Josephine rested a hand on the parapet of Barthmont Keep and gazed out across the hills at loch Ness. She had known it would be difficult to leave everyone she loved but, after last night with Nicholas, she wondered if she would be able to go through with her plan. Her heart felt as if it were being ripped from her chest. That was exactly what was happening. Jo closed her eyes. She couldn’t lie to herself. There was no turning back—especially after last night. She had to go where no one could find her, to a place where there was no turning back...a place where her presence couldn’t harm her family.

Everyone would believe it was an accident. Her family might doubt but, in the end, they would accept the lesser evil. Loch Ness was a place one could easily drown.

Josephine drew in a shaky breath, then opened her eyes and soaked in the majestic sight for the last time. Never again would she see the sun rise up over these blue waters, or smell the heather on a spring morning. Neither would she feel Nicholas close as she had last night, his arms tight around her, as if the world couldn’t touch them. But the world could touch them and, given the chance, would destroy him and his love for her.

For the thousandth time she considered telling her father the truth...or Nicholas, her heart whispered. A tremor rippled through her. How wonderful it would be slip the burden onto his broad shoulders—and he would take the weight without hesitation. She knew Nicholas too well. He would sacrifice his reputation and marry her, despite the scandal and the fact he would be ostracized from society once everyone learned the truth. 

Her father, however, stood to lose that which he could never regain: his trust in the woman he loved. Anger burned hotly. In all this, her mother would not pay one bit. Josephine tamped down on the desire to find and confront her mother. Knowledge of her mother’s betrayal was the price she had to pay to protect her family. And her mother, if Jo were honest, had been good to her father.

Josephine turned and left the tower.

She reached the second floor minutes later and glanced out the hall window as she passed, then stopped short at seeing Nicholas on the path leading toward the stables. Her pulse leaped. His purposeful stride bespoke of the determination that pervaded even his smallest action. Dark trousers went taut across his thighs with each long step he took. Josephine recalled too vividly those powerful thighs and the feel of his skin against hers when he entered her. She would give anything to touch him like that once more, feel his arms tighten around her as his rod stroked the most private part of her body. A shiver raced across her arms. She hadn’t known she could feel that way. That a woman could shatter in a man’s arms.

Josephine startled at the realization that she was crying. She told herself to turn from the window. Watching him was pure torture. But she had to have these last moments, even if they were from afar. She had to drink in the sight of him. This had to carry her through to the end.

Nick slowed and looked over his shoulder. He stared at something. Then his gaze lifted. Josephine froze. Could he see her? Yes. But surely he couldn’t recognize her in the dim light of the hallway? She couldn’t discern his expression. Was he staring at her or something else? He whirled back toward the castle.

Her heart pounded wildly. He had not only seen her, but recognized her. What difference did it make? He glanced up again and she knew that somehow, for some reason, it did make a difference. Panic seized her. What a fool she’d been to indulge in this final luxury. She couldn’t allow herself to see him again.

Josephine stumbled forward. She could still slip out the servants’ entrance as planned and—and what? If Nicholas was looking for her that could—would—disrupt her plans. Nothing, not one detail, could run afoul or she risked her family knowing the truth, and that would be even more disastrous a situation than the one she was already in.

She reached the stairs and hurried down. If she could reach her room, she could lock the door and feign a headache. Nicholas might not like it, but he wouldn’t break down her door—she hoped. At the bottom of the stairs she turned left in the hallway toward the common stairs leading to the first floor. Jo collided with what felt like a brick wall.

“Damn you, girl.”

Her blood went cold. Lord Wylst.

Josephine took two steps backward. “I-I am sorry.” She started past him, but he seized her arm.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?”

She gave a derisive laugh. “Surely you do not think I want to be in your company?”

His grip tightened. “There is more to your haste than hating me.”

“You arrogant ass. You simply cannot believe someone could loathe you as I do.”

“Hate me all you like. But I’m no idiot. Something else is wrong.”

“Re-lease me.” Josephine yanked free of his hold and lunged past him.

He grabbed her arm again and swung her back around him. The brooch she had put in a pouch inside her pocket dug into her thigh when her side slammed against him.

“What’s that?” He reached between them and fumbled with the pocket.

“How dare you?” Josephine slapped him.

His head snapped up, eyes glittering with fury. “I promise, you will pay for that.”

He shoved his hand into her pocket and pulled out the pouch.

“Lord Wylst,” she began, but he shoved her aside.

She sprang toward him, but he had the pouch open and had pulled the brooch from inside. The diamond and sapphire pin glistened in the meager sunlight that filtered through the small high window above the crest and swords mounted on the wall.

He looked at her. “You were hiding this from me.”

“I do not have to hide it from you. Now give it back.” She extended her hand.

He ignored her and peered into the pouch. “What else have you got in here?”

“Nothing that would interest you,” she said. But her most prized possessions were inside the bag. A handkerchief Annabel had sewn for her when she was ten, and the two letters Nicholas had written her while he was away. Not to mention, two rings, which she needed.

Lord Wylst pulled the handkerchief from inside. He glanced at it, then tossed it aside. Josephine scrambled to pick it up from the stone floor, then jumped to her feet.

“Give me that.” She tried to grab the pouch, but he turned as he pulled the letters out. “They are just letters,” she said. “They mean nothing to you.”

“You have no idea what has meaning to me.”

He withdrew one letter from the envelope and heat crept up Josephine’s cheeks as he silently read it. When he looked up, she didn’t like the feral gleam in his eyes.

“So Grayson has pined for you all these years.”

“We were young when he wrote those.”

“That only means he will be all the more determined to protect you.”

That he would, Jo silently agreed.

Lord Wylst handed her the letters and dumped the rest of the pouch’s contents onto his hand. One ruby ring sat alongside a sapphire and diamond ring on his palm. He looked at her. “Well, well, you have been holding back.” He put the rings and brooch inside the pouch. “These, I will keep.”

Her heart beat faster. “You are making a mistake.”

“Am I now?”

“Nicholas gave me that brooch upon his return. If it goes missing, he will question where it is.”

“I feel certain your charms are sufficient to deal with those nagging questions.”

“I only just gave you my pearl necklace.” Josephine forced back sudden tears. “You cannot possibly need any more of my jewelry.”

Lord Wylst’s attention remained on the brooch. “I have already sent my man to pawn the pearls. I do, in fact, need more funds immediately.”

Her pearls already pawned? Rage shot through her. Josephine lunged for the pouch. He seized her shoulders and slammed her against the wall. The air was knocked from her and she wheezed in a breath.

“You will learn to respect me,” he hissed.

“I will never—” she drew a sharp breath “—respect you.”

He brought his face to within a hair’s breadth of hers. “Then I shall teach you.”

Fear streaked through her. Satisfaction shone in his eyes and she realized he recognized—and relished—her terror.

She lifted her chin. “Lay a hand on me, and Nicholas will notice the bruises.”

“I am not such a fool as to touch you. Those you love, however...”

Mother.

Josephine locked gazes with him. “Touch anyone in my family and I will kill you.”

He leaned close and whispered in her ear. “If anything happens to me, my solicitor will mail a special letter to the editor at the Times.” He drew back. “Can you guess what the letter says?”

Fear ripped through her, but she forced back the tremble inside her. “What reason have I to pay you a single pence when I know the truth will one day be known all over Great Britain?” The question, she realized, was stupid. She had no intention of giving him the chance to make good on his threat. What if he publicized the truth despite the fact she was gone?

“I suppose you had better hope I don’t die for a very long time.” He shrugged. “Perhaps, if you are a good girl, I will have my solicitor destroy the letter.”

“You are a devil,” she whispered.

He leaned in close and whispered. “I am your devil.”

Josephine knew exactly where devils belonged.

She shoved him.