“How terrible,” Mother said, her hand going to her bosom.
“Oh Nicolas,” Joslyn said, resting her hand on his arm. “What you must have endured. And to think it could have been avoided if only I had made better choices.”
“Do not fret, Jos. A kind lady took me in and saw me well.”
“I should like to thank her,” Mother said, moving to stand beside Father.
“Indeed, we shall,” Father said, meeting Nicolas’s gaze. “What was the lady’s name, son?”
Nicolas’s breath caught, a sudden rush of memories flooding back, tightening his chest with both longing and guilt. He struggled to maintain his composure, acutely aware of his family’s curious gazes upon him.
“Lady Emily Fairchild,” he managed, striving for nonchalance. “She was... most kind during my stay.”
“We are acquainted with Lady Fairchild.” The earl nodded with approval. “I am not surprised she aided you. She has quite a reputation for her caring nature. A credit to her family, that one.”
Nicolas nodded, though his mind was far from the conversation. He swallowed hard against the memories of Emily’s gentle smile and warm gaze flooding his mind. The ache in his chest, which had momentarily subsided in the joy of reuniting with his family, returned with renewed force.
“Indeed,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “She is... quite remarkable.”
As his family continued to chat around him, he found himself lost in thoughts of Emily. The longing to see her again, to hear her laugh and feel the soft touch of her hand, was almost overwhelming. He had never felt like this before—never regretted leaving. Never formed attachments to the women he spent time with. What the devil was wrong with him?
With effort, he dragged his attention back to the present, forcing a smile as he turned to his sister. “Enough about me. Now, Joslyn,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt, “tell me everything.”
“I shall, but first let us move to the parlor so that we might be more comfortable.”
Mother nodded her approval. “I will have tea and biscuits brought in.”
A few minutes later, Nicolas settled into a wingback chair. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on Joslyn.
“What exactly happened with Lord Forge?” he asked, his voice low and tinged with concern. “I need to know every detail.”
Joslyn sank into the settee across from him, her slender fingers twisting nervously in her lap. She took a deep breath, her gaze meeting his with a mix of embarrassment and distress.
“Oh, Nic,” she began, her voice trembling. “I was such a fool. Lord Forge... he invited me to view his art collection. I thought nothing of it—he had been so charming, so attentive… and you know how I adore art.”
Nicolas felt his jaw clench, but he remained silent, allowing his sister to continue.
“When I arrived, he led me to a secluded room. Before I knew what was happening, he... he pulled me close and kissed me.” Her cheeks flushed with the memory. “And then, as if on cue, his valet burst in, feigning shock at the scene. He caused such a commotion that others came running, arriving in time to see me wrapped in his arms.”
“That scoundrel,” Nicolas exclaimed, leaping to his feet. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his body thrumming with anger. “He planned it. To compromise you and force a marriage. It is no secret he needs a dowery, and yours is substantial.”
Joslyn nodded miserably. “I realized it too late. He smiled at me then, Nicolas. It was... it was chilling. He said he would marry me at once to save me from ruin.”
Nicolas paced the room, his mind racing. How dare that cur take advantage of his sweet sister? The urge to protect Joslyn, to defend her honor, surged through him like a tidal wave.
“I will kill him,” he seethed, danger flashing in his eye. “I will challenge him to a duel. That way, I can look him in the eye as I run him through.”
“Nicolas, no.” Joslyn took hold of his arm. “You cannot. It is too dangerous and all together unnecessary. What if?—”
But Nicolas was beyond reason. His protective instincts, honed by years of looking after Joslyn, had taken over. He gently removed her hand from his arm, his voice softening as he addressed her.
“Do not worry, Jos. He will not get away with this. I swear it.” His fists clenched at his sides, rage simmering beneath the surface. He would make Forge pay, no matter the cost. “And you will not be marring him,” Nicolas growled the last words.
As he studied his sister’s worried face, he could not help but think of Emily. What would she say if she could see him now, ready to risk everything in a duel? The thought gave him pause, but only for a moment. Some things were worth fighting for, and his sister’s honor was certainly one of them.
Joslyn’s eyes widened, a mix of alarm and determination flashing across her face. She stepped in front of him, blocking his path to the door.
“Nicolas, wait,” she called after him, her voice trembling with urgency. “There is something else you must know.”
