Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues) (22 page)

“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 alert 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.

“One of ours.”

She blinked a few times digesting his wording. Ours. The Crown. “And do I have to stay inside?”

“No. Stay close, however and let me know if you are leaving. Other than Gibbons or Mary avoid other people.”

“So they know about,” she gestured in a wide circle, “your life.”

“Yes. Gibbons’ family has always served and since Molly is his only child he has brought her in to follow in his stead.”

“Her mother does not mind?”

“It is only the two of them.”

She pursed her lips and glanced around. Although the sun had sunk below the horizon, the sky sat bathed with vivid and brilliant numerous colors. She tucked some hair behind her ear and waited.

“Jo?”

“I will be along.” She walked back toward the meadow to the side, which had a small pond in it. Nearing the edge, she lowered herself to the soft ground covered in sweet scented grass. She stayed there as the hues segued into the gentle blue of twilight. Only then did she push to her feet. Refreshed, she strolled back to the house.

She tracked Tryst to the kitchen where he sliced some bread.

“Hungry?” He popped a bit in this mouth and watched her.

“Yes.”

He ran his blue gaze over her and she took a deep breath, determined not to make a fool out of herself. Again.

“Soup is almost heated.”

“You cook?”

He grinned and her heart lurched. “Surprisingly, I have learned to fend for myself. The Crown rarely sends a cook along on a mission.”

She searched for and located the bowls. “You should take it to Jack. Perhaps he can get it changed.”

“Maybe he could.”

“Did or rather does Duchess Haversham work for Jack as well?”

His hesitation caught her attention. “I believe she did work for the crown. For Jack specifically, I could not say.”

“They have a history.”

“How can you be sure?”

She gave a wry smile. “You continually put me with the other women you associate with. I observe things.” A shoulder shrug. “Besides a fool would have noticed the tension between the two of them.”

By the pot on the stove, he stirred it and she brought the dishes. Standing next to him, she got a powerful whiff of the scent that was Tryst. It rolled over her, doing its damndest to remind her just how attracted she was to the man. She had known him for years. Had lusted after him for all that time and loved him for most. There was no denying that fact. Yet, she also was aware he wanted nothing to do with her in that aspect and she would not beg. So despite the urge to lean into him, forget the soup, and kiss him, she stepped back to get their drinks.

They ate in relative silence, each lost in their own thoughts. She offered to clean up and, once finished, escaped to the drawing room, sketchbook in hand. Trystan found her a while later. She flipped a page then stared at him.

“I am having a drink. Care to join me?”

“Please.” True, she did not drink much but she loved spending time around him.

“Madeira?”

“Is that what you are having?”

“God, no. Burgundy for me.” He raised a brow. “Want some of that?”

“Yes.”

“Ever the adventurer even now, are you not?”

He poured and walked toward her. She could not tear her gaze from the predatory grace with which he moved. His hair hung unconfined around his face and she wanted to submerge her hands in the strands, press her lips to his, and further explore all those dreams she had about him.

She took the glass from his strong fingers, her belly tightening at the brief contact. “Meaning?”

He sat across from her and stretched his legs out. She licked her lips and tried not to stare at the place where his legs met.

“When we first met you told me you wished to claim widow status and travel the world.”

She gave an embarrassed smile. She had forgotten about that exchange. Bringing the glass to her mouth, she inhaled. A flash of tasting this from his lips hit her and she struggled to hide her tremor. She sipped a small bit and it warmed her on its way down.

“I had forgotten that. Seems such a long time ago.”

“So, you no longer wish it?”

“Oh, I still want to travel. America sounds like it would be amazing to see. Ireland and Wales also. Italy, I would love to return to, as well as Spain.”

“However,” he prompted.

“I want what Najja has. I know it is foolish but I would like to know what it is like to be loved so deeply by someone. To know love like my parents. In London it is rare to see and with…” She shook her head, mortified she had said as much as she had.

“With?”

“Nothing. So, yes, I do wish to travel.”

He stared at her for a brief time before finishing his drink and leaving her with naught more than a quick goodnight.

Candles around, Jo ignored the drink and got back to drawing in her book. Only when her eyes refused to remain open any longer did she seek her bed. A storm moved in overnight and lingered when she woke. She headed to the same room and made herself comfortable at the large desk before spreading her papers out before her. She muttered in frustration at the realization she had forgotten a stack upstairs.

Taking a sip of tea, she headed to the door and with quickened step hurried to her room. She came out and stared at Trystan’s door, which sat partially open. The smart thing to do would be leave, which of course, meant she would go closer.

Creeping on silent feet, she worried her lower lip. She peered through the crack and froze, heart pounding at the sight of Tryst in a tub. Her mouth watered as he sat up, rivulets ran in streams down his chiseled chest. Her breathing became sharper.

She should leave. Should run. She could not move. Everything in her was riveted to the spot as Trystan rose slowly from the water. Mercy! None of the books she had read could have possibly prepared her for this. Tryst was huge. All over. Desire slammed into her so hard and fast she emitted a sharp gasp.

Trystan dropped back down, hiding himself in the tub, and his deep voice calling out her name chased after her as she bolted down the stairs.

Trystan grunted and pulled. Sweat stung his eyes as he tried fruitlessly to move the log. It did not work. He had not honestly expected it too, but, he had tried anyway. It was a great way to work off excess energy. Ptolemy snorted and shook his head.

“As if you could do better,” he griped.

The horse bobbed his head again. With a frustrated groan, Trystan turned and lifted himself to sit on the log. The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly and he wiped the sweat from his skin. The air shimmered with its heat; he had not seen anything like it since he had been in the desert. The house would be cool. He knew that. However,
she
would also be there.

Two weeks had passed since their arrival and he would swear he saw more of Gibbons than he did Jo. He was going out of his mind with want. She stayed out of his way, her nose almost always buried deep in a book as she read or drew.

It did not matter, the halls held onto her scent, torturing him when he went through. Some days he would stand in the doorway and simply stare at her. Watch her soak up the sun in obvious pleasure. If she was not in the sitting room, which she had taken over, he figured she was outside enjoying the weather.

Which was why he was here working on moving this impossible log. Day after day, he watched her. Obsessed. Her skin had darkened under the days she spent outdoors. The faded tan on her skin had returned. Jo was not a woman who succumbed to the insane practice of keeping one’s skin protected from the sun to maintain a porcelain or alabaster hue. It would not work for her, she loved being out in it far too much.

He shook his head in frustration, sexual and other, before leaping off the seat. At Ptolemy’s side, he secured him to the wood. Moving back to his head, he patted the muscled neck and grabbed him by the reins.

“Come on, boy,” he encouraged.

His large stallion leaned in and pulled the log along smoothly behind him. It was not a problem for the horse’s strength. Trystan led his horse along back to the house and, after placing the item where he wanted it, turned Ptolemy loose before getting back to work with the saw.

“Can I help?”

Startled he turned to find Jo standing there, watching him. He had not even heard her approach. It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse but he missed being around her.

“Sure. Grab the long saw.”

She went and he allowed his gaze to trail over her. Her dress today was a soft blue. Her hair gathered loosely at the base of her neck. The fall of the fabric advertised her curves and his body responded. When she bent to lift the two-man saw, he bit back a groan of desire.

It was a good thing she did not have any clue what she did to him. Grateful for the log between them, he reached out for it, placing the toothed blade in the preexisting cut.

“Have you used one of these before?” A wordless shake of her head. “We have to work together in order to get a good rhythm going.”

She stepped up and gripped the smooth wood handle. He walked around to her side and paused beside her. Without a word, he repositioned her so she would not be in her own way. Then he returned to his side, wondering all over again if this was such a good idea.

“Ready?”

Her gaze contained excitement. “Yes. Do we start fast or slow?”

Slow. Definitely slow. He would remove her clothing one piece at a time and drag his tongue over her naked body. Indulge in her soft skin. Kiss his way along the dip of her waist and swell of her hips. Lick the skin behind her knees. Cup her breasts and tease the nipples until she writhed and cried out his name.

“Tryst?”

He took a deep breath. His cock throbbed. “Slow. Cannot be too slow however. Follow my lead.”

“Okay.”

Jerking his mind from thoughts of sex with Jo, he got them to work. There were a few retries before she got the hang of it. As they worked, he watched her. Sweaty and dirty as she was, he could not believe how turned on he was.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“We need wood for cooking. Plus, Gibbons is getting on in years and I would not want him to worry. Nor would I want Mary to do this.”

She cast him a glance he did not recognize. “I see.”

“What exactly do you see?”

“You are not a typical titled man.”

“I know what it is like to live with no money. Even though my father was a viscount, he was a lout and a cad. He gambled away everything we had. In the army, I learned about hard work and respect.” He stopped and stripped off his shirt and wiped his face with it before tossing it down. “Working for the Crown I continued to spend a lot of my days in lower end establishments. I saw how hard the lower classes work.”

“You are not very lofty.”