Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues) (3 page)

The reason was simple. He wanted her. He wanted to possess her, know that her rare smiles were for him. Or because of him. He wanted her in his bed, bearing his children, and whatever else came along with marriage.

Therein lay his problem. He worked for the Crown and he refused to put her in danger. If any one of his enemies found out who he truly was or what he felt about her, they would not hesitate to kill her merely to get at him. So he watched from afar.

He had seen her off and on over the past five years. Always surprised when he found her unmarried, for if he were free, he would already had claimed her as his viscountess.

The light shone through a window and onto her sun kissed skin and he could see it glint off a few rebellious strands of her hair. Hair he longed to unpin and sink his hands into, bury his nose against, and inhale her fragrance. A fragrance he knew to be as rare and fresh as Jo herself. She smelled as fresh as the African rain. No cloying scents on her to mask her body’s natural musk. The cleansing rain and female. A perfect combination.

He had been in hell last night having her in his arms for the waltz. However foolish his move had been, he had refused to let another share the dance with her. Trystan frowned a bit more when he caught the set of her jaw and the way the museum personnel hovered around her. Then there was Clara, whose rounder face seemed unusually pale. He moved toward the quartet heading for the exit. A sense of tenseness surrounded them all.

“Miss Adrys. Miss Field.”

Four sets of eyes focused on him but he found himself immediately captivated by Jo’s large and luminescent blue orbs. Eyes which churned with barely restrained fury.

Lord, she is magnificent.

“Try…Lord Wilkes.” Her words were clipped.

“Is everything all right here?” His protective instincts tended to flare out of control when it came to Jo.

The two men with the ladies exchanged nervous glances and he stepped closer, his size larger than that of the others.

“Oh, stop hovering!” Jo snapped. “I am fine! I am not in need of a doctor, nor am I about to succumb to the vapors. Leave me alone!”

The men walked off but Trystan never took his gaze from her. “Why would they feel you need a doctor?”

She did not respond until the two men had gotten far enough away and were sure not to overhear. Then she slapped her gloves against the side of her forest green dress.

“Because men seem quite content in believing women are incapable of being pushed down and not needing one. I mean why not, hitting the floor is
so
much more strenuous than say…oh childbirth.”

“Jo!” Clara placed her hand over her mouth. The mustard yellow not really helping her complexion in any way.

“Who pushed you?” The question sounded more akin to a wild animal’s growl.

Jo tugged her gloves on and speared him with an annoyed glance. “If I knew do you not think I would be after him to get my sketchbook back instead of standing here?”

Her sarcasm and fire lit him from the inside. God, he loved her spirit. He despised the thought of an uncouth man placing his hands on her.

“Jo,” he said with strained patience.

“Do not dare, Trystan, to put the blame on me. I did nothing wrong.”

Somehow, he doubted that. Jo had a way of finding situations. She had never learned to curb her tongue. She stared at him before her expression fell sending a dagger into his heart.

“Of course
you
would think the worst of me.”

Her features hardened into a mask. One he knew exactly where she learned it. Najja. The “show zero emotion” face.

“She is telling the truth,” Clara broke in, shattering the eye connection he had with Jo. “She had been sketching and when we got up to leave this man shoved her down, took her pad, and ran out the door.”

“No need to explain it to him, Clara. Lord Wilkes will always believe the worst of me. Let us go and offend him no more with my hoydenish presence.”

Fingers clenching around the knob of his walking stick, he frowned at Jo, who consequently had begun to walk away. Gesturing for Clara to wait, he caught up to Jo and grabbed her arm, spinning her back to him.

“Do not walk away from me.”

“Why not? Because I did not bob like a good
proper
woman would while I flutter my lashes and call you Lord Wilkes?”

Something had her back up and while he did not know exactly what it was, he knew it was more than just the incident in the museum. The attack had only riled her.

“Perhaps you would like me on my knees awaiting your next command.”

He came fully erect at that mental image her words painted. Her on her knees before him, hair unbound, eyes full of passion. Waiting. For him. For him to slide his length between her rosy lips.

“Oh, trust me, hellcat. I would
love
you on your knees before me.”

Her blue eyes deepened as her breaths came faster. She was aroused. He had expected his words to embarrass her.
I should have known better.

Her gaze darted about, as if ensuring this remained a private conversation between only the two of them. Then she stepped closer, head tilted to maintain eye contact, and smiled.

“I would love to be there. Something I suspect you know. Just like I know you will not do anything about it.” Her gaze flashed to the obvious ridge in his breeches and back to his eyes. “No matter how much you want it as well.” Then she walked away, joining Clara, and leaving the museum.

He stood rooted to the spot for a while trying to comprehend and digest the fact she had just come on to him. Never had he wanted to take anyone so bad.

“You okay, Tryst?”

The question snapped him from his shock. He glanced to his right to spy Colin Faulkner, Earl of Clifton, his best friend standing there with Pug at his side. The lad was now in his teens and no longer resembled the skinny street urchin he had been when he first entered Colin’s life. His blue eyes had darkened and there was more than a hint of rake and rogue when he peered out from behind the thick lashes. His hair hung longer than most and Trystan knew Pug had taken after Colin in many ways.

“Colin. It is good to see you,” he said, smiling. “And you, Pug.”

“Lord Wilkes,” the lad replied.

He arched a brow at that but made no mention of it. Pug walked off, leaving them alone. Shaking hands, he gave a slight frown.

“Where is Najja?”

Trystan felt a stab of envy at the look of love and contentment, which filled Colin’s face at the mention of his wife. He wanted that.

“Outside with Jo and Clara.”

Jo. Just the mention of her name sent arousal fissuring through him. “I saw her earlier.”

“We know. She told me you were in here.”

The men stared at one another. Colin’s green gaze was sharp and saw much. Much more then Trystan wanted to share.

“Hurt her, Tryst, and I will make you wish I had killed you in Africa.”

How did he know?

“No, you will not, Colin,” Najja’s soft voice entered the conversation.

She stood behind the man who she loved more than anything and everything. The look they shared with one another made Trystan feel as if he were intruding. Colin drew her close and brushed a kiss over her cheek. She put her cool glance on Trystan. He took her hand and kissed the back of it.

“I always liked you best, Najja.”

“How sweet. I meant what I told you as well, Lord Wilkes.”

Her warning hit harder than Colin’s. His friend would beat on him, yes, but he had absolute belief that Najja would do as she said and flay flesh from bone. His.

He kissed her hand again. “I still like you best.” He winked.

Her expression remained unchanged. “I will leave you gentlemen to talk.” With that, she walked away.

“What is going on, Tryst?”

He sighed and began to walk, Colin falling into step with him. “I wish I knew.” Colin knew of his employment with the Crown. He had known since they had recruited him.

“Is Jo involved?”

The simple question sent fissures of fear through him.

“I have no clue.”

“She told us of the attack. Could it just be random?” Colin’s voice was hopeful.

“It could have been. A sketchbook seems an odd thing to take.” Trystan sighed. He knew he had been avoiding thinking it was anything other than just a random attack. Honestly though, he had been so focused on her it had not been hard to avoid it. Now, though, faced with Colin’s question, it brought to attention that it had just been her sketchbook. Nothing else.

“I will go talk to her and find out what she saw.”

A huge commotion outside the propped open doors cut short Colin’s reply. Women screamed and men shouted.

Jo! Trystan ran to the door and burst through. Two men were helping her up. Biting back his roar of anger, he shoved his way to her side.

“Jo, are you okay?”

Beside him, he heard Colin demanding to know what happened. All his focus was on the woman who stood before him. Her skin had a pallor he was unused to seeing on her. Dirt smudged her cheek and he had wiped it away before he realized what he had done. Her blue eyes contained a hint of fear yet she gave him a shaky smile. His chest swelled at her refusal to give into it.

“I could really do without your judgment shite right now, Tryst.”

Her sharp words surprised him but he realized her attempted smile was for the gathered onlookers. Damn if he did not want to gather her close, ensure her safety, and chase the uncertainty in her eyes far away.

“Are you okay?”

Christ. Two attacks in not just one day but a short time apart. It begged the question,
what had she seen?

“Fine.” She glanced beyond him and walked off without another word.

He spun on booted heels to witness her go easily into Najja’s arms and scanning the area he slowly made his way toward the two women. Across the street, he spied a man leaning on a post, watching. He felt a tingle of recognition but could not place where he had seen him before.

“We need to talk,” he said, halting before Jo.

“Sod off, Lord Wilkes. I am going home.” She barely met his gaze instead getting Clara’s attention and progressing to a waiting carriage. Then just like that, his hellcat was gone.

He hung around but only for a short time before he took his own leave and climbed into his carriage. Tryst forced himself to continue with his day as planned knowing Colin would be with Jo. As well as Najja would. The message awaiting him at home had him heading for his mount and away from London.

However, the next evening as he stood outside a large building he could not forget the raw fear in her eyes. Despite the bravado she portrayed, he knew she had been rattled. He would much rather face the hellcat than a subdued Josephine Adrys.

The door swung open on silent hinges and he entered the dimly lit residence. Removing his beaver pelt cap, he shrugged out of his coat as he walked. At the end of the hall, he turned left into a spacious room with a fire roaring in the hearth. Near the blaze, a silver-haired man sat in a tall wingback.

“There is a problem.”

Trystan tossed his hat and coat to a chair and made his way to the dark oak stand before pouring himself a drink. He tossed it back then poured another. “There is always a problem.” Second glass full and in hand, he sat opposite the man and finally met his gaze.

Pale gray eyes stared back at him. Sharp and calculating. Jack Eversley, Duke of Ramsay. His superior officer. The man who had recruited him as well as the one who had been more of a father to him than his own. Lately those eyes had begun to grow tired and it bothered him.

Do not forget, war is hard on all men.
It was.