone else must have invited him. But who?
Jo cut her gaze to her mother, who stood near the long dining table with Annabel while talking with Lady Croft. The Marchioness of Montagu was one of the few people Lady Allaway would be unable to refuse such a request.
Shock rolled over Josephine. Why would her mother invite her former lover to a place where she was surrounded by family? The answer slammed into her and rage threatened the control she had struggled to maintain the last month. What better place to rekindling an old affair than at a house party? Two weeks of getting lost in an ancient castle filled with alcoves and private rooms was perfect for illicit encounters. Like the one Nicholas had caught her in when she’d straddled Lord Beaumond’s thighs—or the seduction that followed where Nick had brought her the kind of pleasure she’d only heard whispered of by other women.
Another, more terrible thought doused the heat the memory elicited. What if her mother and Lord Wylst weren’t rekindling their affair, but were continuing an affair that had begun upon his return? Josephine’s mind raced with the possibilities. Had her mother been unaccountably absent any afternoons, or slipped away from any parties they’d attended? Jo racked her brain but could think of nothing suspicious. Yet the possibilities were endless. Was Lord Wylst fool enough to think she would sit idly by and watch her mother cuckold her father?
Josephine shifted her gaze to her father. He stood with Mr. Calhoun and Lord Blackwood, his back to Lord Wylst. Sadness squeezed her heart. Might he guess that the wife he had loved for so many years was conducting an affair with the baron? Jo tensed. Would Lord Wylst use this opportunity to make more threats of blackmail to her while she was surrounded by her family—not to mention her future husband?
The mental picture of Nicholas learning of the baron’s deceit, then ramming his fist into Lord Wylst’s nose brought a momentary sense of satisfaction before she remembered that Nick could neve
r know. No one could ever know. Oh, how could her mother be so foolish as to jeopardize their family for a tawdry affair? But Jo suddenly knew why.
That first time Lord Wylst intercepted her on the path between her father’s estate and Lady Kameron’s house, part of his blackmail demand was that she introduce him into Society. She had stood frozen in shock and fear while he railed at the injustice of being snubbed by the bastard Highlanders as an English baron with no wealth to speak of.
Thankfully, his greed got the better of him when she pointed out that she would risk exposing their connection by becoming involved with him socially. An invitation to one of Lady Allaway’s parties would make it difficult for others not to follow suit, however, and his entry into Society would be launched. Her mother had risked her family’s happiness to make possible her paramour’s desire.
Josephine jumped when Nicholas entered the great hall. She’d forgotten he was still on the balcony. He didn’t see her, but continued toward where Lord Wylst stood with other guests.
Lady Allaway had invited more guests for dinner and it looked as if there would be sixty, instead of thirty. Not such a large crowd that Josephine could hide in the chair where she sat. If Nicholas saw her sitting alone he would demand to know what was wrong. She stood and forced her shaky legs to carry her toward the guests. As if sensing her presence, Lord Wylst looked past the man he was speaking with and met her gaze.
Jo’s knees weakened. Steady, she mentally willed herself, and carefully put one foot in front of the other. A corner of his mouth twisted upward in a knowing smile. She wanted to tear her eyes from his, but if she let him know how frightened she was that would only give him more power. She was determined, one way or another, to put an end to his power over her family.
His gaze shifted to Nicholas, and when he drew within speaking distance, Wylst said, “I expect the opportunity to win back my marker, Grayson.”
Nicholas looked in his direction. “You say that as if I am obligated to comply.”
“A gentleman always allows his opponent the opportunity to win back his losses.”
Nicholas laughed, the sound somewhat dangerous to Josephine’s ears. “We aren’t in London,” he said. “Such niceties are not mandatory here in the Highlands.”