Page 442 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Lord Grayson’s Bride

Tarah Scott

Chapter One

Inverness, Scotland September 1820

The hairs on the back of Nicholas’ neck suddenly stood at attention and he looked up from his cards. Henry Maxwell stood in the doorway of the card room, a troubled frown on his face. Nicholas silently cursed. What had his fiancé done this time?

He returned his attention to his opponent and, with half a dozen men watching, laid his final card, the king of clubs, on the table. A combination of exclamations went up in unison with Lord David Wylst’s muttered oath. The baron had expected his jack to win. The onlookers lifted their glasses in salute and took heavy swigs of their drinks.

“I am happy to take your marker,” Nicholas told Wylst, knowing full well the paper would be worthless.

Nicholas didn’t wait for the response he saw in Wylst’s eyes—at the very least, a demand for a rematch to win back his losses, at the worst, an accusation that the only way a Scot could best an Englishman was to cheat. The thought was confirmed when Nicholas rose and Wylst’s gaze flicked to his kilt. A corner of the baron’s mouth turned up in derision. Wylst was fool enough to openly betray his thoughts, despite the fact they were in the Scottish Highlands, not England.

Nicholas started toward Henry.

“You have the luck of the devil,” John McEwan commented as he passed.

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” he replied, and continued across the room.

Nicholas reached Henry, who whispered, “You might want to have a talk with your fiancé, and quickly.”

He released a weary sigh. “It’s only five o’clock. Too early for dancing.”

“This is more than the small impropriety of dancing too many times with another gentleman,” Henry said. “She disappeared into the west wing with Lindsay.”

“Lindsay?” Nicholas snorted. “He wouldn’t dare fraternize with Jo. He knows I would kill him.”

“I saw her go myself.”

Nicholas kept a bland expression as George MacKinley approached.

“Will ye play another game?” MacKinley asked. “Wylst wants the chance to win back his marker.”

“Wylst would do well to not bet money he doesn’t have.” Nicholas tired of pretense.

“Ye must give a man the chance to win back his money,” MacKinley insisted.

“I have no desire to read in tomorrow’s paper that he shot himself over losing what fortune he has left,” Nicholas replied.

“That’s overdramatic, would you no’ say?” MacKinley said.

“Nay. Now, if you will excuse us, Henry and I have business.”

MacKinley shrugged, and Nicholas left with Henry. They passed through the parlor of Barthmont Keep where guests of the two-week-long house party lounged.

When they reached the hallway and headed toward the west wing, Nicholas asked, “How long ago?”

“No more than five minutes.”

Was Josephine so determined to avoid their marriage that she would allow another man to bed her? Bed her? A five-minute liaison was nothing more than a quick—Nicholas cut off the thought with another oath. He was going to end her ridiculous games. No, he reflected with more reason. It wasn’t a game. He had no idea why, but the ink had barely dried on the marriage contract, when she began to careen down the road to Hell.

He hadn’t expected Josephine to be the seventeen year old girl he left behind six years ago when he joined the navy, but in the month since his return, he’d seen only glimpses of that girl. Growing up, he’d been close friends with her cousin, Stuart Knightly, who was two years Nicholas’ senior. Orphaned at fifteen, Stuart had gone to live with Josephine’s father. Josephine had been five, and Nicholas thirteen. Even then, she had been willful, but there was an urgency about her now that frightened him.

Nicholas wished for the dozenth time that Stuart were here. He was the closest thing to a brother Josephine had, and he might be able to shed light on what was wrong. But Stuart’s father hadn’t inherited the title—though he did manage to squander a sizeable fortune before dying in a carriage accident along with his wife—so Stuart had joined the navy to make his own way in the world.

Henry kept pace with Nicholas as they hurried through the labyrinth of hallways. Ten minutes later, they reached the stairway leading to the third floor where Lady Allaway housed a dozen of her guests. Nicholas took the stone steps two at a time, Henry close behind. When they reached the second floor, Nicholas lengthened his stride. They passed four doors and a woman’s voice inside the last room caused him to halt.