Reckless Viscount

by Amy Sandas

  Crawling into bed and pulling the soft cotton bed linens up to her chin, Abbigael settled back against the pillows and closed her eyes.

  Immediately, the image of a handsome grinning face and wickedly flashing eyes came to mind and she felt a pulling twinge of regret in her belly. She chased the image away.

  It did not take long before Abbigael slid gently into the dark oblivion she had craved. She fell into such a deep and steady sleep that she didn’t even stir when her bedroom door opened and a gentlemen staggered in, silent in spite of his drunken lack of grace.

  When he found her discarded stockings and clumsily tied her ankles and then her wrists, Abbigael murmured softly, but she did not waken. And when the gentleman lifted her in his arms and carried her triumphantly through the sleeping house to the carriage waiting in the street, she actually turned to rest her cheek against his shoulder and sighed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Abbigael didn’t want to wake up yet. The sleeping draught had worked wonders and she felt as if she had slept for days and could sleep a few more. But the morning light was insistent against her closed eyelids. A new day had come. She nearly groaned out loud. A new day to face the mess her plans had become. She would be leaving today. There was a lot to do and no point in putting it off.

  She flexed her toes and started to stretch the muscles of her limbs to reenergize them. Only to find they couldn’t move. At least not in the way she wanted them to. She shifted first one leg and then the other.

  They were bound together.

  Tightly.

  Her breath caught in a rush of flashing alarm. She opened her eyes wide and found herself staring at a ceiling she didn’t recognize. She tried to sit but couldn’t get her elbows beneath her to push herself up. Her wrists were bound as well. Panic and confusion warred for dominance as she struggled to shake off the last of her befuddled sleepiness.

  Was this a nightmare? Her throat felt raw and swollen with the need to scream or burst into tears, and her lips felt tight and stiff. A choked mewl of despair caught in her throat, most of the weak sound absorbed by the gag tied around her mouth.

  She had been abducted.

  Unbelievable. Impossible. It had to be a nightmare.

  Abbigael closed her eyes and in a silent but stern voice told herself it was time to wake up.

  Now.

  She opened her eyes again but still saw only the plain plastered ceiling with a long crack that ran from one corner nearly to the center of the perfectly square plane.

  Her heart raced with terror. This couldn’t be happening.

  She stretched her mind back into the night before, but it was all black and heavy nothingness. The potion she had taken had caused her to sleep straight through her own abduction.

  Tight-squeezing panic assaulted her chest and her mind struggled to grasp the reality of what was happening. She strained her ears for any recognizable sound but could discern nothing specific. Her gaze darted around, trying to seek out answers in her peripheral vision. She saw no one and heard nothing but the rush of her own breath through her flaring nostrils. She must be alone. If anyone were in the room with her they would have noticed her movements and would have addressed her. Wouldn’t they? Her guard must be outside her room, or more likely than not, she was securely locked in.

  Tears pricked behind her eyelids and she forced away her steadily rising fear by taking long, slow breaths through her nose.

  She must have been taken for ransom. She had heard of such things happening. And a ransom meant they wouldn’t hurt her. At least, not gravely. She focused on breathing deeply, and as she did so a faintly familiar scent invaded her awareness.

  Cedar and tobacco.

  Lord Riley. Or wait, Lord Neville now, wasn’t he? She remembered hearing the earl and countess discussing the death of the old viscount just the previous day. Or was that two days ago? She couldn’t be sure. The sleeping draught had severely muddled her mind. She gave herself a mental shake. She couldn’t allow herself to be distracted. She had to find a way to free herself.

  Taking the chance that she was alone in the room, she carefully rolled to her side in the bed and then stopped abruptly as she met the gaze of the very same man she had just chased from her thoughts.

  Leif sat slouched in a small wooden chair set squarely to face her less than a foot away from the bed. His legs were bent and braced wide apart and his elbows rested on the narrow armrests. His hands hung lax over his thighs and his eyes were trained on her face.

  Abbigael’s already frantic heart jolted against her ribs as a very different degree of awareness raced across her nerves.

  He watched her from beneath lowered eyelids and a rough growth of beard shadowed his unsmiling mouth. His hair was tousled, his clothes were a wrinkled mess and he was without a cravat.

  He looked frightfully appealing even in his mussed state.

  Abbigael’s first fleeting thought at seeing him was relief that she had been saved. But it was followed immediately by a swift invasion of clarity as she realized he had been watching her for some time, silently witnessing her return to consciousness and the dawning realization of her situation. He had seen her fear and panic rising and had done nothing to stop it.

  If Lord Neville wasn’t her hero in this scenario, then he was the villain.

  And obviously insane.

  Fear and panic flipped instantly into hot burning fury. The muscles of her limbs stiffened painfully and her lungs felt near to bursting with a sudden desire to release a font of scathing reprimands.

  He watched her so intently he couldn’t have missed the shift in her emotion. The flat expression on his face tensed until his lips curved into a semblance of a smile. But the result was hollow.

  “Good morning, Irish,” he said in a low and rough-textured voice.

  Her reply was not nearly so pleasant. But the words that flowed from her throat in a wave of righteous indignation were effectively muffled by the gag still stretched between her teeth. She ended her short rant with a growl of frustration and a fiercely narrowed gaze at the man who had the power to release her.

  And why hadn’t he? He was a nobleman, a close friend of the Blackbournes. What possible reason could he have to keep her thus?

  Her confusion was almost as great as her frustrated anger, and to avoid the fear and uncertainty that crowded at the edges of her mind, she focused on the anger. That, at least, gave her a sense of strength in her powerless position.

  She waited for him to say or do something, glaring in fierce silence.

  After a few long moments, he mumbled a sharp expletive under his breath and pulled himself out of the slouch to lean forward in the chair and brace his elbows on his spread knees. His handsome face came close enough that she could feel the rushing breath of his sigh as it stirred the loose tendrils of hair at her temple.

  Abbigael felt distinctly vulnerable in her bound position on the narrow bed. She couldn’t quite believe he would harm her, but as she met his gaze there was a darkness present she hadn’t noticed before. He looked worn and tired, as if he’d held a grin for so long that he simply hadn’t the strength to do it anymore.

  He cleared his throat and lifted a hand to rub his knuckles back and forth along the dark stubble on his jaw. His eyes left hers to travel the length of her body as she lay half curled up on her side. Her full length nightgown covered nearly every inch of bare skin, but it was a thin material and provided only the faintest barrier between her naked body and his intent gaze.

  Now was not a time to be missish, she told herself, and she remained still under his perusal until his eyes met hers again.

  “I seem to have put us both into a rather difficult predicament.”

  Abbigael raised her eyebrows sharply and the corner of his mouth lifted just a fraction.

  “Yes, I can see you realized that already.”

  Then he slid forward in his chair until his knees bumped against the side of the bed. His expression was hard to read, but Abbigael s
ensed a new determination that she hadn’t noticed in their prior interactions. Something in him had changed. It made her nervous. And when he leaned over her, his shoulders blocking the dim light from the small window behind him, his warm breath bathed the skin at her throat and the masculine essence of cedar filled her nostrils. His eyes held hers and her stomach tightened. A soft mewling sound rose involuntarily from her throat.

  “Don’t worry, Irish,” he murmured quietly in response. “I’m just going to sit you up.”

  He reached for her and gently lifted her shoulders then hooked his hand at the side of her knees and swung her legs down over the edge of the bed. In a swift and easy move, he had her upright and facing him. Her legs fell between his spread knees and her bound hands settled into her lap.

  She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t even furious any more. She had gotten the sense from what he said so far that he was somehow going to make things right. He had to.

  She sat there in her nightgown, her feet bare, her hair a mess down her back, and he across from her looking recklessly tousled and ridiculously appealing. She had never been in such a vulnerable and intimate situation with a man. With this man it was practically devastating to her senses. Not to mention what it did to cohesive thought.

  No, she wasn’t afraid. She was very nearly terrified. But in a wildly wicked way that she couldn’t bring herself to analyze. So she waited for him. Waited to see what he would do with her, breath tight and shallow, her heart thudding heavily against her ribs and her muscles stiff with anticipation.

  He braced his hands on the mattress on either side of her knees and the muscles of her thighs tightened.

  “I am going to release your feet. Do you promise not to kick at me?”

  She hesitated.

  There was a familiar note of amusement in his voice. As if he were tempted to tease her. At a time like this? The man was shameless and Abbigael was still so very confused. She wanted to blame her lack of comprehension on residual aftereffects of the sleeping draught, but she worried it was the man himself making her feel as if she were suddenly in a world gone topsy-turvy.

  Finally, because he continued to watch her so intently and she really did want to be free of her bindings, she nodded her head.

  He eyed her with caution as he settled his hands on her knees then slid them down the outside of her calves. She suspected he thought that by moving slowly he would avoid frightening her, but the sensation of his large hands traveling along the full length of her legs gave rise to new sensations in her heavy limbs.

  And then there was that sudden flicker of light in the shadowed depths of his eyes. She saw it just before he lowered his gaze to her feet, but that brief flash of life and color sparked a delicious tingling in her blood. She clenched her teeth against the sound of distress that rose from her throat. She did not understand what was happening, but she knew she did not want him to be aware of how he affected her.

  His hands followed the curves of her calves until he reached her ankles. Then he slid back in his chair and lifted her legs to set her bare feet against the surface of his thigh. She felt the solid warmth of muscle beneath her feet and a flush spread across her cheeks and down the length of her throat.

  Thankfully, his eyes were still lowered and he didn’t notice her reaction. Fearful that he may look up and she might accidently meet his gaze, she lowered her eyes as well. But the sight of her feet being held so carefully in his large hands brought another unwelcome flush to her skin.

  He pushed the hem of her nightgown up to her knees and Abbigael saw that it was one of her own stockings wrapped around her ankles. Intently focused on his task, he untied the knot, unwound the silken undergarment and dropped it to the floor beside him.

  With the wide pads of his thumbs, he rubbed her ankles where the binding had been, and though she knew she should pull her feet back, she didn’t simply because it felt so good. The soothing pressure of his fingers worked magic against her bare skin, easing the discomfort left by the wound stocking. A moment later, he brushed his thumb across the underside of her foot and her leg jerked involuntarily. Her feet had always been horribly ticklish. As if he hadn’t noticed her sudden tensing, he made another light pass along the soft skin at her arch.

  Abbigael protested sharply behind her gag and pulled her feet back.

  He bowed his head to hide his expression, but not quickly enough for her to miss the twitch of his lips.

  He had done that on purpose. The man was definitely shameless.

  Abbigael narrowed her eyes and tried to strengthen her resolve. It did her no good to fall under the spell of his expert touch and teasing manner. She straightened her posture, which had softened while he had been massaging her feet and ankles, and lifted her hands from her lap, offering them to him expectantly.

  Leif met her round watchful gaze. “You will not attack me?”

  She stared at him stonily, allowing her irritation to show in her eyes. No matter how gentle his fingers or how charming his hidden smile, he had abducted her. Releasing her would not completely make up for it, but at least it was a start.

  He dipped his chin and eyed her slightly askance.

  “I know I don’t deserve it, but my instinct for self-preservation demands that I ask you to promise you won’t grab some heavy object and bash me over the head.”

  Abbigael rolled her eyes and uttered a sharp retort behind her gag.

  An inappropriate grin threatened his solemn expression, but he nodded as he reached for her hands.

  “I will accept that.”

  This knot had been tied much tighter and more clumsily. It took a bit to untangle, but with a few muttered expletives he managed to loosen it.

  Abbigael immediately pulled her hands back, fearful he might claim another opportunity to soften her with gentle attention. She began to rub at the light abrasions that encircled her wrists from the securely wound stocking, flexing her stiff fingers to encourage the return of full circulation.

  When he lifted his hands toward her gag, she stiffened and leaned away, searching his face warily.

  He met her eyes with an expression of calm determination and slight amusement and curled his fingers to beckon her closer.

  “Come,” he said commanded softly, “your fingers are far too stiff to release the knot in the gag.”

  Abbigael flexed her fingers and felt the prickling of returning sensation. He was right. Even if her fingers managed to work properly, her shoulders were sore from sleeping on them in the same position all night and she could barely lift her arms, let alone reach behind her head.

  “Trust me, Irish.” His lips twisted sardonically. “I have some experience with the effects of bondage.”

  She eyed him with a scowl of confusion and stubborn defiance.

  Now what was that supposed to mean?

  By the look on his face, she guessed it to be something of a wicked nature. There was an odd twist low in her belly as she wondered if he had once been tied up or if he had tied other women. Neither thought sat well with her at the moment.

  His low laugh sounded raw and forced to her ears. And she wasn’t sure if he laughed at himself or her own obvious distress.

  He beckoned her closer again. “Come here.”

  Seeing no other choice if she wanted to be completely freed as quickly as possible, Abbigael sighed and leaned toward him, lowering her eyes to her lap.

  In silence, he lifted his hands to the cloth tied around her mouth. The knot was even tougher than the one on her wrists and wispy locks of her hair twisted in and out of the cloth. He took his time and did not tug too hard, but Abbigael had a horribly sensitive scalp and more than once tears came to her eyes when strands of hair were pulled free.

  She welcomed the moments of pain as a distraction from the further havoc his proximity was wreaking in her awareness. Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could convince herself the situation was not so very intimate. But when she did so, her other senses strengthened. The male scent of him surrou
nded her, the warmth of his body seemed to reach out to her, and she found herself matching her breath to the steady rhythm of his.

  Once the knot was loose enough to lift the gag over her head, he did so, dropping it to the floor alongside her discarded stockings.

  Abbigael straightened and met his gaze. She was unsure what to say now that she could speak freely. She licked her dry lips and tried to gather her scattered thoughts into a cohesive whole.

  He looked back at her with a shuttered expression in his eyes and a slight curve to his lips. He seemed to have a difficult time taking even this situation seriously. Then he slid back in the small wooden chair until he was once again slouched against the curved back with his elbows resting on the narrow arms.

  “All right, Irish, let me have it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Abbigael took a slow breath. Then another.

  She opened her mouth to speak. Then closed it again.

  Lord Neville lifted his brows.

  Maybe it was the amusement in his face, or maybe the tension and confusion and odd stimulation of the morning finally coalesced into a fully comprehensive reaction. She couldn’t be sure what managed to shake her from her choked silence, but whatever the catalyst, Abbigael suddenly knew exactly what to say.

  “Are you outta your mind?” she asked roughly, her throat still raw and dry from the effects of the gag. She could hear the brogue thickening her words, but didn’t care to refine her pronunciation. “What in the name of the heavenly father gave you cause to steal me from my bed an’ carry me off to who knows where? Have you lost all sense?”

  “Likely long ago,” he replied in a careless drawl, then continued before she could interrupt. “I should state now that I cannot properly answer any specific questions about our current predicament as my memory of the last couple days is foggy at best and completely obliterated otherwise.”

  “You were drunk,” she accused.