Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues) (13 page)

“Gone? Gone where?” She threaded the needle. Lord help her, she wanted to reach out and drawn him to her. Offer some comfort to dispel the grief she could see wracked him.

He told her of the night it happened while she poured some water. The more she heard the angrier she became. A compilation of betrayal and fury of what he had gone through whirled in her stomach. Back at the table, she maneuvered the chair closer to him after placing the items out in a line.

“This is the time you received your scar?”

He nodded. “Sliced me with a rapier, a few inches shorter and we never would have met.”

That fact had not escaped her notice. She also did not care to think about it much. At all. She said nothing.

“No snide comment?”

“Despite how it may appear to you, Trystan Wilkes, I do not wish death upon you.”

“Good to know.”

She swallowed and mentally prepared herself the best she could for what came next. “Take your shirt off.”

His gaze burned her and she forced herself to remain as opposed to running away as every single preservation instinct told her to do. He licked his lips and she felt a twinge in the pit of her belly, which spread throughout her entire body. Her skin prickled like it did during a lightning storm, only much more intense.

He reached for the top pearled button and slid it through the hole, exposing a flash of golden tan skin. Breaths came difficult as she waited. Their gazes locked as one after another he undid them.

Magnificent. The man was simply magnificent. Light smattering of hair covered his chest but did nothing to hide the ridges and definitions present. The desire to touch and caress him hit her. Hard. Run her fingers over his muscles, through the hair, and feel his heart beat beneath her palm.

“This would be grounds for marriage if we were caught,” he said placing the balled up shirt on the tabletop.

“Or you buying me some expensive bauble,” she retorted, wetting the cloth and cleaning out the wound. “I am on the shelf. Firmly.”

“Is that what that Callum Blackwood was doing here?”

Again, she heard the jealousy. Or was it again her imagination? She saw in her periphery the firming of his chiseled jaw. Focusing on her task, she carefully cleaned her injury to him, desperately trying to ignore how wonderful he smelled and the texture of his skin beneath her touch.

“Tell me where you learned to do this,” he ordered after clearing his throat.

She reached for the needle and lifted the flask of whisky. “I grew up in Africa, Mr. Wilkes. I realize I am not all that important to you, but surely you could have recalled that bit of information.”

“I did not forget.” His voice, a dark promise for all those things she imagined in the privacy of her own bed under the cover of night. “I was looking for more detail.”

A deep breath which assaulted her nose with his unique scent and she handed him the drink before setting needle to flesh. His sharp inhale almost severed her concentration. She got to work.

“You saw where we lived. Accidents happened and my mother is no good around blood. So I learned. I can stitch a wound but not a shirt without making a mess of it.”

“And your father allowed this?”

“He spent most of his time buried in his work. It was after all why we were there. I was raised with the servant children. Then I met Najja. She taught me a thing or two as well.”

“Of that I have no doubt. Did she teach you to throw knives?”

There was no censure in his tone, only curiosity. Two more stitches and she would be done.

“Yes. They were a gift from her.”

“She cares a great deal for you.”

“And I her.” She made a knot, leaned close, and used her blade to cut it. Impressive aside from that first flinch he held perfectly still. “There you go.” She stood. “You can leave now.”

“Understand me, Josephine Marguerite Adrys. I am not going anywhere until this bastard is caught or killed.”

No wondering on which he preferred. She ground her jaw and put away her food. Without a word to him, she left the cooler interior and headed into the warmer outdoors. She fed her chickens and took care of her cow. She did not mind so much gathering the eggs but milking—not so much fun. In the shelter with the cow stood a large horse.

“Hello there,” she cooed, having a fondness for equines.

This was a big reddish animal. Not a gorgeous one but even she could have no chance of missing the strength and power he exuded. He snorted and tossed his head. She reached for him only to find her wrist in an ironclad grip. Tryst stood there and she had not even heard him come in.

“Not wise. He is just as happy to take a bite out of you as let you pet him.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “Fine. Hurry up and leave.” She tugged but he refused to release her.

“I already told you—”

“I know what you said, but I do not want you here. I do not
need
you here.”

His gaze hardened and he used his hold on her to get her flush against his chest. Lowering his head until they were nose to nose, he said, “Are you sure about that? I think you do want me.”

Her heart thundered so loud she wondered if he would not be able to hear it. She flashed to the one night he had kissed her. How he had tasted.

“Jo.”

He spoke her name in a whispered caress. For six years, she waited for him to see her as something other than how Colin did, a little sister. Then she recalled the pain of betrayal when it came to light the man he answered to had used her as bait. Almost as much as realizing he—Tryst—knew how much danger her family and friends were in yet kept it quiet. That cooled her desire.

“What for? I am on the shelf. I can do what I want.” A grin lifted one side of her mouth. “This village has
everything
I need.”

“That include the one who escorted you home?”

“My private life is none of
your
business. Let me go.”

His eyes darkened with warning and glinted in the fading light. He released her and she worked hard to ensure he would not notice how difficult it was to take a breath.

“Pack your bag.”

She had been in the process of leaving when his dictate fell. Jaw clamped tight, she slowly pivoted to stare at him. Tryst stood by his massive, apparently mean-tempered, horse. Yes, the man looked entirely too good for her own sense of mind.

“I am not going anywhere. Much less with you.”

“Dammit, Jo! I am trying to keep you safe.”

“I would quite possibly not be in this mess had you not kept your mouth shut.”

He stalked toward her, face etched in fury. She held her ground despite the wobble in her stomach. He still wore no shirt, and his bare chest was—quite honestly—more than a bit distracting.

“I had my orders.” He spit the words from behind clenched teeth.

“Right. Orders to keep me in the dark about—” She broke off and held up her hands. “I am not going through this again. I have already said my piece of it. But I will not leave with you.”

“I can make you.”

“And every second of the day you would have to be watching me for I would always try to escape.”

He threw up his hands. “Why will you not let me protect you?”

She allowed herself one lazy look over his half-dressed state. Those unfamiliar tremors returned and she shifted her feet slightly. Her body felt flushed and it craved to be touched. By him.

“Jo?” This time his voice fell from his lips gentle and soothing.

She bristled, well aware he was trying to use his charm to sway her to doing what
he
wanted. So she came clean.

“I figure if you were too busy to keep me safe then, you are now. Since I left London and you with your people’s presence, I have been just fine. If you leave, I will be again. Then there is the reason you put my life in the care of another. Because of the way you treat me like I am an idiot about things. Get this, Wilkes, I do not need you.” Whirling she ran back to the house.

Lying on the bed, she tried to get in control of her emotions. She needed to get herself under control. She was no baby who cried when things did not go their way. She was a grown woman. With a very grown-up problem.

People wanted her dead.
It would be wise from me to learn about those after me.
She sat up and drew her knees up to her chest.
I wish Najja were here.

It was not to be so. She was on her own. London or Kittle Manor were not options for she had no wish to put anyone else in danger. That also eliminated Falcon House. Sure, they would welcome her, but there as Alexander to think of not to mention Najja carried another child.

She closed her eyes and sighed. Travel had always been something she wanted to do. Perhaps now would be the time. The Colonies perhaps. Jo got up, checked her appearance, and walked out to find Tryst sitting at the table, bare-chested and sewing his own shirt.

“Tell me everything about what I am now in and I will go with you. But no more lies. I mean it.”

Tryst paused and glanced up at the woman who stood before him. Jo. Her hair a wild blend of reds, coppers, and browns. He fantasized about her hair, having it trail over his skin as she rode him, wrapping his hands in it as he plundered the depths of her succulent mouth, or buried himself between her thighs.

Her blue eyes held a spark and warning. His shaft pressed tight against the linen material of his trousers. He slid closer to the table to keep his aroused state from her.

“The Alchemist had been brought in to the gaol by me along with the rest of my team. We were out celebrating at a small tavern before we each went home.” His hand shook and he hid the offensive limb in his lap. “But he escaped and came after us. I fought him and…killed him, or so I thought until I left the tavern where my friends had died and found the body gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yes. I had slung it over a horse and when I came back out it was gone.”

Her brows furrowed. “And no one said anything about what they saw?”

“No, everyone was dead. The exception was the barmaid who had been beaten yet left alive to give me the message.”

“Everyone?”

“Every last one. This man is not to be taken lightly, Jo. He is a serious threat who thinks nothing of killing.”

She licked her lips which caused his thoughts to head back toward the path best not traveled. “I still do not see why he is interested in me. I drew a design.”

“A man who kills like that is crazy.”

“How is that different from you?”

Cold slithered into his blood. “What? I am nothing like that bastard.”

“You go wherever and kill whoever based on one man’s orders. You are his assassin. Despite your claim it is for the Crown. Are you entirely sure?”

“I am not an assassin, I serve my king.” Her look was full of disbelief and he grew angry. “Assassins are evil people who take pleasure in the killing of others.”

Jo’s expression hardened. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” He leaned forward a brief bit. “I do not like to kill. Make no mistake. I will kill if the situation calls for it, but I do not like it.”

Jo leaned closer to him. Her thick lashes had a way of giving her sultry look.
How am I supposed to keep her safe if my mind constantly created ways to torture me with images of her in my bed, naked and sated?

“So, it is okay when you do it, but no one else.”

She made it sound so perverse. He was proud of his service and refused to let it go.

“I already told you I do what I do for the Crown.”

“Always?”

He nodded. “If orders are ignored we have anarchy.”