Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues) (24 page)

~From the private journal of Josephine Adrys

Jo’s head pounded horribly, her mouth dry and every inch of her hurting. She could not see anything. A rough burlap sack covered her head, filling her nose with a disgusting moldy stench. She tried to remain calm and figure it out, but her mind was too muddled.

The voices were muffled, however, she was not sure if they were whispering or they were far away. Her heart pounded in her chest and panic swarmed.

Where was she? Where was Trystan? Who had her? Most importantly, what would they do with her?

She moved slowly only to discover her hands and feet bound tightly. So tightly, in fact she had lost feeling her arms. She wriggled her fingers, crying out with the stabbing needlelike pain.

The kick to her gut came unexpectedly and no matter what she could not keep the painful cry contained. Fingers closed about her throat and she struggled for air as the man lifted her. She could not touch the ground. Stars flickered and she gave into the darkness swarming her.

When she woke next, the hood was gone and she peered through puffy eyes. Flames from a fire allowed her to make out four shapes around it. She struggled to sit up, still bound. Her head and throat throbbed. What happened?

The last vivid memory she could recall was standing in the kitchen about to make hot chocolate for herself and Trystan. Alone one minute, they were in the kitchen the next. Some man had hit her. She did not know him but she would never forget him.

She tried swallowing a few times, frustrated at how dry her throat was. Dare she call out to see if they would give her something to drink? No, the less she was in their attention the better.

Tears welled up as she realized this might be the end of her life. She would never see her parents again. Najja. Or Trystan.

Are you giving up
? A voice identical to Najja’s echoed in her thoughts. She had asked that very question when things did not go her way. Her whining never mattered to Najja. She would stare and ask the question. It came again, firmer this time.

No. She would never give up. Trystan would find her. On the chance he was…dead, she had to get away. She breathed a bit easier now that she had an idea of what to do. What could she do?

She had her weapon and the small bag inside a hidden pocket. Najja had told her to always have that. Hidden away on her person. Money, matches, and a few other things. Her relieved breath was very short-lived when a large shadow rose up before her.

“Yer awake.”

The man towered over her, and would have even had she been on her feet. An ugly sneer on his face and she could not help drawing back in fear. He crouched down and pulled a wicked looking dagger from his belt. As if it were an everyday act for him, he settled the flat of the blade against her cheek. The cold metal made her flinch.

“Ya should be afraid of me. When The Alchemist is done with you, yer mine.” A sadistic and unholy gleam shone in his eyes. From the man or the fire light, she could not say. Either way, her body stiffened.

“What does he want with me?” It was hard to get the words out of her dry mouth.

“You are bait.”

“For what?”

“Viscount Wilkes.” The name was spoken with such rage she held her breath.

Trystan. Immediately anger began to replace her fear. They were using her again and it only made her more determined to get away.

“What makes you think he will care?”

“He said so.”

“So you do not know.” Condescension dripped from her words. “Not the smart one.”

“Shut up!” he hissed, spittle flying to land on her face.

The blade moved and now rested along her jugular. Ignoring the terror, she held his gaze without flinching.

“What good am I dead?”

He swore, sending another wave of putrid breath over her. Then came the meaty fist. He cracked her head into the trunk of the tree that had supported her. Darkness threatened but never came to take her into its bosom of unconsciousness. Through one eye, she watched him stride off.

She needed to relieve herself, she needed to drink, and she needed the blood and dirt on her face cleaned off. None of it happened though. They only talked to her to taunt her.

Time crept by, the dark blanket of night eventually gave way to morning’s light. She worked for some moisture, she just could not get any. Blinking away frustrated tears, she found another man watching her.

He stood a way off but there was no disguising what held his attention. Her. This was not the one who had hit her yet a fearful knot tightened in her belly. She was looking into soulless eyes. Pain would not bother him. He flicked the item he had chewed on away from him and strolled toward her.

Had she the ability she would have crawled away. He moved as if they were picnicking along a lake or stream. Walking through the West End to get a flavored ice at Gunther’s. An aristocratic hauteur surrounded him.

She tracked him as he approached. Dark brown eyes snared hers and she tipped her head to maintain contact. His eyes ran over her face with a dismissive gaze. Very impersonal. He had blond hair drawn back into a queue.

“Do you know who I am?” He crouched and held a wineskin to her lips.

Watery ale slid past her lips, making her choke and sputter. She did not care. The relief of liquid soothing her throat was all she worried about.

“Answer me.” He removed the drink.

Blinking, she shook her head. This man was obviously the leader of this group. But she did not know him.

“Let me hear that voice of yours, darling. I have been told you have an accent.”

Dread filled her all over again. “No. I do not know you.”

He leaned closer and trailed two fingers down her left cheek. His smile not at all reassuring, and in fact caused her uncertainty to rise.

“Worry not. Soon we will be very acquainted with one another. You are much lovelier up close than I realized.”

“We have met?” She had to force the words past her lips.

“No. At least not officially. You did, however, admire my tattoo.” He readjusted and pushed up his sleeve.

Jo found herself staring at the image she had seen that day at the museum. One she had no idea would create such turmoil in her life.

“You.”

He smiled and withdrew a knife. She forced herself not to flinch yet breathed easier when all he did was slice through her bindings. Silent, he pointed to a tree behind her. Needles jabbed into her as the blood started flowing again. She got to her feet, looking for her first chance to escape.

“One thing,” he said, pushing soundlessly to his own feet. She halted. “You make any attempt to escape and I will personally slit your father’s neck, then rape and brand your mother. Once I am through with them, I will go after your friend Clara. And the Earl of Clifton and his family.”

This could have been said over lemonade or punch for all the inflection it carried. However, even with the calm and sincerity with which he spoke to her, she understood he meant every word. There would be no attempts. Not with that risk.

Fighting tears, she turned and stepped behind a tree to relieve herself. Her movement was slow as she made her way back to the tree she had been by before. As she sank back down to the ground, the man who had hit her approached again. She hid her fear and allowed thinly veiled contempt to arise to the surface. Actual escape may not be possible but causing tension, she could do.

He stood there, sneering down at her. Being cold and cruel may not come naturally to her but she had spent enough time around vipers to adapt and blend.

“Get up,” he barked.

She did not move. Just leaned back and closed her eyes. The kick—although expected—hurt and she barely restrained her cry.

“Get. Up.”

She rose slowly as if all the time in the world resided at her fingertips. “Are you feeding me now? I am very hungry and would like—”

“Quiet!” he yelled.

“So this is not about—”

He wrapped his paw around her neck and squeezed. Spots flickered before her eyes and she struggled, legs flailing until one connected with a part of his body. A satisfactory feeling swamped her even as he dropped her to the ground, cursing. She rolled away and came up on her knees, gasping for air.

“Not so docile after all I see.” That liquor smooth voice spoke over the moans of the man still on the ground clutching his privates.

“He was strangling me.”

“So he was.” No remorse or feeling of any kind.

“Was I supposed to let him?”

“Not at all.” He offered her a hand up. “I enjoy my women with fire.”

“I am not
your
woman.” Her response slipped out without any thought. She squeezed her eyes shut.

His robust laughter was not at all what she expected. She stared at him, unsure and still on the ground.

“He never told me just how feisty you were.”

He? He who? Goodness it was not easy keeping that question to herself. Somehow she managed. The look he leveled her informed her he expected her to ask. She was not going to give him that.

Still, when large and angry finally got off his knees and lunged for her, she was grateful for the other’s interference.

“Leave our guest alone.”

“She kicked me in—”

One hand waved idly around. “Yes, yes. I saw the dainty woman bring you to your knees. You brought it on yourself. I told you to leave her alone.”

“The Alchemist said I could have her,” he protested.

The other two men fell silent as an ominous tension settled over the area. Jo watched in horror as the one who had both threatened and saved her moved toward the man twice his size. She witnessed fear and determination in the larger one’s expression even as he understood he had made a grievous error.

The words were too low for her to hear and the second she began to breathe easier was when he struck. Like a bolt of lightning, he slashed. Two blades out and hidden again before big ugly even realized his throat had been slit from ear to ear.

Bile rushed up her throat as the man sank to his knees and rich, dark blood flowed from his neck. He fell over dead. By then the one who had killed him as if he were a bothersome fly to be batted away had turned and walked off. Her entire body shook with fear.

“We leave in five.” The words were precise and clear.

He had just killed a man without care. Jo wished to be anywhere but here. When those brown eyes focused back on her, she struggled not to show her own inner turmoil. There was no doubt in her mind he would kill her once he had what he was after. Not only that, but go after her family. She saw the lust in his eyes once he had killed that man. It was an aphrodisiac to him.

He glanced at her and gestured. She went without much hesitation. The knowledge she carried a knife not giving her much confidence after all. She just was not skilled enough. Escape had to be it. Despite the threat against her family.

“Can you ride?” She nodded. “Do not test me.”

He waved a hand and someone brought her a horse. Another lifted her into the saddle and she adjusted her skirt. At least she did not have to walk. They rode off, Jo securely in the middle and leaving the slain body behind.

As it had with Trystan and riding hard—time began to blur for her. There was a lot of backtracking and other diversionary tactics. Jo was surprised as she heard one of the men mention Dover. She knew where she was then.

The moment she had her hopes up a bag eliminated her sight. Arms yanked her off her mount and tossed her over a lap as she kicked and screamed. The smooth prick of a blade in her neck stilled her.

“Stay still. I would hate for this to end before it begins.”

Trouble was she believed him. She barely breathed and he withdrew the point he had stuck in her skin. There was no fight as they secured her arms behind her. Riding this way was anything but comfortable.