Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues) (18 page)

“What good would it do?”

“Maybe none. But perhaps some.”

“Talking like you care, Tryst, is not going to get me to change my mind. I do not mind silence. In fact, I think I would prefer it.” As if she were sitting in drawing room, or receiving company in the parlor she folded her hands in her lap. Prim and proper.

“I do care, Jo.” More than she could ever begin to know.

“Sure.”

Okay, she was not kidding. The problem was, despite his ability to woo women and talk his way out—or in to—almost anything, he had no idea of what to say to the woman beside him. He had ceased trying to think of her as a little girl. It never worked. She was all woman and he wanted her. There was not anyone like her in the world. Not that he had ever met.

He let it drop. He would not put it past her to swing down with some daring attempt to gain access to the carriage just to get away from him if he pressed her. Shifting on the seat, he sighed and settled in for the ride.

Chapter Seven

My parents have left for Italy. I am now beginning to wonder why I turned down the opportunity to accompany them. Could it be because I hope to see Lord Wilkes at the party at Falcon House? Of course it is. I only wish he would notice me.

~From the private journal of Josephine Adrys

Jo climbed down before Trystan could get around to her side. Her feet hit the ground then he appeared and frowned at her. He had respected her wish to not talk so it had been a quiet ride, the only sound was of the horses’ hooves and the creak of the carriage.

She fought the urge to rub her aching bottom. Her stubbornness had kept her upon that seat instead of retreating into the comfort beneath. She hated being in them though and had really only accepted one from Callum because it seemed like it upset Trystan so much. Presented with the option she would always take having fresh air flow across her face versus being inside.

Their stops had been solely for the benefits of the equines. Trystan was worried, he did a good job of hiding it, but he could not keep it from her totally.

That is not the only reason,
her brain chimed in.

No. It was not. Last night had rattled her. Waking up to see that man standing over her, ready to kill her. Never had she been so scared. She had not even been able to work up a scream.

When Tryst had burst through the door, she had almost cried in relief. The intruder ended up jumping through the window. She had slept restlessly in Tryst’s room. “Not quite what I expected my first night in his room to be like,” she mumbled.

“What did you say?”

She pasted a smile on her face and turned. Tryst stood there with two other men. They were large and imposing. “Nothing brother.”

He shook his head and waved for another to carry her bag. At her room she hesitated. The comforting touch at the small of her back encouraged her in.

“Can I get ye anything else, miss?” a maid asked.

“No, thank you.”

Tryst countermanded her. “Have a bath sent up.”

The young girl bobbed. “Very good, sir.” Then it was just the two of them.

“I will leave you to bathe, Jo and bring you some food. I will make sure you are safe tonight.”

There was such conviction in his voice she could not help but believe him. She nodded and sat on the bed while waiting for the water. Soon it had been delivered and she was alone having waved off the offered assistance from the maid. She undid her dress and let it pool to the floor. Once naked she stepped into the tub and sank down into the almost too hot water.

A moan slid free as she leaned back until the water was up to her neck. Oh, this was just what she needed. The heat relaxed her sore muscles and, with a reluctant groan, she reached for the small bar of soap she had brought with her. She loved this soap. When they lived in Africa a tribal woman made it. This was one of her final bars. It was not like most fragrances she smelled in London. It was created from local flowers in Africa—the place she considered home. The woman never divulged what it contained but Jo loved it. The scent was soft and light. Not overly sweet and it stayed all day.

Lathering the cloth, she began to bathe. She took her time well aware she may not continue to have such luxuries. Ducking her head under, she also washed her hair, then returned to finish her body.

As she ran the cloth over her legs, her mind drifted to Trystan. How his hands would feel stroking along her skin. Her breasts grew heavy and her nipples pebbled as her sex clenched with unexplained need. Up and down the linen moved and suddenly her skin felt too hot.

A whimper escaped as her arm brushed against a taut tip. She allowed her head to drift back and rest on the edge of the tub. Visions of the book she often snuck in her father’s study to peruse filled her mind. Those couples. The positions. Since she met Trystan, he always starred in her fantasies.

The rag fell forgotten as her hand drifted down over her flat stomach to the collection of curls between her legs. A slight hesitation before they slipped between the folds. Pleasure exploded over her after a few flicks of her fingers and she arched her back, a wordless cry of ecstasy on her lips.

Breathing hard, she hurriedly finished and climbed out of the cooling water. She drew on her dressing gown after she dried off and rang for the maid. Once the tub had been removed, she sat by the fire and began brushing out her hair in hopes to dry the thick locks.

“Jo?” Trystan’s voice filtered through the door after a precursory knock.

She got to her feet and went to the door. Her skin felt flushed as she relived her time in the tub.
Stop it!
With a deep breath, she opened the door. How was it fair for one man to look so good?

“Yes?”

He held up a plate of food and she wordlessly stepped back. Trystan brushed by her and she closed the door before returning to where she had been on the floor. Legs curled beneath her she lifted her brush and began again. Trystan placed her food down and leaned against the door. His expression speculative.

“What?” she asked not stopping the familiar and soothing repetitions.

“You will sleep in my room.”

She paused, lowered the brush, and lifted her gaze to his. “What did you say?”

He crossed his arms. “Hear me out. We switch. No one knows but us. If the ones after you arrive and get to the innkeeper, it will be your room they come to.”

“So they kill you and I am not only on my own but I am far away from the safety I had created for myself.”

“They will not kill me.” He scowled. “You mentioned safety. Is that with your precious Mr. Blackwood?”

“Callum?” She nodded and began brushing again. “Yes, he makes me feel safe.”

“Is that so.”

It was not a question so much as a growled statement, so she did not respond. As she brushed she realized how intimate it was. Her in nothing but her bedclothes and her hair down and unconfined.

“Why were you in his bedroom?”

One. Two. Three. She counted her brush strokes as she tried to recall how life had been before that day in the museum. Shite, she missed Africa.

“Jo.”

Fingers curved about her wrist, halting her repetitious motion. Her lids fluttered as his masculine scent filled her nose. Wildness, outdoors, horse, and leather. Combine that with his own natural smell and she nearly lost control.

“Let me go, Trystan.”

“Answer me.”

“What I did or do with Callum Blackwood is none of your concern.”

“Do you foolishly believe that?”

She glared at him, unafraid of the menace in his voice. His eyes were darker than normal and she could see the flex of his jaw. Yet all she could think of was how much she wanted to touch his face, feel the hair growing there, touch his scar.

“My beliefs are not foolish.”

“Really?”

He was right there. His face so close to hers, their breaths combined and her heartbeat raced. Intense blue eyes watched her and yet she could not move away. Not even a tiny bit.

His gaze moved from her eyes down to her lips and back. She wanted him to kiss her.

“Where is your knife now, hellcat?”

There were no words she could formulate. He was not looking for an answer. Instinctively she knew that. He released her wrist and came even closer. At the first touch of his lips she moaned, leaning nearer. His firm lips teased hers and she opened for him when his tongue skimmed the seam of her mouth.

He slipped in and her eyes fluttered closed. She had dreamt about his kiss all those years ago, reliving it. That memory paled in comparison to the real thing. His taste flooded her as he delved and explored her mouth. Her brush fell from nerveless fingers and she dug her nails into her palms. Nothing on them—aside from lips—touched and she could not move.

His kiss was deep and thorough. Every passing second she melted a bit more. She gave into the urge and placed her hands on the wide planes of his chest. A low rumble echoed and instantly the kiss changed. The gentleness disappeared beneath the intensity. His arms banded around her, hauling her up against him. He demanded and she gave. Willingly.

She tasted his hunger. The coiled passion within him. She opened for him, allowing him everything he sought. The ache she experienced in the bath resurfaced only this time so much stronger. She ran her hands up his chest and to the back of his neck where she experienced her first touch of his hair. So soft, it teased her skin.

A knock shattered the moment like a gunshot splitting a foggy morning at a duel. They jerked apart and she scrambled backward, clasping the robe shut. Gathering her brush, she stood and said, “Come in.”

The young maid walked in. “I come to see if you needed anything else, miss.”

“No, thank you. That will be all.”

“I will have the bath removed then.” She called out and two men came in and removed the tub. “G’nite, sir. Miss.”

The door closed with a click and suddenly she was nervous. Tryst had remained silent since the kiss and she had not looked at him. She wanted to throw herself in his arms and allow the passion to lead them to wherever.

“Eat and then you will go to my room for the night.” The order fell in a cool, clipped voice.

“Tryst,” she began.

“It was a mistake and will not happen again.”

She swallowed her humiliation and stared at him. His expression had hardened and she refused to say any more. She swiped the bread and cheese from the platter and marched to the door without a look back. Once in the room next door, she shoved a chair beneath the handle and set the food on the end table not hungry any longer.

Why do I do this?

How many times would she do this? Allow him to get under her skin as he did. No more.

“No more.” Saying the words aloud helped her feel better. She could do this. Help him catch whoever was after her then move forward with her life. Perhaps Callum would be the right way to go.

She crawled into bed and fell asleep instantly, despite her fear of a repeat of last night’s incident. Oddly enough, she slept well, was awake and dressed bright and early. Downstairs she ate some breakfast by the window. Clear skies promised a good day of travel. Not that she knew where they were going.

Eating porridge, she watched Trystan across the room from below lowered lashes. She ignored her body’s response and refocused on her food.

“This is dangerous. You leaving your room alone.”

She bit back her first response, clenched her spoon tighter, and forced herself to relax. “Understood.”

He sat down. “That all you have to say?”

“Yes. You are trying to keep me safe. I will not do it again.”

She knew her comment surprised him. Eyes on the table, she finished her final bite. Licking off the spoon, she raised her gaze to find him fixated on her mouth, flames flickered in the blue. He tore his stare away and cleared his throat.