Page 445 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“Aye,” he replied. “I love you more than life itself.”

She drew a sharp breath. His brow furrowed in question, then understanding glimmered in his eyes.

He leaned closer and Josephine could feel his breath on her face. “You could have accepted any of the half dozen offers you received while I was gone. Not to mention, the two offers you received in the month since my return. You didn’t love a one of them.” He grasped her shoulders. “Be done with this foolishness. Admit you love me.”

The truth rushed to the surface as if to break free of its own volition. Her heart sped up and for an instant she feared she would tell him the awful truth despite her resolution to keep silent.

She broke free and backed up. “If you expected sentimentality, you made a bad bargain. Now, forget the duel. It isn’t worth your life.”

“You should have thought about that before you let Beaumond undress you.” He picked up the drink and finished it on one long swallow, then turned to refill the glass. “Why did you do it?”

“I’m not the seventeen year old girl you left behind. As you say, today is a perfect example. Beware, Nicholas, Lord Beaumond will put it about that I was here with him of my own free will and that you have no call for challenging him. You will be a laughing stock.” Walk away, she mentally willed him. Call off the wedding and walk away.

Nick’s head snapped in her direction and for an instant Josephine wondered if she’d spoken the last words out loud.

He faced her. “You know as well as I that Beaumond won’t spread a single shred of gossip about you. In fact, I will be forced to drag him from his bed tomorrow morning—if he is still here. I doubt he’ll stay in Inverness. Knowing him, he will take an extended holiday in France.”

Just as he had done after his affair with Deanna.

“No, Jo, he won’t spread that, or any other, rumor about you,” Nicholas continued. “Though I don’t give a damn if he takes out an ad in the Times announcing that he took your virginity.”

“Rumor?” she repeated.

His gaze bore into her. “It’s been six years. If you didn’t wait for me, I would understand.”

But she had waited for him. Two long years, she’d clung to the two letters he’s sent. But a third letter never came and when he didn’t return even after his father’s death, she finally accepted that he wasn’t coming back—at least not to her. Despite his silence and her anger, all other men paled beside his memory. She told herself she was remembering a man of such character and sentiment that no flesh and blood man could rival the memory…the legend. Then he’d returned. A man who made the memory seem like a mere shadow.

“I suppose I’m to blame,” he said with a bitter laugh. “I was a fool to think I could allay our families’ fears by going away until you turned eighteen.” He released a breath. “I said it a dozen times. But you won’t talk to me.”

Yes, he’d said it a dozen times in the last month. I never dreamed your father would betroth you to Lord Helmsley the week after I left. I had no idea you didn’t marry him. I love you. I’m here now. Marry me.

The truth was, she longed to know why he hadn’t gone against his father’s wishes and eloped with her. Everything would have been different and they would have been happy—until the truth surfaced. And it would have. It always did. Just as it had only two days after she signed the marriage contract.

“Please, Nicholas, no more explanations. It is too tedious.”

“As you wish, no explanations. But I will not withdraw my offer.”

She gave a hollow laugh. “Of course not. It would cost you half your fortune.”

“Not quite that much,” he replied. “But I don’t give a damn about the money. I care about the fact that you waited for me. You love me.”

Josephine snorted. “You professed love, Nicholas, not me.”

He nodded. “You forget that first kiss after my return, before you got into your head whatever it is that has you rebelling.”

Why, oh why, had he mentioned that kiss? She remembered it like yesterday. Nick appeared at some party she attended. She’d been so startled to see him that when he’d asked her to dance, before she realized it, he’d whisked her out onto the balcony and into his arms. Her stomach gelled with the memory. How could a single kiss plague her so? But she knew the answer, for the one and only other kiss he’d given her before he left had plagued her all these years, as well.

She had been seventeen. He was twenty-five. Her parents took her to London where it would be more difficult for her and Nicholas to run back to Scotland to marry. He swore to be gone one year, then return for her. Then he’d drawn her to him and brushed his lips against hers. She was sure he intended an almost chaste kiss, but she’d melted against him and he’d pulled her across his lap and swept his tongue into the depths of her mouth until she trembled in his arms and begged him to do more. He’d held her so fiercely, as if he’d never let her go…as if he was afraid to let her go. Then he did.

The sting of tears pressed more fiercely against her eyes. She disguised the moisture she feared shone in her eyes by slanting him a sultry look from beneath her lashes. “I am a passionate woman. You are an attractive man. Passion is inevitable.”

His gaze sharpened. “Aye, and it occurs to me I have been remiss in that regard.” He set his glass down and stepped close to her. “I notice you’re still half dressed.”