Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues) (27 page)

Tears welled up and a solo sob escaped as the first one escaped. She loved him and he never would reciprocate.

“Jo?”

She completely closed her eyes as he sank beside her. His touch offered her so much and she nearly burrowed into it. He brushed some of her hair back as he murmured to her. Much like Najja used to do when she was younger. Moreover, it soothed but there was still the knife in her heart, which continually turned when he was around.

Stop it!
She demanded of herself. Would it work? She had not a clue. Still, she had to try.

Eventually she truly did fall asleep with the scent of Trystan in her nostrils. The next day, she had just sat down on the bed after taking care of her morning ablutions when the door opened without a precursory knock.

Vittoria stared at Trystan as he strode in but his attention was on her, not the girl. Immediately she turned the battered side—the worst one—from him.

“You should knock.”

“And give you another chance to pretend you are asleep?” He frowned. “No, I do not think so. You cannot avoid me, Jo.”

Sure, she could. “I am tired, Trystan.”

“So lay back and we will talk. But we
are
talking.”

Always with the talking. She knew she would not get out of this one so she crawled back in bed, despite the fact a man—who was not her husband—sat there. Once the covers were drawn up to her neck, she rotated so her back was to him.

“Will you not do me the courtesy of looking at me?”

His voice was not angry. It was kind and she did not want that. She did not respond, just lay there, lifeless.

“Very well.” He vaulted over her to and on the other side. “I will move.”

Trystan stared at her until she became uncomfortable beneath the intensity of it. However, instead of moving away, she continued to lay there. Nothing mattered.

“Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you.”

“I could get you some toast. Or tea.”

“No.”

“Pierre says you have not eaten.”

She shrugged and stared straight out at the wall. Pierre still had this room the same from when his children were here.

“I am so sorry you were taken, Jo.”

“It happened.”

“It should not have happened. I was supposed to protect you.”

She should have done better at protecting herself. “I tried. The first day, I fought back. They were not pleased with that.” She swallowed and burrowed deeper in her covers.

“Did they…”

She did not make him be more specific with his inquiry. “No.”

His expelled breath told her of his relief. “Do you want to talk—”

“No,” she interrupted immediately. It was a lie of course. She did need to get it off her chest but not with him.
Anyone
but Viscount Trystan Wilkes.

“Jo.”

“Get me home, Lord Wilkes.” She closed her eyes and tried to shut him out.

It did not work. It never did. She should have known. He touched her shoulder and shook her lightly. Deep down she knew he would not hurt her but her recent experiences created an entirely different reaction. She tensed. Trystan released in quickly and cursed under his breath.

“You are safe, Jo. You need to talk about—”

“
Monsieur
!” Pierre burst into the room. “They come.”

Jo felt the change in Trystan as much as she saw it for her eyes had flown open at the intrusion. There remained no softness in Trystan at all. Cold. Calculating. Deadly.

“Get up.” He pushed to his feet, rushing for the door. “How many?”

“Fifteen.”

Trystan halted and looked back to her. “We need another way.”

“Come with me. I have a solution. Something I’ve been working on for a while.” Pierre stared at him.

“Go with Pierre, Jo. Take Vittoria with you and for God’s sake, do what he says.” He vanished past the door.

“Hurry child,” Pierre said, rousing them both.

Jo wanted a bath and something clean to wear. She had time for neither. Her dress might be dirt-caked but it was better than wearing a nightshift and she drew it on before following the older man out the door with Vittoria in tow.

The moment he opened a door on his first floor, she knew the destination. She and papa had gone to see his workshop before. Why that was where they were headed she had no clue. It opened from a hole in the cliff so he always had the sound of the ocean slamming the shore. She imagined it got very cold in winter.

Despite knowing the destination, Jo still hesitated. They would be cornered down there with no way out unless she jumped. She slowed.

“Josephine! Come, hurry.” Pierre demanded without reducing his speed.

She squinted over her shoulder in hopes of seeing Trystan. He was not there, she could pick up on the faint sounds of fighting.

“Josephine!”

She jumped and continued on her way until they spilled into the lab. Pulling up, she stared at the vision by the opening. A basket, which kept rising and falling based on the wind. If not for the ropes, which secured it to the cave, there was no doubt it would be gone.

“You stubborn woman, come on.” Pierre began to drag her toward it.

“Where is Trystan?” she asked, facing the stairs they had just descended from.

A man dressed in brown jumped into view. He had a sword in one hand and by his stance she could tell he had been taught fencing.

“Go!” Pierre commanded as he stepped in front of her.

Go? Go where? It was as she had feared. Trapped in a corner down here. She shoved Vittoria behind her and backed away. Hide, she needed to hide them both.

“Come on.”

She stored the girl behind a pile of crates and grabbed a heavy pipe. The assailant was engaged with Pierre. Tightening her grip, she made her way to the tussling duo.

Pierre bled onto the floor as the man twisted his blade deeper into him. She only had a moment’s hesitation before swinging the pipe, hard into his head. The crunch sickened her as he crumpled onto Pierre. Swallowing down her nausea, she helped the wounded man roll the boneless one off.

“Is he dead?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

She pressed her palm against the wound, Pierre’s blood warm and sticky. “I have to stop the bleeding.”

“Forget me, go.”

She shook her head in staunch refusal. “No.”

Noises on the stairwell had her scrambling for the metal pipe and waiting just out of view from the stairs. The hell she would be letting them take her or Vittoria back to where they had been held. The moment she saw the toe of a boot, she swung her pipe up with all her strength. She hit him so hard it reverberated up her arms and she lost her grip, the sweat and blood not helping her maintain her hold. It clattered to the floor, followed swiftly by the man collapsing into a pile as blood streamed from his face.

She trembled at the knowledge of what she had just done. She heard more footsteps and she slipped in the pooling blood in her dash to get the pipe again. She had just grabbed and lifted it when Trystan hurried into view.

“Shite! Jo, it is me. Are you okay?”

His sweat covered body also bled. She dropped the item and ran to him, uncaring if it was not the proper thing to do. His arms tightened around her and she felt his strength slide into her. She could not explain it and did not care to. He was here and she felt so much better.

“I blocked the door but they will be coming soon. We need to go.”

“Go where? The only way out is the way you came. Pierre’s been hurt.”

He cupped her cheek. “Are
you
all right?”

She hurt and was sick to her stomach but she nodded anyway. He said something to Pierre in French as he moved toward him. The words did not make any sense to her. In fact, the entire room was a bit fuzzy and tilted.

Trystan moved on to Vittoria and carried her to the mouth of the cave. “Jo, we have to go.”

Her steps were heavy as she moved. Pierre gave an encouraging smile even as he settled back and stared at nothing. Tears burned as they poured over and down her cheeks.

“Jo, now!”

She squinted and stared at Trystan who waited by that gondola which still did not inspire any confidence. He fiddled with something in the middle before hopping back out and hurrying to her side.

“We need to leave.”

“Pierre…”

“You cannot do anything for him. He is already dead.” He hauled her to her feet and she stumbled getting them under her. “If we do not go
now
, we will end up the same way.”

“How do we leave?” She wiped her eyes.

“
Charlière
.
Un
ballon.
”

Jo frowned and stared harder at the basket he had placed Vittoria in. He urged her on. At the edge it hit her what he had said. Balloon. Was he insane? Her entire body went rigid and she refused to move.

“Are you crazy?”

“Trust me, Jo. They work.”

“You think I am getting in a gondola to let a balloon carry me into the sky?”

“Yes.”

They could take her back. She shook her head and began backing away. His grip tightened bringing her to a halt.

“You are…” Words failed her.

“Really no time for discussion on this, Jo.” She heard voices getting louder. “We need to go. Now!”

“We will not make it.”

“We will.”

He sounded so confident, she relaxed enough for him to move her forward even more. The moment she realized it, she tried backing away again.

“Stop fighting me, Jo. We do not have the time for this.”

“It will not work.”

“It will. A woman has done this before, Jo. Are you telling me you are scared? That you never once wanted to be above it all like the birds? Free?”

Of course she had. Even more so over the past several years in England. Wanting and doing were two very different things.

“No more discussion. Go now.”

He practically tossed her in. Vittoria remained on the floor in a corner. Jo glanced up with a mixture of awe and fear. With a single swipe of his sword, he sliced through the ropes, which had secured them to the platform.

Immediately they rose swiftly to the air and floated out over the water. She shook and blew breaths out of her mouth, trying not to panic.

A thump had her turning. Trystan slumped to the floor of the wicker basket.

“Trystan?”

“I will be fine.”

She was not so confident. The red stain up by his shoulder was spreading and his skin appeared disturbingly paler as time went on. He got to his feet and did something to the machine in the middle where it made a loud
pfft
and they rose some more.

As frightened as she was, she could not stop the amazement from spreading. The water below sparkled like jewels in the sun. The air was crisp and fresher than anything she had smelled before. Well, so long as she stood before the thing under the opening.

“What is this?” she asked as Trystan repositioned himself by her.

“A hydrogen balloon or
Charlière
.” He winced. “The Montgolfier brothers demonstrated their hot air balloon in Seventeen Eighty-three. You are following in Elisabeth Thible’s wake.”