Mischief by Moonlight (22 page)

“Now you're just lying,” he said.

Colin was struggling not to pull Josie into his arms and either shake some sense into her, or kiss her violently, neither of which was appropriate. Before Nick's return, Colin had been planning tonight as a significant step in his campaign to win Josie, but that was all changed.

She and Nick were no longer engaged, though there was an understanding between them. And yet, it was not that simple, because Colin and she had something too, something important and real. How could she simply put that aside to be with Nick—wouldn't that create a lie?

And Nicholas—what was he up to, breaking the engagement? Did he really mean to court her again, or was this a chance for them both to cool off and discover if they were really meant to be together? He couldn't forget that letter Nick had sent, telling of his deep attraction to the French spy. How did she figure into what Nick wanted?

“I have to go.” She fumbled behind her for the door handle, but he put out a hand next to her head and held the door closed.

She closed her eyes as if to gather her forces, and the fringe of her lashes against the top of her cheek gave her a young, vulnerable look that tore at him, but he knew he couldn't afford to be merciful.

“Don't think that turning away from what's between us will make it disappear. That running into Nick's arms will wipe away doubt and erase your need for the connection we share.”

She tipped her chin up and her spine seemed to stiffen. “Stop trying to tell me what to do.”

“You have feelings for me. Remember that
you
kissed
me
first in London. Never mind what happened in the carriage.”

Fury brought red to her cheeks, and he was glad for the reaction. However much he'd always despised strong emotion, he saw now that the last thing he wanted was for her to be unmoved by him.

“How can you bring that up? We agreed to forget about it.”

“I said we would move forward. I could never forget it.”

She turned her face away. “Stop talking about this.”

“Not until you admit what you were feeling on the terrace, just before Nick came back.”

Her closed-off expression said,
Never
.

After a moment she said, “I want you to promise you won't say anything about what's passed between us to Nick.”

He took his time answering. “Very well, I promise not to say anything—
yet
. But I think you're just making it worse by waiting.”

“What is
wrong
with you, Colin Pearce? If you were a gentleman, you wouldn't want to torment me with my mistakes and threaten the happiness of your best friend.”

“It's a complicated scenario, isn't it? And it calls for a nuanced response. I'll do what I have to do, if it comes to it.”

She clenched her teeth and looked pointedly at his arm holding the door closed next to her head. “If you will excuse me?”

“Certainly,” he said, “as long as you understand that I have in no way surrendered.” He lifted his arm and she yanked the door open and left.

It was late when Josie reentered the ballroom in a daze, and the guests had begun to leave. The musicians were playing a soft tune but nobody was dancing anymore. Most people were sitting in small groups talking, or making their way toward the cloakroom.

The vicar was still talking to Nicholas at one of the small tables near the edge of the dancing area. Edwina was talking with Lawrence and a young lady Josie didn't know.

Hardly able to think what she was doing, Josie moved away from the doorway, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the inevitable entrance of Colin as she could. She found a spot across the room near one of the large columns where she could prop herself up and gather her tattered spirits.

Nicholas was turned slightly away from her, so she could just see his profile, and she absorbed the details of his person that had faded from her memory over the last year. His light brown curls were touched with gold, doubtless from the Spanish sun, and the scarlet of his military coat announced his significance among men, along with the appealing erectness of his military-straight posture. His face in profile had clean, strong lines that any woman would find handsome. No wonder she'd been so smitten with him.

He must have sensed her gaze, because he turned and smiled. She smiled back, forcing herself not to think about how traitorous she was because everything else aside, she was so glad he was safe. He'd fought for his country and been wounded, and the whole time, apparently, she'd given him hope. She was glad.

But she was still shaken from what had happened with Colin, and the idea of being courted by Nicholas was too much to think about, so she didn't.

He parted from the vicar and made his way over to her.

“Josie, darling girl, I wondered where you'd gone to. Not that I wasn't well occupied during your absence,” he said with a little grin. “I'd forgotten how Vicar can
talk
.”

“I was only taking the air. It's warm tonight.”

“You do look a bit flushed,” he said with concern in his voice, unaware how guilty his observation made her feel.

Of
course
she
was
flushed—she'd just come from Colin.

She resolved at that moment to avoid Colin like the plague, because the only thing she knew anymore was that she did reckless things when he was around.

“I hope you're not unwell?” Nicholas said.

She forced cheeriness into her smile. “Not at all. But it's late, and I'd like to go home. I was just about to collect Edwina and Lawrence so we could walk back.”

“I'll escort you. We haven't had much time together tonight, and there's so much to say. I've told you all about what's happened to me over the last year, but I've hardly heard anything about you.”

“There's not much to report.”

Behind Nicholas she saw Colin enter the room. He remained near the door, his host's duties keeping him there as he bid good-bye to parting guests. She collected Edwina and Lawrence and they made their way toward the door with Nicholas. Awkwardness pulled at her steps, making her legs feel like lead.

Edwina and Lawrence, the first to approach Colin, thanked him for a fine evening.

“I'm just going to see the Cardworthys home,” Nicholas said, “and then I'll return.”

Josie willed Colin not to look at her, and perhaps he felt her intention—though he'd hardly been acquiescent earlier—because he merely thanked them for coming and wished them a good evening.

They made their way back along the path to Jasmine House, though the familiar way felt changed and a little unfriendly in the darkness. Or perhaps it was that she felt guilty, and as though even the trees and birds must be judging her.

Lawrence, in between enormous yawns he tried to conceal, began to ask Nicholas all kinds of questions about his war experiences.

Edwina scolded him. “Lawrence, for goodness' sake, the man just survived a nearly fatal injury and spent months in the care of the enemy. Perhaps he doesn't wish to speak of it.”

“No, no, it's quite all right,” Nicholas said. The warmth in his voice reminded Josie of the open way he was, which had been so appealing from the first. It still was appealing, even if a little voice kept whispering that a man with mysterious hidden depths would fascinate her for a lifetime.

“I should have been extremely interested myself, in your place, Lawrence,” Nick continued. “Though I'm here to tell you war is often far more adventurous-sounding in reports as opposed to the actual experience. We spent hours and hours doing hardly anything at all, sitting about in the hot sun waiting to engage with the enemy. It was, when we were not at risk of losing life or limb, often fairly dull.”

“Dull!” Lawrence said incredulously.

They reached Jasmine House, and Edwina and Lawrence said good night. Josie, too, yearned for her bed and the peace of her bedchamber. She was exhausted, wrung out, and overwhelmed.

But Nicholas seemed unwilling to part just yet, and so she lingered in the garden with him. Inside the house behind them, Edwina lit a few candles in the now-deserted sitting room and moved about as if straightening up, giving them a chaperone but also privacy.

“Was it truly boring at war?” she asked. “Your letters spoke of the many delights you discovered. The beauties of Spain, the interesting people.”

“Yes, that was part of it, too. I exaggerated a bit for Lawrence, not wanting him to dream of war as a valorous adventure when it is far more compromised than that. I make no doubt that illnesses alone are killing more men than cannonballs, and what a misery to die alone and suffering, far from home.”

“And the French? How did it feel to have a whole country for your enemy?”

He was silent for a minute, and she thought he wouldn't answer. But finally he said, “The French are much like us.”

He reached for her hands and held them lightly. Through the fabric of her evening gloves, she felt only a little warmth from his hands, as though she were detached from him. She knew this was wrong, that she'd been his fiancée and was on the way to being that again, but she couldn't see how to fix the trouble she was in, caught between her need for Colin and the devotion she owed Nicholas.

“Josie, dearest. In the whole last year, you were never far from my mind. When I wrote that you were the light that carried me through the darkest of days, I meant it. Thank you for being that light.”

She swallowed, grateful for the darkness as guilt gripped her. This good man believed she was a paragon, and that was in no way true. But if the thought of her had brought him any relief from the hardships of war, she was grateful, and she couldn't bring herself to taint that by letting him know he'd put his faith in a deeply flawed woman. She could only resolve to be deserving of such esteem.

“I'm glad if in any way I cheered your spirits.”

“You did, a hundred, hundred times. And I meant what I said about courting you anew. You deserve flowers and poems and every good thing, and I mean to provide them.”

“Oh, no, that's not necessary!” For a moment, she desperately wanted to confess all, but she resisted that weakness.

He squeezed her hands lightly then let them go. “Indeed it is. And now, as we are not engaged, I mustn't linger. But I hope I may call on you tomorrow and invite you and your sister for a walk?”

How was she ever going to stand the wrongness of this fine man believing he was courting a virtuous woman? But she didn't see a choice, because how could she ever admit what would hurt and disappoint him so?

“Oh, er…” she began, remembering the campaign to get her mother off the divan, which had not yet met with any success.

He looked puzzled at her hesitation, and she smiled. “Of course I will look forward to your visit, but I'm not certain Edwina and I will be free when you call.” She explained about their plan for her mother, which he found amusing, and he assured her he wouldn't be offended if she was busy when he visited.

They said good night, and she watched him go along the garden path that led to Greenbrier, over whose roofline the moon was setting. She sent up a silent prayer that Colin wouldn't decide to tell Nicholas everything they'd been up to. She didn't at all know what the Earl of Ivorwood would do anymore.

***

Colin was in the library late the next morning, reviewing accounts, when Nick came in. Colin smiled and put down his quill.

“In your favorite place I see,” Nick said, dropping into the chair across from Colin's desk.

Colin gave him a dry look. “I do frequent other places, you know. And our very first meeting aside, I think it's been well established that I'm a far better punter than you, never mind my fencing skills.”

Nick gave a bark of laughter. “I don't at all agree any of that's been established, and I will concede nothing in the realm of fencing. Now that I'm back, we'll have to see about a round or two to measure our skills.”

Colin smiled. “It really is quite amazing to have you here, when we all thought we'd said farewell to you for good. I'm having a bit of trouble getting used to it.”

Nick leaned forward and plucked a slim volume off the desk and began flipping through the pages. “We had some jolly good times at university,” he said. “Life was so uncomplicated then.”

“Yes.”

“Can't begin to tell you how sentimental a man gets when he doesn't think he'll see his friends and family ever again.”

“It's understandable.”

Nick was quiet for a minute as he flipped through the book some more. Not looking up, he said, “I want you to know that nothing happened in France, between me and the lady I wrote you about. Giselle.”

Colin wondered specifically what he meant—that he'd never touched her? Because he'd evidently wanted her. And yet, nothing could be more understandable than temptation; Colin would be a hypocrite to suggest otherwise.

“But something might have,” Colin said. “You might have wanted something to happen.”

“Whether I did or not, the important thing is that nothing did.”

“
Is
that the important thing?”

“Of course it is,” Nick said impatiently, tossing the book back on the desk. “Nothing happened because the thought of Josie kept me chaste. How she is so lovely and lively. How she was waiting for me here, in England, where life is so much less complicated than it was in Spain. And far more perfect.”

“I wouldn't say life here is perfect. Or uncomplicated.”

“Oh, you know what I mean. Anyway, it's Josie who's perfect. She's the kind of woman any man would want for a wife. The kind of woman I've always wanted for a wife.”

“A kind of woman? You make her sound like something you've chosen from a shop.”

Nick's brows lowered. “What a thing to say.”

“Well, Josie's not some sort of ideal of a woman. You knew her for less than two months before you got engaged—perhaps not enough time to see some of her less perfect qualities.”

“Really, Colin,” Nick said, the hint of tension on his face melting into laughter, “anyone would think you were warning me off her.”

Was
he doing that? Why the hell had he even said anything, when he couldn't trust himself to be impartial about anything related to Josie being with Nick? When he was still accustoming himself to the shock of having fallen in love with her? He didn't know how she felt about him—he might never—and it was making him crazy.

Nick deserved his chance with her—there was no question of that.

If his two friends truly loved each other, then so be it. He would bow out. But until such time as he was certain that was the case, and that he'd gotten Josie to see she was making a choice—likely the most important one of her life—he wouldn't give up the hope of her.

“But of course,” Nick continued in a reasonable tone that made Colin feel perfidious, “you know her better than I do. I rather envy you that—the chance you've had, living so close, to see her all the time, to know her family better.” He chuckled. “I'm rather surprised you didn't fall in love with her yourself.”

Oh, this was rich. Someday, perhaps when he was eighty and all his hopes for love and family happiness had thoroughly expired, he would have a belly laugh over it.

“Josie and I are extremely good friends,” he said, but was that even true anymore? No. They'd gone far beyond friendship, and they couldn't go back.

He had no idea what that said about his future, or how he would cope with the hole that would be in his life if she chose Nick, because he knew for certain that if she did, he wouldn't be able to see either of them for at least a decade or two, until he could manage not to care.

Nick nodded. “You can't know how glad I am the two of you became such friends. I can't thank you enough for keeping an eye out for her while I was gone. It allowed me not to worry about her, knowing she was taken care of. And it was incredibly good of you, really beyond the call of duty, taking her and Edwina to London.”

Colin swallowed hard, so tempted to just get it out in the open, to let Nick know he had competition for Josie's hand. But he'd promised Josie he wouldn't say anything yet. He didn't like this, though—he didn't like it at all.

“I'm a friend of the family, Nick. With or without you in the picture, I would have been a friend to the Cardworthys.”

“Of course. I know that, and I didn't mean to suggest anything—well, hang it all, I'm just so pleased to be here I'm not even certain what I'm saying.”

He stood up. “I'm off to visit Josie, if you don't think it's too early for the Cardworthys.”

“No,” Colin said, realizing that if he wanted to see Josie today, he'd have to go now with Nick or find a pretext for being there on his own later. He decided to stay home. “It's not too early.” He picked up a book he'd put aside on his desk. “And you can give this to Mrs. Cardworthy. It's part of the campaign to get her off the divan.”