Free Lord Grayson's Bride by Tarah Scott Page A

punishment.
    Seeing mother and daughter now, dusty and disheveled but sitting on a lavish settee sipping tea as if it were any other afternoon, Nick’s gut loosened a notch. He would never again let Josephine out of his sight without an entourage of bodyguards that would incite terror into the blackest hearts of any criminal.
    He strode alongside Montagu to the woman. The marquess pulled his wife up and into a hug. Nick reached for Josephine. She shied away, but he grasped her arm and drew her to him. She stiffened, then her warm, soft curves melted against him. He felt a burning pressure against the back of his eyes and released a shuddering breath. She shivered in response. Suddenly, he needed her more than he’d needed any other woman, more than he’d needed even her.
    He pulled back and looked down at her. The room melted away and he saw only her dark eyes staring up at him, wide with an answering heat that took his breath. Nick bent over her and brushed his lips against hers. She leaned into him. Raw desire streaked through him. The scent of lilac soap teased his senses and he wanted to devour the scent, devour her. He tightened his arms around her and deepened the kiss. She grasped his shoulders, her fingers digging into his muscle. He wanted—needed those fingers on his skin.
    A sound penetrated the haze. Someone was clearing their throat. Nick froze, the realization that they weren’t alone slamming into his brain, and he forced himself to break the kiss. He met her father’s gaze and saw no condemnation in his eyes—or the marchioness’ eyes when he dared a glance at her—but the message that this was not the time or place to make love to their daughter.
    Josephine pulled back, obviously aware she, too, had forgotten where they were. Satisfaction swelled on a rolling tide through him. Whatever had her afraid of marriage had nothing to do with the marriage bed. He’d known as much yesterday. The way she had responded to him after he’d caught her with Beaumond told him that. But to forget they were in public with her parents standing beside them meant she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. Perhaps it even meant she loved him.  
    “You are unharmed, my dear?” Montague asked his wife.
    “Not so much as a scratch,” she replied.
    “You will have to replace Mother’s petticoats,” Jo said.
    “Petticoats?” The marquess’ expression darkened. “If those ruffians—”
    His wife cut him off. “They did not lay a hand on Josephine or myself. I used the garments to bandage the young man they were trying to rob.” She looked at her daughter. “But I will be disciplining my disobedient daughter. I instructed her to go with the other ladies.”
    “As you should have done,” Lord Montagu said.
    The marchioness lifted a hand and stroked his jaw with the back of her fingers. “Nonsense, my lord. If anything, it was Lord Deeds who should have returned home. He charged haphazardly into the fray.”
    “What happened?” Montagu asked.
    They sat, the women between them, and the marchioness recounted the story. When she finished, Nicholas said to Josephine, “I believe your mother is correct, Lady Josephine. You deserve some sort of punishment for acting so rashly.”
    Jo’s eyes glinted with fury, but before she could say anything, her mother said, “What punishment did you have in mind, Lord Grayson?”
    “A hand to her backside would be a good start,” he growled.
    “You are mad if you think for an instant that I will let you touch me,” Josephine retorted.
    “You letting me will have nothing to do with it,” he replied.
    “My mother was right,” she said. “There was no need for us to flee.”
    “I believe I said there was no need for me to flee, my dear,” the marchioness said.
    “I can do anything you can do,” Josephine said.
    “Is that so?” the marchioness said.
    Something flickered in Jo’s eyes, and Nicholas was struck with the thought that she regretted her words.
    “I