Page 483 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Chapter Fourteen

A prickle of awareness crept up Josephine’s arms when Nicholas stepped closer, edging her deeper into the corner of the crowded ballroom. He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. His eyes lifted and met hers as his mouth pressed against her fingers. The music in the background faded and she was conscious only of his warm fingers grasping her hand, his moist mouth flush against her flesh. Her pulse jumped as she remembered those lips on hers, sliding lower—a couple, dancing, swung into view. The orchestra blared and the buzz of conversation broke the spell.

A flush warmed Josephine’s cheeks. The twitch at the corner of Nick’s mouth told her he was pleased with having made her blush in the very public ballroom.

He straightened. “Shall I fetch refreshments, Lady Josephine?”

“That would be wonderful. You wore me out with that last dance.”

“I have yet to wear you out. But I will, and very soon.”

Another flush went through her, this one hot and fast like lava. Would she ever stop feeling this way when he looked at her? She cast an embarrassed glance around the ballroom, but no one seemed to notice their tête-à-tête.

Nick glanced at the crush of people milling about the room and grimaced. “You realize I take my life in my hands by venturing into that mob.”

She laughed. “I imagine you will do well enough.”

He gave her a doubtful look. “If I don’t return, do you promise to shut yourself up in a nunnery and mourn me the remainder of your days?”

Jo was suddenly catapulted back in time to the previous month and her plans to do just that.

The amusement vanished from Nicholas’ expression and understanding transformed his expression into pain. “Damn it, Jo. That’s what you had planned.”

Words refused to form in her mouth. She feared if even one word passed her lips she would break down into tears.

“Why did you not tell me?” he asked.

Despite the buzz of conversation around them, he spoke low, urgent, but she heard—understood—every word...the underlying meaning: what else have you not told me?

She gave a small shake of her head. The guilt that had subsided to a dull reminder roared to life with a fury that staggered her. Despite the fact that the public sensation Nick had caused by killing Lord Wylst had subsided, the fear of discovery haunted her dreams nightly. Sheriff Boyd had remained true to his word and hadn’t revealed their secret, but—

“Josephine.”

Nick’s sharp voice brought her back to him.

“You have nothing to fear.”

She hated it when he read her mind.

“Nothing has changed,” he said. “The plans we made, our promises to one another...” He lifted his brows. “You understand?”

For the thousandth time, she recalled Nick’s promise to give to Annabel their father’s estate when he was gone. That had eased the guilt slightly, for she couldn’t live with herself knowing she had received what was rightfully her sister’s inheritance, even if it was by an accident of birth that she had no hand in. There was no way to pass the title to Annabel—to do so was to tell the world Josephine wasn’t the Marquess of Montagu’s daughter—but their father’s property and the majority of his wealth would see Annabel through life comfortably.

“Now,” Nick placed a finger beneath Jo’s chin and tilted her head up toward his, “shall I bring you something cool to drink?”

He stared at her, dark eyes intense, yet soft and warm. She nodded. He smiled and for an instant she feared—and thrilled—that he might kiss her despite the fact they were in a crowded ballroom. But he released her chin, then turned into the crowd. She watched him shoulder his way through the throng until he disappeared down the hallway leading to the refreshments room.

Josephine leaned against the wall and watched the dancers. This was the first party she’d attended since Lord Wylst’s death. Her days had begun to take on a sense of normalcy, but she knew that was because she filled the hours with work in the garden, correspondences, shopping, anything to keep herself busy. Nicholas—her heart squeezed—Nicholas had wrapped her in his protective arms and kissed her nightly before he was finally forced by her parents to return to his own home.

She had scarcely allowed herself to hope that they might return to life as they knew it before Lord Wylst came into their lives. Josephine’s gaze caught on Annabel on the dance floor. Calum Denton, the 7th Marquess of Northington, was dancing with her too close for Josephine’s liking. She scanned the room as best she could for her father. Marquess or not, her father would not be pleased the young man was taking liberties.

Lady Evers stepped into view, accompanied by Miss Henley. Lady Evers’ eyes caught, then narrowed on Josephine. “I wonder that you can show your face here.”

Jo stiffened. Apparently news of Lord Wylst’s death was still on the minds of some small, petty people.

“A person such as yourself has no business in a respectable home such as this.” Lady Evers scanned the people nearest them. “Is Lord Grayson here with you? I daresay he is. His audacity knows no bounds.” Her eyes came back to Josephine. “How a murderer can think to associate with decent folk—”

Miss Henley gasped in unison with Josephine’s “Murderer?” Fury flashed through her. “If you are referring to Nicholas defending himself against Lord Wylst, you are mistaken. It is not a crime to protect oneself.”