This was just the sort of thing Somersby would do.
For this, and other reasons, John had never liked the man. But he doubted Somersby was evil incarnate. "Has your uncle signed the betrothal contract yet?"
She sniffled. "No, I ripped it up and tossed the pieces into the fire before he could put quill pen to paper."
"And then you ran off into the stormy night?"
She nodded. "I couldn't very well stay under the same roof as that villain, could I?"
John frowned. "You're fortunate you weren't killed by a falling tree or set upon by smugglers or swept away in a sudden flood. Anything might have happened to you."
"I know, but I had to find you. You're the only one who can help me. The marquis will drag me back to his lodge and force me to agree to the betrothal. He wants my dowry. He doesn't want me. I think I knew it all along but refused to admit it to myself."
John leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. He and Jordan had come up to Invergarry a few days ago under the guise of grouse hunting along with the rest of London's elite. But they were quietly working to break up a rather nasty ring of rebels who were financing their operation by smuggling goods through Invergarry. He dared not allow Nicola to interfere with his mission. "I'm sure he won't drag you back or force you to do anything you don't wish to do. Besides, now that you've made your wishes known to your uncle, he'll support you. He won't agree to the betrothal. Nor will Julian ever allow it," he said, referring to her brother, Viscount Chatham, who had been in this elite unit with him until he fell in love with Rose Farthingale and married her.
John trusted very few people.
He liked even fewer.
Julian was the exception. He and Julian were as close as brothers, so he owed it to him to protect Nicola.
He'd died a little inside when her brother had told him of her impending betrothal.
But he had only himself to blame.
Only himself and the torment that had formed him into the man he was.
One who was not fit to declare his love for Nicola.
"You don't understand, John. A simple refusal won't stop the marquis. He has everyone fooled with his charming ways, but he isn't a nice man. He's dangerous and depraved."
John did not know what to do with the girl. She was obviously overset and allowing her fears to run amok.
She stared at his expression and gasped. "You don't believe me."
"Nicola, he made a mistake. That's all."
Her eyes were blazing again. "You didn't see the way he looked at me when he realized I had caught him in the act. There was no contrition. There was no embarrassment or shame. He made no attempt to apologize. Doesn't that speak to the sort of man he is?"
"I don't know. Not everyone reacts the same way when feeling trapped or embarrassed."
"But that's my point. He didn't feel trapped. He made me feel as though I were the one trapped under the force of his arrogant gaze. He frightened me with that look. I don't want any part of him, for I know what he'll do to me once I'm married to him. He'll break my spirit and force me to be a biddable, unquestioning drudge of a wife. He won't be gentle about it either."
John slapped his hands on the table and rose with a groan. His attempts to calm her were only serving to further rile her. "I'll have the tavern keeper send a boy up to the lodge to let everyone know you're safe. There are guest chambers upstairs. I expect they'll all be taken by now, but I'll give you mine. Use one of my shirts for a nightgown. Get out of your wet clothes, and try to have a good night's rest. We'll discuss your situation over breakfast in the morning."
She remained seated. "Why won't you believe me?"
He did not know what to believe. In truth, he was practically senseless at the moment, for the thought of Nicola in his bed, wearing nothing but his shirt against her soft, wet skin, was not helping him come to any logical conclusions.
Fortunately, Jordan returned and set his large frame on the chair beside Nicola's, putting an end to John's attempt to escort her upstairs. "Are ye hungry, lass? Perhaps a bowl of stew to fortify ye."
She smiled at Jordan. "That's very thoughtful of you. I'd like that, Mr. Drummond."
John stifled the flood of jealousy that washed over him when Nicola returned his companion's smile with a sweet and openhearted one of her own. What was wrong with him? Nicola wasn't his. He had no claim to her. Yet his heart was pounding violently in his chest and idiotic thoughts were whirling in that empty head of his. Idiotically possessive thoughts. Mine. Nicola is mine. No one else can have her.
But he'd kept silent when he ought to have been courting her.
He'd kept silent when Somersby had shown interest in her.
Nicola blamed herself, but he was the one at fault.
"One of the maids will bring the stew up to my chamber," he said, reaching out to take Nicola's hand. "Come on, I'll help you settle in."
Jordan cast him a questioning look, his beefy hands curling into fists. "Where do ye intend to spend the night?"
"I'm giving her my room. I'll share yours. I can make a pallet for myself by the hearth."
Jordan nodded. "Aye, that'll work."
"Thank you, Mr. Drummond. I appreciate your protecting me, but you needn't worry. Lord Bainbridge has no interest in me other than that of a protective brother."
Jordan arched an eyebrow. "Lass, he isn't your brother."
"No, but … " She sighed. "I would like to go upstairs now. My gown is soaked and I'm chilled to the bone. I don't like the way some of these men are looking at me."
Neither did John.
He cast them a lethal scowl that had them hastily turning away to stare into their tankards once more.
The girl was too pretty for her own good.
She was too pretty for his own good.
He was on an important assignment.
He needed to concentrate on destroying those smugglers.
But all he could think about was Nicola. In his shirt. In his bed.
The storm outside was nothing to the one raging in his heart.
NICOLA ALLOWED HERSELF to lean against John as he escorted her upstairs to his chamber. Fatigue overcame her the moment she rested her head against his big, comforting shoulder. She'd been so tense and overset ever since reaching Invergarry, sensing things were not quite right with the Marquis of Somersby. No doubt her uncle and John believed she was merely being a fickle maiden, but it wasn't that at all.
She would have gone through with the betrothal and the wedding had the marquis been a moderately decent man. She would have vowed to honor and obey him-although she would need to work a little harder on the "obey" part-and agreed to become his wife. Once married, she would have tried her best to make their marriage work. "Thank you, John. I know I've been a bother to you. But I had nowhere else to turn."
"No bother," he said, but Nicola knew he thought of her as an unpleasant boil on his neck that simply would not pop. She did not mean to be a nuisance to him, but it wasn't entirely her fault that she was in this mess over the Marquis of Somersby.
Didn't Somersby have to take some responsibility for his actions?
And that was another thing. The marquis would not permit her to call him Tom or Thomas, but insisted that she always refer to him as Somersby or my lord. They'd never reached the point of amiable familiarity. She'd expected that to come in time, but now knew it never would.
John tightened his grip around her waist as she faltered on the last step. His big, muscled arms drew her close. Perfect arms, but she refused to think about their impressive strength. John did not care for her in that way and never would.
He paused in front of the fourth door on the right. "Here we are."
She said nothing as he opened the door to reveal a cozy fire blazing in the hearth and a comfortable-looking bed that took up most of the small room. John's travel pouch rested on a chair beside the hearth. "Where are the rest of your belongings, John?"
He leaned against the door frame as though afraid to enter his own chamber. Even at this distance, his dark gold hair managed to glow magnificently in the firelight. His eyes were a mix of pine green and lethal gray … yes, that's what they were, a dangerous, haunting green, like the eyes of a predator. A wolf, perhaps. How many times had she lost herself in their vibrant depths? "Jordan's farm is not far from here. That's where I'm staying for grouse hunting season. But we'd planned to spend a few days hunting in these hills since the game is plentiful in this area, so we took rooms here to get an early start in the morning." He nodded toward his pouch. "I have a spare shirt in there."
"Soap and a comb, by any chance?"
He nodded. "Use whatever you need. Ask the maid to help you undress when she brings up the stew."
"Would you mind terribly helping me now? Just a few tugs on the laces and I'll manage the rest. The cold has seeped into my bones."