Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues)

by Aliyah Burke

  He walked back gazing longing at her chest. “Not much else to tell.” He handed her a drink and smiled wickedly. “Out of respect for him I am trying to set a good example. Drink up and we can partake in other things.”

  Lust flared in her eyes as she drank. “I am surprised you are not sleeping with her.”

  Me, too. He reached out and drug his knuckle over her breasts. “I like my women to have experience. And you, my little widow, have the perfect amount. Now drink up.”

  § § §

  “Have you heard from Miss Adrys?”

  The man before her intimidated her. Way more than she cared to admit.

  “No,” Clara squeaked the response. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “No.”

  “You will get word to me should you.”

  She bristled at the arrogantly delivered statement. She slid her gaze to the left where it landed upon the large man standing mute in the corner of the room. Captain Royce Bottomley.

  He fascinated her. The way he appeared so gruff and cold at one moment only to show her a totally different side the next. He had kept her safe all the way back to London. No one bothered her. All it took was one of those glares from Royce and they treated her as if she were royalty.

  “What possible reason could you have to smile?”

  She jerked her attention from Royce and returned it to Jack. Had she been smiling?

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “She is in danger, surely the good captain told you this.”

  “Yes. And as I told him, if I knew what you wanted, I still would not tell you.”

  His expression showed his irritation. “What would it take to have you share if she contacts you?”

  “You want to pay me?”

  “Want? No. I would rather blackmail you, however, Captain Bottomley warned me it would do no good to do such a thing.”

  She looked at Royce again, her heart sped up at the recollection of how he had protected her. Shaking her head, she rose to her feet. “You have nothing I want.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  Jack crossed his arms. “We will be in touch, Miss Field.”

  Why did that sound like a threat?

  At the door, Royce appeared at her side and held the door for her before following.

  “You should not push him.”

  “I cannot divulge that which I do not know.”

  “You have not heard from her?”

  “You sound amazed. Do not think I would tell you had I. But no, I have not.” She was worried. A bit of information she would keep to herself.

  “Some men are not good to have as an adversary. I will not always be around to protect you, Clara.”

  The sound of her first name on his lips created a heat in her belly. Sure, he had done it before but that had been after he claimed they were married. A few more flutters in her stomach. She stopped in the long, empty hall, and peered up at him.

  “Protect me? Why do I need protection, Royce?”

  His eyes burned in the light. “You get in trouble. It finds you.”

  “You have me confused with Jo. I am quiet, a wallflower.”

  He raked his gaze over her. Hungrily. She repressed her shiver. He had never looked at her that way before. So possessively. Lustful.

  “You may act like it but you are neither.”

  “Is this part of your strategy, to get me to tell you something about Jo? If it is, that was mean spirited.”

  Anger bloomed in his eyes. “Is that what you think? That because I have only one arm I have to resort to lies to get a woman?” He used that one arm—that very strong arm—to haul her flush to him. “Do you feel me?”

  Heat filled her cheeks and other parts of her. She was not so naïve she did not know what pressed hard into her midsection. How had they gone from talking about her to the fact he only had one arm?

  “Do you?”

  His question rasped over her and sent tingles all over her body. Her mind whirled. How had this happened?

  “Answer me, Clara.”

  “Yes.” Good heavens, her voice was faint.

  “I am not in the habit of lying to get what I want.”

  She licked her lips. The hand against her back moved lower until it rested against her bottom. Oh, this was so very nice. She wanted more.

  “I want you safe, Clara, because this is what you do to me. Because,” his voice deepened, “I want to strip your clothes of you and stare at your naked body. Kiss your creamy skin and fill you with this.” He flexed, pressing his length deeper into her. “So make no mistake, Clara, my wanting you safe has nothing to do with Jack or anything other than my feelings for you.”

  She was at a loss for words. Royce stepped back and, before she could make sense of the feelings racing through her or the words he had uttered, a footman walked up.

  “The carriage is ready for Miss Fields.”

  “Thank you,” Royce stated without removing his gaze from her. “I will see you soon, Clara.” He strode off not looking back.

  She stared after him until he vanished into a room. Shaken by what just happened she made her way slowly to the coach waiting to take her home. She’d had no idea of his feelings. Until now. How she wished Jo was here to talk to her about this.

  Chapter Eight

  Accompanied Lord Knight to Tattersalls today. He purchased a pair of matched grays. I believe the man cared more about the horses than the fact I was with him. A shame that would be considered one of my better outings since arriving in London.

  ~From the private journal of Josephine Adrys

  “Jo.”

  The softly spoken word in her ear preceded the hand clamping over her mouth. She struck out on instinct, bemoaning her lack of weapon.

  “Stop, Jo. It is me, Trystan.”

  She froze only to struggle again, sitting up when he released her. The sun had yet to rise and she wiped at her eyes.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  “Getting you. We are leaving.”

  More alert now, she held her breath while he lit a candle. The light turned his scar harsher.

  “Why are we leaving now?”

  “It is raining out and our tracks will be hidden.”

  She brushed some hair from her eyes. He was as serious as she had ever seen him. “All right.”

  “Do you have breeches?” She was shocked by his question and he repeated it. She nodded. “Wear them. We will be riding and there is no sidesaddle for you.”

  Flipping the bedding, she paused at the realization of what she wore. He clenched his jaw and stood. “I will be back in a few minutes.”

  The moment he left, she scrambled for her clothing. She had packed her breeches because she liked wearing them. She put them on under her dress and quickly began to pack. Tryst walked in as she closed the bag.

  “Ready?”

  He set down the three bags he had. It was more than before.

  “Yes.”

  “We have a few days of hard riding. You let me know if—”

  “I will not slow you down.” He stared at her in silence for a bit then nodded sharply. She grabbed her bag and one of his. “Do not argue.”

  “Stay close. We are going down the side.” He hefted the other bags and set out, she followed closely, using the skills Najja taught her on walking silently.

  They moved down the servant’s stairs to a door leading out. She was amazed she had not heard the rain before. It came down straight and steady. He moved quicker toward the stable but stopped under a shelter just before it.

  “Wait here.”

  She squinted through the dark and watched him secure the bags onto a horse. There were three in there. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew her gloves and donned them. Tryst appeared at her side.

  “I will lead the other horse. Stay close.”

  He clasped her around the waist and deposited her on the horse before she could say a word. The horse shifted beneath her and sh
e worked swiftly to adjust her skirts. Then she waited for Tryst and they were off. The rain made it hard for her to see but she refused to whine. Her horse had a lovely gait; she settled in easily to the rhythm and speed set by her protector.

  They rode until the sun rose then rode more. Her body ached but she kept it to herself. Rain still fell by early afternoon when he slowed them and came to a small house. Obviously, no one lived there and she groaned as she dismounted. She hurt.

  “You go in. I will see to the horses.”

  She had no energy to argue and moved over the sodden ground in slow, painful steps. At least the house was dry. Not more than a large room; she fought a shiver and spied some wood.

  Tryst entered as she blew on the first flames. Even wet he made her breath catch and heart pound faster. His shirt and breeches clung tight to his frame. She stared memorizing every detail so she could draw him later.

  “Put some dry clothes on.” He tossed a bag in her direction. Until she was confident the fire would continue to burn she stayed by it. When she glanced at Trystan again her heart leapt to her throat.

  Stars above! He had stripped off his shirt and stood there as he had in her small cottage. Every inch of his rock-hard torso exposed. He stood as if carved from marble. His wet hair hung around his face and touched those broad shoulders, creating an image of the untamed man.

  Tanned muscles and scars made up the nearly hairless chest. Around his waist were belts holding up his weapons. He looked raw, primitive, and so much more.

  “Jo.”

  She jerked her gaze from his chest to meet his eyes. That incredible blue. “What?”

  “Dry clothes.”

  She had forgotten. With a nod, she made her way to her bag and dug out the first dress she found. Holding it to her chest, she looked around. Was she to change in front of him? While he never said anything, he turned his back. She took the opportunity and shrugged out of her wet clothes. Once she had finished buttoning the front she picked up her wet items only to put them down and reach back in the bag.

  “Rope?” Tryst asked, maneuvering to her side.

  “For the clothes.”

  He helped her string it as well as hang the clothes on it.

  “You are prepared.” She opened her mouth but he continued, “I know, you are not the typical London miss.” He crouched by the small fire, shirtless and in dry breeches. “For which I am glad.”

  “What happens now?” She did not want to be pleased at his admission.

  “We rest, dry off, eat, and go again.”

  Rest sounded divine. Her gaze went to the lone pallet bed in the room. He gestured to it and she did not need to be told again. She lay down on the hard surface, faced the wall, and closed her eyes. Moments later, he covered her and she was surrounded by his scent. It was his shirt. The smell escorted her to slumber.

  A familiar metal scraping woke her. She opened her eyes and found she turned and now faced the room. Tryst stood on the other side working with a saber.

  “Did I scare you?”

  She slowly sat up, adjusting to keep his shirt around her shoulders. “No. I remember that sound from Najja. For a moment I thought she was here with me.”

  He lowered the weapon and approached to sit on the bed beside her. “You will see her again.”

  She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “All right.” A topic change was in order if she were to keep from crying. “Did you sleep?”

  “No.” Thunder boomed. “I am fine.”

  “Of course you are. However, I would prefer the man responsible for keeping me safe be rested.”

  “Jo, if you—”

  “Sleep at least for an hour.”

  She stood and smiled encouragingly as he stretched out. After a moment’s hesitation, she draped his shirt back over him. His blue eyes held hers until she broke the connection and moved to her bag. Soon she sat cross-legged by the fire sketching the slumbering man across from her.

  After he woke, they ate some bread and cheese before changing into their partially dried clothing. Then it was back on the horses for another ride. That kind of ride continued for a few days. Although, some nights they slept out under the stars. When they got to a house, lit almost like a welcome beacon through the night, she was exhausted.

  The stops had blurred and she maintained her seat only by her skill and sheer will. Trystan led her up to the front. Through grit-encrusted eyes, she watched him swing down with incredible ease. He came to her side.

  “Come, Jo.”

  “Where are we?”

  The door opened and an older gentleman appeared. “Good to see you, milord.”

  “Glad to be here. Everything set?”

  “Yes, milord. Both rooms readied. Kitchen stocked. And water ready to be heated for a bath.”

  “You are a lifesaver, Gibbons.”

  “Shall I take the bags first?”

  “No, see to Ptolemy and the others.” Trystan lifted her from the saddle and set her down. “Can you walk?”

  “Of course.”

  She took one step and went down, her legs numb from all the time in the saddle. Trystan caught her and swept her in his arms.

  “Stop struggling, Jo.”

  She did, her energy gone, slumping against him. Eyes closed, she breathed deep, grateful to be off the horse and comforted by Tryst’s strength and warmth.

  Softness surrounded her. Jo stirred snuggled deeper. It had all been a dream. Thank God. She opened her eyes and panic hit her square. Nothing was recognizable. Warm sunlight filled the room and she sat up slowly.

  She wore her nightgown. What was going on here? The last thing she remembered was being in Trystan’s arms.

  Trystan! She bolted from the bed only to stop when her legs screamed for mercy. Had he? Had they? Her heart pounded out of control. The door swung open on silent hinges. A dark head peered in.

  “You are finally awake.”

  He spoke so casually. As if it were nothing for him to walk unchaperoned in her—was it hers—bedroom while she wore a nightgown.

  “Who?” she squeaked out the question while indicating what she wore.

  “Not me. Mary did it. Mary is Gibbons’ daughter.”

  Gibbons, she recalled that name.

  “Where are we?”

  He came in fully, the door drifting shut behind him. “Somewhere safe.”

  She was so tired. “What is wrong with me?”

  “Nothing. You just need sleep.” He approached and suddenly she was not so tired anymore. “You get some more rest. Your clothes are put away. Feel free to look around. Kitchen is fully stocked.”

  His gaze gentled as he stared at her. Her breathing deepened and her eyes moved unbidden to his firm lips. He cleared his throat and walked to the door, jerking it open and disappearing through it.

  Shaky legs got her back to the bed where she sat. Tired? Yes, she was, but more than that she was intrigued. Moving about helped ease the stiffness and her soreness was barely noticeable as she dressed and left the rose and green room, heading down the stairs.

  It was not anything elaborate or fancy, but Jo immediately liked it. The place had character. Mismatched furniture, brightly colored throw rugs all added to it. So she did as he had suggested. She explored.

  The kitchen was very clean and had a table with four chairs by a window. The main room also led to a hall, which took her past another room, and to a closed door. She cracked it open and eased in.

  “Should have known you would not rest more.”

  Tryst stood by the open window, a drink in his hand. She loosely clasped her fingers and approached him. Side by side, they remained quiet until he readjusted to face her.

  “Want a tour?”

  “Yes.”

  He turned and walked away. She went after him and smiled in anticipation. They walked for a few hours, slowly. As they ascended back to the house, she had fallen in love with him—the place—even more.

  Trystan came across as more relaxed here. Yes, he was al
ert but she could tell he was calmer. She watched his leonine stride take him to the stairs where he paused.

  “I am sure you saw the three rooms upstairs.”

  “Whose house is this?” she asked not wanting to think of how close he would be sleeping in proximity to her.