Lord Grayson's Bride (9 page)

At the sound of Jo’s cry, Nicholas broke into a run, taking the stairs two at a time. He reached the second floor seconds later to see Lord Wylst crushing her against the wall as she twisted in an effort to break free. Nicholas seized his shoulder and spun the baron around to face him. Wylst’s eyes widened as Nick drove a fist into his belly. The baron doubled over. Nicholas drew back for another punch, but Wylst threw an uppercut that caught him under the chin and sent him reeling backwards.

Jo screamed. Wylst lunged, driving his shoulder into Nick’s chest. They crashed into the wall. Air expelled from his lungs and pain splintered through what felt like every bone in his back. He kneed Wylst in the belly. The baron’s grip loosened and Nick shoved him against the far wall.

“Nick!” Jo shouted. “Stop, please.”

But rage rammed through him.

Wylst stumbled back. Nick saw his gaze cut to the rapiers mounted on the wall below the Allaway crest.

“Don’t be a fool, Wylst,” Nicholas growled, but the baron lunged and yanked one of the swords from its mounting.

A cruel smile twisted his mouth. “It is time someone put you in your place.”

“Please, Lord Wylst,” Jo begged. “This has gone far enough.”

Wylst jabbed at Nick’s chest. He jumped back, barely evading the sword tip.

“Only a coward fights an unarmed man,” Nicholas said.

“You attacked me,” Wylst said. “I am only defending myself.”

Jo sidled past him.

“Jo,” Nick warned, “get back.”

She plastered herself against the wall. Wylst took three quick steps toward him. Josephine grabbed the other sword from its mounting. Horror rammed through Nicholas at the realization that she intended to impale Wylst with the sword.

“Josephine!” he shouted.

She gave Wylst a shove with a booted foot to his arse. He stumbled, but quickly righted himself and faced Nick.

“Nicholas!” Josephine tossed the sword so that the hilt pointed to the ground.

“No!” Wylst swung his sword down in a heavy blow.

Nick caught the rapier and brought it around in an arc to block the blow. “I am calling in your marker, Wylst.”

Fury twisted his face. “You will not live to collect.”

Wylst advanced and, with a quick movement, slashed through the left arm of Nick’s left sleeve. Blood colored the fine lawn shirt he wore.

“Stop it,” Josephine cried. “Stop it. Wylst, if you kill him, we are finished.”

Nick jerked his gaze onto Jo.

“Nick!” she shouted.

He saw Wylst’s sword swinging toward his face—saw the opening beneath his arm—and lunged.

“No!” Josephine shouted. “He is my father.”

* * *

Josephine stared in horror as Nicholas’ rapier penetrated Lord Wylst’s stomach like butter in the instant before Nick’s head snapped in her direction. The baron’s blade clattered to the stone floor and Nicholas yanked his sword from Wylst’s body. The man dropped to his knees, then fell face forward with a sickening thud.

She stood frozen, breath coming in heavy gasps. Then Nicholas was at her side. A murmur of voices penetrated the haze and Josephine realized other people had entered the foyer. She found herself lifted into strong arms and pulled tight against Nicholas’ chest.

“Good God,” a male voice boomed. “What happened?”

“The baron attacked Lady Josephine,” Nicholas said.

A chorus of loud voices broke out and Jo buried her face in his neck.

“Henry, see to Wylst.” Nick whirled.

Josephine fisted his lapel in one hand and cried in heavy sobs.

They reached her bedchambers minutes later, and she felt herself being lowered. Josephine held onto him for dear life.

“Shh,” he soothed.

Nicholas sat on the bed, settling her across his thighs. He hugged her tight while murmuring something she couldn’t understand. Jo heard another male voice—her father—but couldn’t discern his words, either. Nicholas stroked her hair until, at last, her tears abated. She opened her eyes to find her family standing beside them with her mother sitting on the bed with them. Her heart began to race again.

Nicholas gently leaned away from her and said, “You have nothing to fear, love. But you must tell us what happened.”

Panic twisted her stomach and she couldn’t tear her eyes from her mother, who watched her, brows furrowed in anxiety.

“Josephine,” Nick said in a firmer tone, forcing her attention back to him. “You said Lord Wylst was your father.”

Jo heard her mother’s soft gasp and she began to cry again. How could she hurt her father by telling him that the woman he loved had lied to him all these years? How could she tell him that the little girl he’d raised, the girl who adored him, wasn’t really his daughter? Why, oh, why had she blurted out those words when Nicholas killed Lord Wylst?

“Jo.”

She jumped at the harsh note in Nick’s voice.

“You must tell us what happened,” he said.

“What does it matter?” she said in a whisper. “He’s dead.”

“Do not be certain of that. He was still breathing when we left him.”

Josephine snapped her head up. Her heart wrenched at sight of the fear in Nicholas’ eyes.

“Make no mistake,” he said, “I will kill him. But if you do not tell us what happened, I will wrest the truth from him before ending his miserable life.”

“Josephine,” her mother said.

Jo flinched when her mother placed a hand on her arm.

“What did you mean by ‘He is my father’?” Nick demanded.

Josephine sat up straight and swiped at a tear that escaped her eyes. “Ask my mother.”

Her mother glanced at Jo’s father, but shook her head. “I do not know the man.”

Jo shoved from Nicholas’ lap and stood on unsteady legs. Fury tightened her insides and her words shook. “My God, even now with the truth exposed to everyone here, you will lie?” She swung to face her father. “I am sorry. I—no daughter could love a father any more than I do you, but—” a sob choked the words “—I am not your daughter.”

Anguish filled his eyes and tears once again began to roll down her cheeks.

“Josephine,” he said in a hoarse voice, “my daughter.” He opened his arms and she fell into his embrace.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but when her tears slowed and she realized he was speaking. “...should have told you the truth long ago. But I thought—”

Jo drew back and looked up at him. “Told me what?”

Nicholas rose. “Perhaps I should leave.”

He shook his head. “Nay. It is only fitting that you stay. You have as much right to know the truth as does Josephine. Let us sit.”

She held tight to his hand as he guided her to the couch in front of the hearth, and they sat with her mother beside him and Nicholas in the wing backed chair nearest her.

Her father squeezed the hand that still gripped his. “I scarcely know where to start. I am at a loss as to how Wylst—” He broke off and shook his head. “Nay. The beginning and end is that you are, in every way that matters, my daughter, and I love you.”

The door swung open and Annabel burst into the room. She halted, her brow furrowed as she cut her gaze from one to another of the group. “What has happened? They said Lord Wylst—” She took the few steps to the couch “What is it?” She looked at Josephine. “Are you hurt?”

“She is fine,” their mother said. “Perhaps you should go to your room and rest.”

Annabel shook her head. “I will not. I am not a child and, last I recall, I am a part of this family. I deserve to know what has happened.”

“Let her stay, Blair,” their father said. “She is right. She is no’ a child, and she should know the truth along with everyone else.”

It seemed their mother would argue and anger flared in Josephine’s heart. “Even now you would cover up your lie, if you could.”

“Josephine,” her father’s sharp voice cut in.

Jo shook her head. “You don’t know what she has done, Papa.”

He released a weary sigh. “I know everything, Child.”

She gave a cold laugh. “Nay. You do not know this. She has lied to you all these years. She told you I was your daughter, but I am not.”

“What?” Annabel said. “What does she mean, Mother?”

Pain filled her mother’s eyes, but Josephine remained unmoved. “Tell her, Mother.”

Her father squeezed her hand. “Josephine, hush. Annabel, close the door and come sit with us.”

She obeyed and Nicholas stood, giving her his chair. Once she sat, Josephine’s mother said, “Carson is this best?”

“Aye, Blair. She cannot go on thinking you cuckolded me all these years, and worse, that you passed off another man’s child as mine.”

Josephine stared. “What are you saying? ‘Tis not true?” Her heart began to beat fast.

“It is true, you are not my daughter,” her father said. “At least, I am not the man who fathered you.” A tentative smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “I am, I hope, your Papa.”

Her heart constricted. “Of course you are. No one else could be. But,” she glanced at her mother, “I do not understand.”

“We didn’t tell you because we did not want you to feel any less our daughter, nor did we want Society to ostracize you,” he said.

“Papa, you are frightening me.”

He nodded. “I know, but there is no easy way to tell you this. Your mother never lied to me. You see, I knew.”

Josephine drew a sharp breath. “You knew?” She cut a glance to her mother. “And you forgave her, even though I was not your child.”

“No, Josephine,” he said. “There was nothing to forgive.”

“But—”

“The man who fathered you—” anger flickered in his eyes and a chill sped up Jo’s spine as the truth slammed into her even as he said, “forced himself upon your mother.”

* * *

Josephine’s eyes widened and Nicholas realized she had guessed what had become apparent to him moments ago. She shot to her feet and he tensed. He started to reach for her, but caught the warning Montagu gave with a shake of his head. She took one step to her mother, dropped to her knees on the carpet and threw her head into her mother’s lap.

“I have been so wicked to you,” she sobbed.

The marchioness stroked her hair. “Nonsense.”

Jo shook her head. “I believed the worst of you—and when you have always been the best of mothers.”

Her mother gave a shaky laugh. “I would not say always. Do you remember the time I wouldn’t let you play in the garden with Cecile because I believed a meteor was going to hit you?” She sent the marquess a glance. “Your father warned me that Gypsy was only trying to bilk me for money.”

Josephine lifted her head and met her mother’s gaze. “What I remember is that only yesterday you risked your life to save me.”

The marchioness leaned closer to Josephine and said in a mock whisper, “Your father has not yet learned all the details of our adventure. It is best we keep some things to ourselves. I do not wish to be punished.”

Josephine blinked, clearly uncertain how to react to her mother’s levity, then she clasped her mother’s face in her palms and said, “I will not let him.”

The marchioness’ mouth opened in a soft gasp, then she pulled her daughter to her and they both cried silently for several moments.

Nicholas stood motionless as a statue. He had never seen his mother cry once, yet today he had seen his fiancé crying for nearly half an hour. Now her mother—he realized silent tears were slipping down Annabel’s cheeks, as well. A sense of panic rose. What did a man do with three crying females?

He looked at Montagu, whose hand rested on his wife’s shoulder. The man was utterly calm. Is this what came of living with three women? Nicholas shifted his gaze onto Josephine. There were worse fates.

Cool fingers touched his and he was startled to find that Annabel had slipped her hand into his larger one. Her attention remained on her sister and mother as she swiped at her tears with her free hand. Nicholas’s chest constricted. Today, he had become a part of this family. He had known this family for most of his life, and had wanted Josephine for so long that he couldn’t remember what life was like before he realized he loved her. He’d planned on having a family with her. But it hadn’t occurred to him that he might become a true member of her family.

“Now,” the marquess at last broke the silence. “We have a very important mystery to solve.”

The two women separated and Annabel gave his hand a squeeze, then released him. The marchioness brushed the remaining tears from Josephine’s eyes, then they both looked at the marquess.

“How is it Lord Wylst knows the truth?” Montagu looked at Josephine. “He told you he was your father?”

She nodded. “Aye, Papa.”

“What proof did he offer?”

“Not enough,” she muttered.

“Never mind that,” Lady Montagu said. “Come, sit on the couch and tell us what he told you.”

Josephine took her seat, and said, “He showed me a miniature of his grandmother.” She looked at her mother. “We have long joked about my light hair. You and father are dark. So is Annabel. I am the only one with light hair. I am the spitting image of his grandmother. There was no doubt in my mind.” She looked at her father. “I do not understand. If he isn’t my father, how can she and I look so alike?”