Chapter Sixteen
Unable to focus his racing thoughts or write a coherent sentence, Nicolas placed his journal and pencil on the nightstand and checked his watch. It was almost two hours past midnight. His insomnia was getting worse by the night.
One would think that holding Josie in his arms and dancing would have settled some of his inner turmoil.
But no, the intimacy of their waltz had done him in.
He was half-obsessed and completely crazed.
An aggressive masculine energy pumped in his blood.
If he did not soon kiss her, he’d have to blow something up.
Or challenge someone to a duel. Or, God forbid, butt heads with a bull.
Those plump lips. Those soulful eyes. That perfect figure, built for both fisticuffs and bed sport. He grabbed the pillow beside him and howled into it like a grieving wolf.
Now that he’d let out some of his bellicosity, he should think about something other than what Josie looked like beneath her chemise.
Damn his randy beast to hell. He had serious issues to consider.
Like where his family would live at the end of the month?
And what profession he might be suited for.
He had to earn enough blunt to take care of his family, after all.
And what was to be done about poor Bridget making a suitable match?
It would be no easy task finding a bloke willing to put up with Bridget’s modern thinking.
Maybe he should hire a matchmaker.
He snorted at his sarcasm. The truth was, since Bridget was coming to London, he hoped with all his heart that Lady Davenport introduced her to some suitable chaps.
Earlier that day a letter had arrived from his sister, and he’d already read it so many times he’d committed parts of it to memory.
… And, so dear brother, since you are to be away for a few more weeks, I must come to London because I cannot bear to be here alone with Mother and Papa.
All Mother does is cry, and Papa might as well be a corpse for all the emotion he displays.
Mrs. Simmons continues to terrify the rest of the staff with her ghost stories.
Although scaring them with rattling chains and creaking doors used to be quite fun, it lost its appeal after our late-night veiled visitor.
Since we no longer have our London Townhouse—sigh!
—I am to stay with my dear friend Isabelle.
I do hope you can secure me an invitation to the Davenports for a few days. I adore the Dowager Countess.
Dare I ask? Is Jonathon as handsome as ever? Double sigh!
Is your brow all pinched? Are you having a full-out apoplexy?
How typical of Bridget to taunt him. There had to be at least two full pages of his sister’s good-humored baiting. Her letter both cheered him up and solidified that he would have to take care that she and Davenport, the insufferable rake, were never left unchaperoned.
As much as he wanted to see his sister, he hated for her to become involved in this dupe. And surely, with her penchant for finding trouble, she would ensconce herself right in the middle of it.
He tossed and turned and then tossed and turned some more. Eventually he decided since sleep was pointless, he might as well fix himself a cup of milk.
Nicolas slid out of bed and donned his shirt, stockings, and trousers. He gently closed his chamber door so as not to make noise. Was it too much to hope that a beauty with thick dark hair might be in the kitchen? Thoughts of Josie waiting for him turned his plodding trek into an energetic stroll.
He barged into the room and frowned. Of course, she wasn’t there. What in God’s name made him think she might be?
Because she would have kissed me if we hadn’t been interrupted. Almost kissed him for the second time.
As Bridget would say, Sigh!
Once he warmed the milk on the Rumford stove, he added a dab of honey.
Thoughts whirling, he again considered his future. For what profession was a man who had studied at Cambridge suited? He drummed his fingers on the table. Solicitor? Physician? Professor? Barkeep? Rubbish collector?
Damn his fretting, cluttered thoughts to hell.
“Hello,” a feminine voice—the one he’d been hoping for—said.
Upon taking Josie in, the wind was knocked from his lungs.
She looked exactly as he’d imagined—both seraphic and desirable.
The candle in her hand illuminated the thick hair cascading past her shoulders, and her white sleeping gown appeared almost diaphanous.
Although the latter might be his desire, blathering.
“May I join you?” she asked.
Dear God, yes. “Please. I assume you are hungry. Shall I prepare you a snack?”
“Sit,” she demanded. “I shall fix it myself.”
There seemed no point in arguing with her since he would lose.
He remained in his chair, his senses on high alert.
He was aware of her every movement as she bustled about the kitchen, so much so that he mourned her loss when she left the room to visit the larder.
Every time she placed something on the table, he took advantage of her nearness to inhale her intoxicating scent.
When she leaned close to set a plate in front of him, her arm brushed his shoulder.
The temporary touch was as intimate as if she’d whispered sensual secrets in his ear.
By the time she sat across from him, every inch of his body hummed with need. Damn inconvenient since ham, cheese, bread, and black butter sat on the table, waiting to be consumed.
He was much too randy to eat, so instead, he watched her feminine, albeit lethal, hands butter a slice of bread. Fresh bruises marbled her knuckles. Were they from sparring with Fanny? What if they were from punching him? Probably. He should attend to the purple splotches with herbal cream.
Even better, they required healing kisses.
Bloody hell. What kind of arrogant arse thought that his kisses were akin to medicine?
Seeming unaware of his idiotic thoughts, Josie piled ham, cheese, and a second piece of bread onto the first slice. “I favor sandwiches.” She chomped into the massive stack.
“Ravenous chit,” he said in jest. The truth was, he adored her voracious appetite. Hell, he adored everything about her, and surely her edacity transferred to bed sport?
She swallowed her large bite. “Why, my lord, I didn’t know you teased.”
Hell’s bells, he never teased. “I don’t.” And he did not favor her calling him “my lord”, even though he knew—he had always known—that is precisely what she should call him.
Her eyes sparkled. “And yet, you just taunted me?”
And he’d thoroughly enjoyed it. He grinned.
Was he imagining things, or did she make a sensual little sound? Good Lord, were her eyes clouding over with lust?
She placed her sandwich on her plate. The tip of her tongue popped out of her mouth, and she licked away a crumb. Good thing she’d taken care of it because he was just about to swipe at her lips with his thumb.
“Tomorrow evening is to be my lesson on correct titles,” she said.
Lady Davenport had announced the plan at dinner, adding, “Jonathon and I are attending dinner at Lady Allen’s, so Nicolas, you oversee her studies while we are gone. I will quiz Josephine the day after.”
“I suppose I had better do a good job, or Lady Davenport will have my head.”
Josie giggled.
He could spend the rest of his life listening to that happy little sound.
Grinning, she sliced her index finger beneath her chin, seeming to take great pleasure in mimicking his beheading. “Mayhap, after your taunting, I should botch my quiz and get you into trouble.”
He brought a hand to his heart, feigning indignation. “You wouldn’t.”
Her head bobbed up and down. “Oh, I would.”
He shrugged. “Then I shall end up headless, and you shall end up in interminable lessons with Agatha.” He leaned over the table to conspiratorially whisper, “With no time for midnight snacks or dancing.”
Throwing her head back, Josie let loose a string of unladylike chortles.
Good God, he wanted to kiss her exposed, creamy white neck. He, in fact, needed to kiss her. Now!
So that he did not come off as too aggressive, for he was feeling exceedingly goatish, he would start with those injured knuckles before moving onto that delectable neck.
Once she was pliant, he would nibble on her plump bottom lip.
And then, finally, there were the wondrous, filthy things he would do to the rest of her body.
Slow down, bloke.
Acting on his desires might be going a bit far. However, right here, right now, he would kiss her hand, and hopefully, she wouldn’t punch him in the nose. Although considering his lecherous thoughts, he deserved a good pommeling if she was so inclined. He might even enjoy it.