Chapter Thirty-Two
Josephine Martin was the elegant, emerald foliage in the garden of colorful blooms. The resilient stem and leaves that remained long after the delicate petals fluttered to the ground.
If Nicolas were a poet he’d write odes to her beauty.
But since he was simply a journalist, he’d have to be content with a few flowery sentiments unworthy of her magnificence.
Nicolas would count the minutes until they returned to Greenpark House.
Once he was certain no one bore witness, he’d sneak to Josie’s chamber.
As beautiful as she was in her gown, she’d be even more glorious out of it.
He’d peel it from her, worshipping every inch of revealed flesh.
He’d watch her nipples pebble and her cheeks flush.
Then, he’d celebrate their future by sinking deep inside her.
They’d make love until dawn’s early glow poked through the top of the draperies.
He’d felt like a jealous fool watching her dance with Griffendale. The man was much too handsome. Entirely too ducal. When she’d placed her hand on Griffendale’s chest, Nicolas had fought to keep from flying across the room to punch his chum in the face.
Nicolas lost track of Davenport when they arrived, but now the viscount stood in the center of a group of men, his gaze darting about the room as if he were a recalcitrant child looking for trouble. Interestingly, Nicolas had not seen a woman anywhere near Davenport.
Bridget and Isabelle sat along a wall with a group of older women. At least the two of them seemed to be keeping themselves out of trouble. However, who knew what controversial, scandalous topics the seemingly innocent-looking group of women discussed?
Avoiding Lydia and her parents proved exhausting. They’d been circling Nicolas as if he were carrion, and they were starving sharks.
But soon this would all be over because it was time for him to head to the study.
He gave the Smalls a wide berth as he navigated the crush of guests. He was almost to the exit when Bridget’s angry voice carried over the hum of the party.
He halted in his tracks and cast his gaze to the place where he’d last seen his sister. She was gone. Panicking, he followed the sound of her voice.
Even in the crowded perimeter, he spotted her yellow gown. She was about twelve feet away, resembled a bumble bee, and was reprimanding a man standing beside the refreshment table.
As if her finger were a stinger, Bridget jammed the digit into the young chap’s chest. Her other hand held an empty glass. At least there weren’t any red splotches of ratafia—or blood—on the man’s clothing.
Nicolas’s gaze slid back and forth between the exit and his sister.
If he didn’t seek out Josie, she’d have to deal with Griffendale on her own.
But, if he didn’t rescue the man currently experiencing his sister’s wrath, there might be a dramatic scene worthy of the scandal sheets.
If only he could split in half and be two places at once.
Since Josie could take care of herself, and Bridget would definitely cause a ruckus, he approached his sister.
The poor sap she scowled at rocked back and forth on his heels, his face as red as a ripe tomato.
“Is there a problem here?” Nicolas asked.
“I simply asked the lady to dance,” the man said. “I had no intention of offending her, but it seems I have.”
“Because I told him I didn’t want to dance,” Bridget said. “Thereupon, he informed me that I should have fun instead of sitting along the wall with a bunch of matrons in their middling years. Who is he to tell me I wasn’t having fun?”
Indeed. “She made her feelings clear, mate. Move along,” Nicolas said.
Still red-faced and staring at his feet, the man shuffled away.
“Bridget, would it hurt you to dance with one or two gentlemen?” Nicolas asked.
“I am in the middle of an important conversation,” she said.
He looked at either side of her. “With whom?”
She lifted her chin. “With the ladies over there.” She pointed at the woman along the wall.
“We are discussing books. A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, to be precise, and how women deserve the same fundamental rights as men. I simply wanted a drink, and he ambushed me. He’s been staring at me since we arrived. ”
Poor bloke. He’d simply wanted to dance with a pretty woman. How could he have known he’d approach a female hellbent on being an unmarried bluestocking?
“Refresh your drink while I stand sentry,” Nicolas said. “I will make sure no other man approaches and tells you how to enjoy yourself.”
She kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Nicolas. You are the best big brother in the world.”
Hopefully, she still thought him wonderful after living with him for the rest of her life.
Once Bridget was safe amongst her new friends, he turned toward the exit. Someone grasped his forearm.
Bloody hell! While he’d been distracted, he’d been ambushed.
“Sweet Dimps, my darling, are you avoiding me?”
Like he’d avoid a rat carrying the bubonic plague. “Please excuse me, Lydia.” He tried to push past her.
Her fingers dug into his flesh. “I saw Griffendale leave with Josephine. I’m sure he has already compromised her.”
Anger simmering, Nicolas refused to meet her gaze. “I caution you to be careful of the rumors you spread. Griffendale will not take too kindly to them.” And neither did he. Nicolas wriggled free from her grasp. “Good evening, Lydia.”
“That is no way to talk to your fiancée,” she said.
He gritted his teeth. “I will not say this again.” Of course, how many times had he already declared the sentiment? And here he was, repeating himself. “You are no longer my fiancée.”
She leaned close to whisper, “But you compromised me, Nicolas.”
Was she referencing that he’d been tricked a few days ago or that he had bedded her on their travels? Dread, regret, and guilt fused, creating a tornado that whirled up his spine, strangled his heart, and clouded his brain.
Gripping tighter, she pulled him alongside her.
Josie needs you, his mind screamed. He fought her tug, forcing them to a standstill.
Lowering his voice so that only she could hear, he spoke clearly so there would be no misunderstandings.
“I do not want to cause a scene, but I will if you leave me no choice. You abandoned me in my time of need, proving you do not love me. I will marry for love because I have nothing else to offer a woman.” He needed her to take him seriously, so he lowered his gaze and stared into her soul.
“Lydia, my family has lost everything, including Blue Cliff Manor. I am now working class. I even have a job. That is not what you want.”
She looked at him as if he’d sprouted an extra head. “Why are you lying to me?”
“I’m telling you the truth. I assure you that your source of information is mistaken. I have not come into a fortune.”
She stomped her foot. “Papa would never lie, which means that you are.”
“You wish to marry me, and yet you think I am a liar?” He sighed. “Lydia, I know not what you and your father are playing at but leave me out of it.”
“Let us go talk to Papa right now.” She pointed at her father, who stood with a group of men who were intently watching them.
This time, Nicolas knew he wasn’t being paranoid. Firstly, he was not in the clutches of drink. Secondly, the men did not even try to hide their gawking.
Davenport stood amongst the group, his fists balled by his side. His frown was so big Nicolas could see it from where he stood.
Nicolas did not have time for this foolishness. He had to get to Josie. This time, when Lydia reached for him, he was prepared. He pulled his arm back and strolled away from her and out of the ballroom.
Unfortunately, Lydia’s slippers slapped the floor behind him. “Leave me be, Lydia,” he called over his shoulder as he continued his trek.
Clap. Clap. Clap. Her footfall echoed in the long hallway. Clap. Clap. Clomp clomp! “Ouch!”
What in the devil was Lydia up to this time? Huffing, he slowly faced her.
She stood on one foot. “My ankle. I hurt it. I don’t think I can walk.”
“You’re fine,” he growled.
“I slipped,” she said.
Unfortunately, he’d heard the change in her gait. Besides, Lydia had never been a convincing thespian. Come to think of it, once upon a time, she had convinced him that she cared.
She pushed into the ball of her foot and whimpered. “Nicolas, I truly did hurt it.” Tears shimmered in her eyes as she dropped to the ground in a heap of puce satin.
He crouched beside her and took her ankle in hand. Even his gentle touch elicited cries.
Glancing down the hallway, he sought his destination. He was so damn close, but he couldn’t leave an injured woman in the hallway. Could he?
No, you can’t, you arse!
At least Josie and Griffendale were in the study, so Lydia couldn’t trap him into being alone with her again.
Grumbling, he scooped her into his arms and transported her. She clung to his neck as if she loved him. Which she’d proven time and time again, she did not. He kicked on the heavy door, nudged it the rest of the way with his shoulder, and carried her into the room.
Unfortunately, Josie and Griffendale were not there. Damn the bloke who’d asked his sister to dance. Damn Bridget and her eccentricities. And damn Lydia and her injured ankle.
He carted Lydia to the settee and lowered her onto it. “I will fetch help,” he said.
She grasped his hand. “Don’t leave me alone.”
“I’m not a physician.” Frustrated, he rubbed his brow as he ran through possible solutions. He had no desire to seek out Lydia’s parents. Her father would vehemently declare her injury was Nicolas’s fault, and her mother would faint.
“Surely there is a guest with medical training. I shall find Lady Siddons,” he said.
“Nicolas, you must marry me.” Tears misted Lydia’s eyes. “My father has threatened to disown me if you do not. He even called me a wh…whore.”
No woman should ever be called such a foul, ugly word.
Not even the women who made their living taking care of men’s needs.
Sympathy surged through Nicolas. The baron was the type of arrogant and self-righteous man to call Lydia hideous things for losing her maidenhood prior to marriage.
He’d probably cast dozens of insults at Lydia for much less serious faux pas and failures.
Even though she was no longer Nicolas’s concern, he hated the sadness in her eyes.
He sat on the edge of the settee and fought his aggravation. “Lydia, I’m sorry. I can’t. I love Josephine,” he said, his voice gentle. “I’m not the man for you.”
“But she is not who she says she is.” Lydia swiped her wrist over her tear-soaked eyes. “I just know it.”
“I know exactly who she is, and I love her,” Nicolas said.
“Ah, ha!” someone yelled.
Nicolas startled and leaped from his seat. Lydia tried to follow, but the second she put weight on her foot, she whimpered and collapsed onto the settee.
A group of men led by Small barged into the center of the room. Davenport brought up the rear.
“Bloody hell,” Davenport grumbled. “Not again. Nicolas, you bloody fool.”
As if the entourage gawking at Nicolas wasn’t bad enough, Josie rushed into the room. She brought her hand to her mouth in horror.
“Every time I turn my back, he behaves ungentlemanly,” Baron Small said. “Now, you are all witnesses. He must marry her.”
“You could see him at dawn,” one of the other lords said. “If ’twas my daughter, I’d shoot the sod.”
The baron’s eyes widened. “Dueling is barbaric and illegal.” He windmilled his arms like a crazy person. “Thankfully, you are all witnesses to his ungentlemanly intentions. He shall make his proposal in front of you all. Then they will be married immediately.”