Reckless Viscount

by Amy Sandas

  God, he wanted her again.

  “Your explanation?”

  Her stern prompting recalled him to the more important, though decidedly less pleasurable, matter at hand, and he regretfully left his fantasy to be revisited at another time. The lingering throb of need in his cock, however, was not so easily subdued.

  He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his spread knees. The new position afforded a slight measure of relief to the aching pressure in his groin, but also brought him closer to her. He needed her to see the earnestness in his expression. She needed to feel the truth of what he was about to tell her.

  “My actions last night were known to others. Peers and lords. Men who would spread word of your abduction for their own amusement.”

  Earlier, when he had gone to stables, he had found their driver and carriage, loaned to him by the son of a duke. That one, he remembered, had been rather zealous in his part to help Leif win the wager. Discovery of the carriage and driver had revealed a whole world of problems. Personal servants talked. And Leif was nearly certain he had not been discreet in the execution of Miss Granger’s abduction. How he had managed it all in the condition he must have been in was a wonder.

  “If we were closer to London, we might have had a chance at returning you to Blackbourne and concocting a story to explain your absence at least so the scandal could be minimized. As it is, we have already traveled too far from town. By now, all of London likely knows of your abduction. Being that I am involved…well, certain assumptions will be made.”

  “Assumptions of activities such as what happened on that bed,” she stated sharply between clenched teeth, gesturing with a slim and trembling hand. “Was that your plan? To ruin me so I would have no choice?”

  “No,” he replied quietly. He met her furious gaze, not expecting her to believe him. “What happened between us here was entirely unexpected and unpremeditated. And I do not apologize for it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Abbigael was in shock. That must be why her nerves buzzed at the height of awareness and her stomach kept fluttering with a sensation that was a little bit fear and a little bit expectancy. It was shock that made her knees tremble and her heart beat faster.

  Certainly, it had nothing to do with the man staring at her with heat still smoldering in his gaze.

  She studied him, searching for signs of deception. If he were lying to her, he was very good at it.

  She didn’t trust him. Not even a little bit.

  It seemed much of his memory had returned, yet he hadn’t bothered to explain why he had taken her other than to lead her into an elopement. What could drive a man to take such action? A gentleman at that.

  Well, a lord anyway.

  She narrowed her gaze on the man seated across from her, trying to ascertain what may lie behind his motivations.

  Unexpected. Unpremeditated.

  Not words she would have chosen to describe what she had experienced.

  She had never expected such a wealth of sensation to exist anywhere, yet he had called forth the pleasure so easily from her body. With barely any effort.

  Perhaps that is what had her so twisted. That he had given her such pleasure as if it were the most common thing in the world. Common for him. But not at all for her.

  And for the life of her, she could find nothing in the intimate moments when she had been wrapped in his arms over which to feel the slightest bit of remorse or shame. The fluttering in her stomach grew more erratic as flashes of images and sensations flew through her mind. The smooth slide of his skin beneath her hands, the heat of his mouth covering her breast, the dark need she saw in his eyes a moment before he entered her body. A very insistent part of her wanted to revel in the sensual awakening and she struggled with the inexplicable temptation to cross the space between them and slide into his lap.

  “Why do you want to marry me?” she asked as a means of distracting herself from the direction of her thoughts.

  He lowered his brows over his eyes. The only sign he was getting impatient.

  “I thought I just explained…”

  “No.” Abbigael’s voice was stern to mask the way her wayward emotions had finally reduced her nerves to a tremulous mess. “I mean, why like this? Why the abduction? Why me?”

  His eyes darkened and he lifted his hand to rub his knuckles back and forth against the stubble that grew along his jaw.

  “I need an heiress,” he answered plainly.

  Abbigael’s exhale caught in her throat. “That is painfully blunt.”

  He leaned forward, his expression tight.

  “I do not blame you for being distrustful, but I swear I will never lie to you. I need money. A lot of it. I cannot say exactly how I came to steal you from your bed,” his voice roughened, “but I know it involved an obscene amount of alcohol combined with the heedless desperation of a man with nothing to lose. I wish I could say for a fact that without being terribly foxed I never would have resorted to kidnapping.” He shrugged then and his expression slid back into that devil-may-care smile that always managed to trip up her heart. “In the spirit of being completely honest, it may have come to this anyway.”

  Abbigael sensed the sincerity of his declaration. His tone was unapologetic, but buried deep in the rhythm of his words there was a poignant murmur of the desperation that had driven him to sneak into her room in the middle of the night.

  That is what touched her. Because after all that had transpired in London, after she had believed her dreams out of reach, she could understand such a motivation.

  She could refuse to marry him. She could return to Ulster, to her mother’s people, and continue to live out her life as a pariah. Misunderstood. Unwanted. Alone.

  The instinct to fight surged through her. She wasn’t ready to accept such a fate.

  “I want children.”

  Aside from a very slight widening of his eyes, he accepted her quiet declaration with amazing calm.

  He cleared his throat. “Children. Of course.”

  She heard the discomfort in his voice. Heard it and understood it.

  “I will marry you.” The words slipped from between her lips without her even thinking them. At first, she wasn’t sure she had said them out loud, but then he gave a sharp nod and stood.

  “I have made arrangements to continue our journey and procured a change of clothes for you.” He gestured to the small wrapped bundle at the foot of the bed as he sidestepped past her. “I will be waiting downstairs. We still have a long distance to travel and I would like to be there by morning.”

  The next hours blurred by in a series of posting inns, scenery that grew steadily more rural and boasted longer stretches between each village they passed, and a road that grew bumpier and narrower with every hour.

  Abbigael absolutely detested long carriage rides. The close quarters that so effectively limited any kind of comfortable movement or proper stretching of limbs and the complete lack of stimulus to distract from the passing of minutes and hours rubbed on her nerves. Long trips could be made better, of course, by the right travel companion. Unfortunately, as soon as they had settled into their seats and started off down the road from the inn, Leif had promptly stretched his legs out, crossed his ankles, folded his arms over his chest and fallen asleep.

  Without a word to her. Or even a look for that matter.

  Abbigael fought her annoyance over what felt essentially like a dismissal and she tried to settle in for the journey ahead. She shifted in her seat, trying to get comfortable with the extra bulk of skirt bunched around her hips. The dress he had found for her was sized for a woman with significantly larger portions. She was grateful the shoes fit her well and at least the skirts covered her legs, feet and all. She also had a shawl of thick wool to wrap about her shoulders to protect against the morning chill that never completely dissipated, even well into the afternoon.

  It was not long before Abbigael had cause to be extremely grateful that the carriage was so well appointed as t
he ruts and bumps occasionally sent her bouncing from one end of her cushioned seat to the other, and once, nearly onto the floor. After a while, she figured out a way to wedge herself into the corner of the seat by sitting sideways on the bench and pressing her back into the corner while propping her feet against the wall across from her. Not a very modest position, to be sure, but it wasn’t as if anyone else were conscious enough to be concerned with her lack of propriety.

  She had hoped, after their first stop to change horses and stretch their legs, that she and Leif might have an opportunity to talk a bit about what would happen once they returned to London. But he hadn’t wanted to waste any time by sitting down to eat in the small rustic dining room the inn provided, and after finishing the basket lunch they attempted to enjoy while being jostled about in the carriage, he wiped his mouth clean and promptly returned to his slumber.

  And so Abbigael spent the first leg of the journey staring out the window. But there was only so much admiring one could do of forests and hills and dales before they all simply started to look the same.

  Then there was nothing left to distract her and she started to wonder if she had completely lost her mind.

  She shivered. In cold and uncertainty.

  He had said she was ruined. Was it truth, or a ploy to manipulate her into wedding him willingly? That is his talent, after all. Manipulation. Seduction.

  He had openly admitted as much.

  She would be foolish to think his actions were anything other than well-practiced maneuvers designed to get exactly what he wanted.

  How could she possibly consider such a man for a husband?

  She turned her head and studied him.

  His posture was so casual and relaxed. His shirt was open at the throat, his coat unbuttoned. His arms rested easily over his abdomen and his chin tilted toward his chest so she couldn’t see much of his face. He looked almost like a leisurely gentlemen who been out walking when he decided to stretch out beneath a tree and take a wee nap.

  It was possible, she supposed, that a man like him may not think much of abducting a young woman and stealing her away with the intention to marry. But she doubted that was the case.

  Also, there was something in his manner that gave her the impression he was not as relaxed as he appeared. There was tension in his broad shoulders, even as slumped as they were, and the muscles of his thighs were tensed as well. As if he braced himself.

  She narrowed her gaze and leaned forward as far as she could without tumbling from her perch.

  Was he even truly sleeping?

  “Careful, Irish. One good bump will send you flying.”

  Abbigael jerked back into her seat, narrowly missing hitting her head against the door frame on her way. The shriek that got stuck in her throat at his quietly spoken words ended in a quick choking cough.

  “You are awake.”

  She hated how she always ended up stating the obvious when she could think of nothing else to say.

  He shifted, pushing himself back up into a more seated position. He kept his legs stretched in front of him, but now they were braced a bit further apart. Abbigael’s borrowed skirt draped over the top of one of his boots.

  “I doubt anyone could sleep with such deep heartrending sighs filling the confines of the carriage every few minutes.” He lifted his chin only a fraction and eyed her from beneath his brows. “For a miniscule-sized female, you sure make a terrible racket.”

  Abbigael frowned. “I was not…”

  Sighing. Had she?

  She probably had.

  She lifted her chin and looked back at him, daring him to chastise her for waking him. But she saw the curve of humor in his lips and knew he was teasing her.

  He did that a lot.

  She was surprised to find she liked it.

  Her frown slid away as she realized she finally had what she had wanted. Someone to talk to. Even if the likely topic was sure to make her anxious and doubtful of her own sanity, at least it was something to distract from the tedious monotony of the drive.

  She turned on her seat to face him directly, setting her feet on the floor next to his left foot. She took a little extra time smoothing out the folds of the blue cotton gown over her thighs.

  “Tell me,” she started in a light conversational tone, “have you slept at all on the journey, or were you faking it the entire time?”

  “I never claimed to be sleeping. You just assumed I was.”

  Her jaw dropped open before she remembered herself and promptly closed it. She hadn’t been expecting such a ready admission.

  “You were so desperate to avoid my company?”

  He paused before answering her and as she waited the nerves at the surface of her skin began to tingle. It was the depth of his gaze that did it to her. Sometimes he just looked at her as if her fears and weaknesses were spread before him across a buffet table.

  Finally, he spoke, and his voice was soft and low in the way that infiltrated the very flow of her blood.

  “I thought you might desire some time away from me.”

  Her breath grew shallow and a nervous fluttering erupted in her stomach. “I don’t.”

  His expression didn’t change at first. Then he smiled and the effect was devastating.

  Abbigael searched for something to say. She willingly blamed the long drive on her desperate desire for company and conversation.

  “You are now Lord Neville, correct?” His smile turned wooden, she assumed from grief. “Please accept my sympathy. The death of a parent can be quite…devastating.”

  “Not in this case.” His voice was hollow and sharp at the same time, causing a shiver to run along the back of Abbigael’s neck. “Don’t waste such sweet sentiment.”

  “You had no love for your father.”

  Again, she stated the obvious and then wished she had just kept her mouth shut and allowed the topic to pass.

  Leif laughed a little and pushed his hand back through his already tousled hair.

  “Far from it. I would almost say we were mortal enemies.”

  The expression on his face was so dark and shadowed that he barely looked at all like the charmer and scoundrel she had come to know. Clearly, she only knew him on the most superficial level. A black and turbulent storm raged behind the typical carelessness of his smile. How many others had been given the opportunity to see beyond that façade?

  Not many, she would imagine.

  His father had somehow created that storm in his soul. She was convinced of it

  “Did you kill him?”

  She wasn’t at all sure where the question came from. Once the words were spoken, she held her breath, delicately terrified of how he would answer. And not so much for the answer itself as for how she would react once she had it.

  He looked at her with a flash of surprise in his eyes. Quite swiftly, the shadow of hatred slid away and left him looking rather bemused.

  “You think me a murderer?”

  She shrugged and refused to look away from his inquiring gaze, no matter that she still felt the intensity of his feelings for his father hovering in the atmosphere.

  “I think if I am to marry you, I should know what you are capable of.” Her answer was softly spoken.

  A part of her was shamed that she didn’t condemn the idea from the start. Another part of her understood people could be driven to anything given the right motivation. That part of her felt only compassion.

  He shook his head and glanced away from her.

  “I did not kill him,” he replied in clipped tones. “Still, it would be best for you to never mention him again.”

  “Of course,” she answered.

  Long moments of silence followed as Abbigael searched for some light and pleasant topic to shift the heaviness of the mood that had settled about them. She could feel his withdrawal more now than when she had thought him to be asleep. An atmosphere of uneasiness had settled about him and she knew she had caused it with her thoughtless prying.

&
nbsp; She was a horrible conversationalist. She wished she had been given more opportunity to fine-tune the art of small talk. Invariably, when it mattered most, she ended up saying the wrong thing. With him reverting back to silence, she was left once again with nothing to do but analyze her own thoughts, and she wasn’t exactly sure she understood what she was finding.

  A few hours later, the carriage rolled into the stable yard of an inn that was quite a bit larger and more modern than the ones they had passed previously. Night had fallen long ago, and a grumble in Abbigael’s stomach had her hoping they might go inside and stay for a little while. Long enough to warm by a fire perhaps and enjoy a good meal in a well-lit space without constant movement beneath them.

  Leif quickly dispelled that fantasy.

  “If you need to use the convenience, now is the time. I will inquire into whether or not they can wrap something for us to eat.”

  The carriage stopped and he pushed the door open. He was halfway to the ground by the time she managed to reply.

  “We are not staying?” She didn’t bother to keep the disappointment from her voice.

  He turned back. His broad shoulders took up the entire space of the little doorway. With the light from the inn behind him, she couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the tension in his voice.

  “This is not a leisurely drive.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Irish.”

  A warm hand covered her shoulder. It was the first bit of warmth she had felt for hours and she turned toward it, brushing her cheek against it before it was snatched away.

  “Irish, wake up.”

  The voice had gotten more insistent. Impatient really. She scowled without opening her eyes. She was exhausted and sore. Unfortunately, the sort of half-sleep she had been getting for the last few hours, constantly fighting the sway of the carriage, trying to stay warm beneath the rugs she had found tucked under her seat, had not done much to relieve the aching in her back and limbs or the anxiety in her heart.