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.”

“Do not pretend you don’t know about the letter that was printed in the John Bull by James Stuart, solicitor for Baron Wylst,” Lady Evers shot back. “Poor Lord Wylst. It is now plain Lord Grayson did, indeed, murder him.”

The letter printed? Darkness squeezed in around Josephine’s vision. Lord Wylst had made good on his threat to publish the truth upon his death? She, Nicholas, and her family had talked about this, knew it could happen. Despite Nicholas’ efforts, he had been unable to locate any solicitor who admitted to doing more for Lord Wylst than the passing legal matter. He owed money to half a dozen solicitors and Nicholas had concluded that even if the baron’s threat were true, he was so deeply in debt that it was unlikely he had paid any solicitor enough money to guarantee that his wishes would be carried out upon his death.

But Nicholas had been wrong,

The thought snapped Josephine from her stupor. Nick had been wrong and he would suffer as a result.

She took a step toward Lady Evers. “I advise you to beware what accusations you throw about, my lady. Lord Grayson and my father will not take kindly to attacks on his lordship’s reputation and character.”

Lady Evers shrunk back in uncertainty. She darted a glance at Miss Henley, whose eyes had gone wide as saucers.

Anger pinched Lady Evers’ mouth. “The truth cannot stay buried forever.”

Jo gave a harsh laugh. “Indeed not, as Sheriff Boyd demonstrated when he proved that Lord Grayson defended me against Lord Wylst.”

“And you expect us to believe that the fact you are not truly Lord Montagu’s legitimate daughter has nothing to do with Lord Grayson killing the baron?”

Her heart began to pound. If the news had reached Inverness from a small paper like the John Bull that could only mean that all of Great Britain knew. Her mind came to a sudden halt.

“The John Bull?” she repeated. The story hadn’t been printed in the Times? “Isn’t the John Bull that new paper published only this year by Theodore Hook?” Josephine gave a condescending laugh. “My God, I am surprised that even you are fool enough to believe anything printed in disreputable paper like the Bull. Only the most uncouth of persons reads such a paper.” Which meant a great many in Society.

“The Bull is a perfectly respectable paper,” Lady Evers shot back. “They publish parliamentary reports.”

“Putting a dress on a sow does not make it a lady,” Josephine gave her a cold look. “I thought you were cut above that. It seems I was wrong.”

Lady Evers drew a sharp breath. “How dare you?” A malicious gleam lit her eyes. “My father arrived with the paper from London just this afternoon. I wager Lady Beecham has yet to learn the truth. I feel it is my duty to seek her out and inform her that you are not who you pretend to be. She will not appreciate a person such as you being in her home.”

Josephine felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Breathe, she couldn’t breathe. The Bull wasn’t the Times, but that wouldn’t stop people from believing the story.

“Is something wrong?” a familiar male voice said.

Jo snapped her head in Nicholas’ direction. Ladies Evers whirled. Miss Henley, Jo realized, had melted into the crowd.

Lady Evers looked as if she might bolt.

“Lady Evers has accused you of murder, my lord.”

Nicholas lifted a brow. “Surely, there is some mistake, Lady Evers? I cannot believe you would make that kind of mistake.” His voice was low, but the menace was unmistakable.

“Oh, but she has,” Jo pressed, her fury amplified by terror. “She has read some drivel in the John Bull written by a solicitor, who did you say, Lady Evers—” Josephine’s mind raced “—James Stuart?” She looked at Nick. “I have not heard of him, my lord, have you? He was supposedly Lord Wylst’s solicitor.”

“I can’t say that I have heard of him,” Nick replied.

“Then he cannot be anyone of consequence,” Josephine said. “Yet, Lady Evers puts the greatest stock in his word, and she is impressed by the fact that some letter Lord Wylst wrote has been printed in the Bull. Can you imagine?”

“No,” he said. “I cannot. I wonder that Harris lets you read that paper.”

“My husband does not censor what I read,” she snapped.

“Perhaps he should,” Nicholas said “Particularly since he might find himself defending what you repeat.”

Her face paled.

“But I feel certain we can avoid that—so long as you are careful not to repeat any more dangerous gossip,” Nicholas said.

Anger flashed in her eyes, but she nodded and said through tight lips, “Of course, Lord Grayson. Please forgive me.”

He canted his head in acknowledgement and she hurried away.

Josephine felt as if she would collapse.

“Courage, Jo,” Nicholas said. “If you swoon now that will only feed the gossip.”

“Oh, Nick, the worst has happened. Lord Wylst has exposed me.”

“That is far from the worst that could have happened, Josephine.”

She startled and swung her gaze to his face.

“The worst that could have happened is that you could have disappeared from my life in that damn convent.”

Josephine was sure she would cry.

“Lady Josephine, if you cry, I swear, I will toss this champagne aside, take you over my knee, and paddle your pretty bottom right here in this ballroom.”

She blinked, and a sliver of the feminine anger she’d felt when he first returned was resurrected. “That is an outrageous threat, even for you, Nick.”

“I do not make idle threats, as you know. And don’t think for an instant you are not going to marry me,” he went on as if they were discussing the weather.

Josephine shifted her gaze to the crowd beyond them in search of Lady Evers. Who was the despicable creature telling her story to at this very moment? Jo shook her head. “This is only the beginning. I cannot marry you. Surely, you can see that. You will be ostracized from Society if you marry me.”

“I could care less what Society thinks. We would not be the first couple to marry under the cloud of scandal.”

“Not this sort of scandal.”

He grunted a laugh. “You forget Lord Philips, who married his mistress, a lady who happened to be an actress.”

“That is nothing compared to marrying a bastard.”

“Do not use that word,” he said sharply. “Remember, Jo, no one is alive who can verify Wylst’s story. Therefore, it is nothing more than an annoyance. Now, have some champagne.” He thrust a glass into her hand. “Then we will dance.”