Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues) (28 page)

“Who is she?”

“The first female aeronaut. She rode in La Gustave, a Montgolfier, in June of Seventeen Eighty-four.”

“Really?”

His smile told her he had planned to distract her. It worked. She was interested. “Tell me more while I fix your wound.”

“I do not have anything to use.”

She licked her lips. Her dress was filthy so it would do no good.

“I have to do something.”

He shrugged out of his shirt and handed it to her. “Wrap it.”

It needed to be cleaned and sewn. This would have to do. She did and made sure to tie the knot tight.

“What about Ptolemy?”

“Nothing can be done.”

“I am sorry.” She knew of his affection for the stallion.

“Sit. We will be landing soon.”

Landing? Then what? On shaky legs, she sat beside Vittoria. She drew the child close and held her. It was much cooler up here and they had only their dresses on. So they shared heat. As her eyes drifted down, she wondered how Trystan was doing. He wore no shirt, surely he was cold.

Dragging her lids open, she stared at him across the gondola. He stood straight despite his numerous injuries. He had come for her. Saved her. Again. She tore her gaze from him and glanced around. The balloon was made of bright blue and green colored silk gores. Netting surrounded the ropes securing the gondola to the balloon.

She was not sure what he kept adjusting but they were aloft. On her feet, she made her way to one of the edges and stared over. The water floated by and she swallowed hard.

“We will be landing in France.”

“Then what?”

The wind rocked them hard to the left and she held tighter. Back to the right they went with a shudder. This was it. She was going to die.

Tryst bit the inside of his cheek, fighting to his body’s desire to collapse. He ran Pierre’s instructions over and over in his head. The man had given him a very brief working of the valve-and-ballast system, which kept the balloon aloft. For now anyway, he knew they were dropping back down. Unfortunately, he had not counted on the wind which tossed them around like wheat in a field. At this present course, they may hit the water.

He just had to get them somewhere safe. Her slender body, not that far away, drew his eye more than once. She had not fallen apart and he was so proud of her. Still, he did not know how much more she would be able to take. Himself either. Or Vittoria. They dipped again and he saw her cringe. He tried to get more altitude from the balloon but it did not seem to be working.

“Jo.”

She was at his side immediately. Her face still puffed and swollen with a large purple bruise on the left side. A fresh wave of fury and anger overtook him. He wanted to kill them all.

“What did you need?”

“We will be in the water soon. Can you swim?”

Her mouth moved but no words escaped. Her gaze flickered between him and the approaching water.

“Swim.”

“Yes. Can you?” Her stare remained unfocused. “Jo. Can. You. Swim.” He shook her shoulder, lightly enough not to hurt but firm enough to garner her attention.

“A bit.”

“Good.”

They bounced on the surface and Jo called Vittoria to her. The women watched him, thankfully neither of them screaming. Another bounce and he withdrew his sword, slicing through the ropes and netting on one side. They stopped skipping around and immediately there was water in the bottom.

“We have to jump, now!” he uttered urgently. Scanning the shoreline, he noticed no one was there. They were on their own.

He helped them up and together they jumped, Vittoria between them. The cold water was almost painful. He came up sputtering and struggling to swim with only the use of one arm. Jo and Vittoria surfaced and he breathed a bit easier.

She yelled to him over the water and he nodded at the garbled words. She would take the girl with her. No further words were exchanged as the trio slowly made their way to shore. He knew he looked as ratty as the others felt. They crawled on the sand and collapsed, breathing hard, gasping.

He had no energy to move and it did not look as though they did either. His guns were gone. He did have his sword and then the clothes on his back. Closing his eyes, he did his best to find some energy so he could get them off the beach.

“Monsieur. Monsieur? Are you okay?”

He lifted his head and saw an older man standing there. Behind him was a horse and cart. “Please,” he said in French. “My family and I need a place to stay.”

The man stared out past him. Trystan looked as well and saw there was no sign of the balloon or basket. There lingered a question in his eyes as he crouched and helped Trystan to his feet. Together, they got the women into the cart as well. He relaxed a bit more as the reins were snapped and began moving.

Away from the shore they moved, a slow rocking gait had him dozing against the hay. However, when Jo tapped his leg, he came fully alert. They were in a small village and gained a great deal of attention.

The man told people as they passed how he had rescued them from the sea. Trystan slid his arm around Vittoria’s back to touch Jo. Her eyes met his and he knew full well her reserves were about gone.

“Just a bit longer,” he murmured in the African language they both spoke.

“I take you to the house,” the man informed him as they left the village to a modest cottage just outside it.

Three young children screamed and ran toward them, calling for their papa. A slender blonde followed, the smile on her face morphing to concern. Before he knew it, all three of them were inside, water heating for bathing and the young wife sat before him, cleaning out his wound. She never said a word but he could feel her unease at the wound. He stopped her before she could start to sew him up.

“Where is Jo?”

“Seeing to the child.”

“She will sew me up.”

She ducked her head. “As you wish.”

He sat there, shirtless, and waited for Jo. She arrived a short time later and occupied the stool before him. Her gaze was tired and defeated. She sighed and lifted the needle waiting on a clean dish.

“Brings back memories.” He kept his voice low as he spoke to her, still using the language that kept it private plus he knew it brought her comfort.

“This will leave a bigger scar.”

He drank some liquor and waited for the first needle pierce. “Do scars bother you?”

“You know they do not.” She scooted closer and remained fixed on her job. “What is our plan?”

Our. She said our. That made him feel incredible. “They have offered us rooms for the night.”

He saw her hesitate briefly. Then she dampened her lips. He stared at her as she worked on his injury. Her hair still wet the same as her dress. She smelled of the sea. He reached out and tucked some loose strands behind one ear.

“Where is my hellcat?”

Tired eyes met his and he wanted to gather her close. For a second he thought she was going to say something, but she did not. She broke the connection and finished sewing him up.

“Jo?”

“Finished. I need to check on Vittoria.” She placed the needle down and wiped her bloody fingers off on her dress, then walked off.

The women had baths and put on some of the wife’s clothing. Too big for Vittoria, who wore some of the children’s, and very snug across the bosom for Jo. Not that he minded. Their own clothes were washed and hung out to dry.

They ate well although he noticed how little Jo actually consumed. Maurice, the husband, led Vittoria to a bed and then showed them to a room with a narrow bed occupying it.

“For you two. My oldest is not home tonight.”

“Thank you.” Trystan shook the man’s hand after he spoke.

“Sleep well.”

He backed out shutting the door behind him. They were left alone with a small tallow candle offering light. He stared at Jo who stood there, head down and hands clasped before her. The dress was so snug and took his mind down roads best left untraveled, especially at this moment.

He rotated his shoulder, wincing at the pain which pierced him. A pile of clothes rested on the bed. He picked up a long shirt and carried it to her. She had not moved.

“Change. I will turn my back.” He waited until she took the shirt then pivoted. He could hear it. The slide of the material along her skin set the hairs on his arms to standing straight up. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself not to turn. Not a single sound came from her and he turned slowly. He should have waited. Should have asked if she had gotten into bed. He had done neither and now he had a completely unobstructed view of her standing there in naught but his shirt.

“Bed.” The single word rasped as he tried to focus on something other than her long tan legs. The shirt hung to mid-thigh on her and left nothing his imagination.

“Take the bed, Jo.”

She still made no move. He was not sure his words even registered. Like a stone, she stood there. He went to her side and took her arm, gently in his hand. She barely blinked and he knew. She had shut down.

He guided her to the bed, drew back the covers, and assisted her in getting in. She lay stiff like a wall and he climbed in with her. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he gathered her close to him—not at all hard in the smaller bed. He blew out the candle and settled near her in the dark.

The house was silent except for a few recognizable sounds. The couple who took them in were sharing in the pleasures of the flesh. A dog barked occasionally outside, and his own breathing. Jo’s were so shallow and faint he barely felt her chest move. Even the lusty cries from the couple failed to get a reaction from her. He brushed his lips along her forehead and sighed. Exhausted he soon fell asleep.

Her whimpers woke him. They were not loud but they tore into him like a jagged blade.

“You are safe, Jo.”

She shook her head against his chest and he slid a hand through her knotted hair and stilled her.

“Yes, you are,” he insisted.

“I want to die.”

He tightened his grip. “Do not speak that way. You survived.”

“Did I?”

He refused to think about her killed. Pressing his lips to her bruised face, he plied soft kisses all over.

“You did. You are a survivor, Jo. You and Vittoria both.”

“I should check on her.”

“Let her sleep. You need to sleep also.” He waited and she remained rigid. “Sleep, Jo.”

“Why? Every time I close my eyes, I am back in that cell. I feel like such a baby. Vittoria had been there longer and is coping better.”

“You need to talk about it.”

“You want to know how they beat me? The other disgusting things they did? How they almost killed me when I fought back, cutting one of them?”

“You fought back, Jo. You did not give up.”

“I did. After that night where they strung me up I felt more fear. I lay there and took the beatings.” Her sobs tore at him and he wanted to kill those men all over again.

“You survived, Jo. That is what you did. You
survived
.”

“I always thought I could protect myself.” Her words were so forlorn.

“You can. You did.”

“Even after you took us to Pierre’s, I still think I am a dream.”

“No dream, hellcat. This is no dream.” She muttered something he did not catch and he kissed her again. Closer to her mouth this time.

“I…I do not know what to believe anymore.”

“Believe this.”

Their mouths met as he kissed her lips. Soft. Gentle. Aware of her healing injury, he took his time. She opened beneath him and welcomed his tongue with a low moan.