Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues) (6 page)

“This is what she saw?”

“Yes. She needs protection. I thought Derek.”

That brow shot up again. “Not you?” Jack returned to his seat. “You do not seem to be any worse for it after getting the drawing.”

Only because you cannot see inside me.
“I am going after The Alchemist.” He refused to rise to the bait.

Jack stared and leaned back, lacing his fingers together. The door opened and the butler walked over and bent down to hear what Jack told him. Then left.

“Are you sure about this?”

Trystan frowned. “Are you telling me to let it go? That filth has killed our friends. Our
brothers
.”

“I am saying no such thing.” He pursed his lips before nodding. “I would prefer him alive, but—” He held up a hand. “I know that might not be possible.”

That was the damn truth. “I should go.”

“Yes. I will send Cam out to protect her.”

His heart stuttered a bit. “Cam?” He had much rather it be Derek. Cam was a marquess who loved women, Derek was a bit older, still sharp, and on his game but one he did not have to worry about trying to think of a way to get Jo into bed. Cam on the other hand was a rake of the worst kind.

“Yes, Cam. I think he is the best choice.”

“I can escort him out there.”
That way I can have a talk with him on the way.

Jack’s smile was not even remotely kind. “No need. You have your job to do and Cam has his.”

He hesitated. “I told them I would return with her guard.”

“Then you misspoke. Cam can handle this. You claim you want nothing to do with it, so get going.”

Trystan swallowed his scathing retort. Jack would never budge. He jerked around and left, his house the destination. He had his own things to do, not worry about Jo or which unmarried, handsome man was protecting her. Once he had reached his house, his mood had sunk even more.

He kept a minimum staff around for he was well used to and adept at doing things on his own. Once the water had been delivered for his bath, he was on his own until he rang for someone. There was no dawdling, he made short work of it, dressed, and began to pack. From secret compartments, he pulled out weapons and began stowing them in his bag and on his person.

A dry black cloak over his shoulders, he hastened down to the first floor and located his butler.

“I am on my way out for a while, Mills.”

“Very good, my lord.”

He never had to say any more. Mills had always served men who served the Crown. A single nod and he was on his way. A horse waited, readied for him and he set off at a breakneck pace to Jack’s. Once there, he exchanged horses from his polished gelding, appropriate for a viscount, to his stallion who had seen him through so much. An ugly brute when compared to his gelding but he had stamina and speed plus a level headedness which was hard to find.

“Hey Ptolemy,” he said, patting the sorrel on his neck before transferring his things to the saddle.

The stallion whickered and pawed the ground. Items stored he grabbed a fistful of lighter brown mane and vaulted easily into the well-worn saddle. Tugging on the brim of his hat, he set his heels to Ptolemy’s sides and they were off, easily swallowed up by the cloudy, moonless night. His destination the place the other killings had happened.

§ § §

After three weeks, he returned discouraged and frustrated to Jack’s. Tired and dirty, he strode up to the front door. The news he uncovered had been disturbing.

Jack was in the hall as he entered and paused in his discussion with Captain Royce Bottomley. “Well?” he asked impatiently.

Cranky, Trystan bit back his retort, well aware Jack was gruff. Not to mention this was not a job for those who needed hand holding or coddling.

“Those marks were left as well. One was killed with some sort of poison while the other had taken a knife to the back.”

“So The Alchemist
has
resurfaced.” Jack shoved a hand through his hair. “I need your men here, Royce.”

“Right away.” The one armed man wheeled around and headed off.

“You look like shite, Trystan. Are you going to the Duchess of Haversham’s party?”

He wanted a bath and bed, not necessarily in that order. His plans in no way included attending a social function.

“No.”

Jack nodded. “Very well. You should get some rest, you are no good to me half dead.” Relieved he nodded. Jack continued, “If this is how it is looking there is the chance this person is trying to ferret out those who work for the Crown.”

He had thought about that. Did not stop his desire to put it out there who he worked for just to get the bastard coming after him. He knew Jack would not go for that.

“Which means Miss Adrys is even more of a target. In the past seven years no one has seen him, until her.”

Jack’s phrase stopped him cold. Fear slithered through him at the thought of any harm coming to Jo. His Jo. She had seen the man with the mark. He closed his eyes on the mental image of her lying lifeless on the ground, blood blossoming across her chest. Sightless eyes which had been so full of life staring past him with—

“Wilkes!”

The sharp tone released him from the unpleasant throe he had been in. “What?”

“Pay attention.”

“I need to protect Jo.”

The man’s brow arched. “Miss Adrys is very well protected.”

Tryst stared at his handler and blinked. “I need some rest. I will be back.” Without waiting for anything else to be said, he walked back out and sent for his carriage that sat housed here from a previous mission. He rode back to his town home with the curtains drawn.

Once home he called for a bath to relax his tired and sore muscles. He ran some things over in his mind and tried to figure out how this person could be The Alchemist.

Did I not kill the real one?
His thoughts continued as he dried off and dressed.
Could all of these deaths be my fault?

Seven years had passed and he scowled as he sat in his large leather chair, legs sprawled before him. On silent feet, Mills entered with footmen in tow. They removed the tub and one placed a tray laden with food beside him.

“Thank you, Mills, but I was going to go to bed.”

“Forgive me but I thought you were attending the ball.”

Placing his gaze on his butler, he waited for him to continue. He did not say anything else so Trystan asked, “Why?”

“No reason, my lord.” He waved the footmen out.

“Mills,” he warned.

“I merely thought you would be checking on Miss Adrys.”

Jo. His heart pounded. “Did you now?”

“Yes, my lord.” Mills’ eyes twinkled. “She has after all been in the news.”

“What?”

“She was attacked in Hyde Park.”

His pulse skyrocketed. Safe and well protected. Like hell she was. “Is she—”

“By all accounts she is fine. I have not spoken to her, but I have learned she is not any worse for the wear.”

Relief swamped him. He knew Mills had his own sources for news, sometimes the servants knew more. “And she will be going tonight?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He had to see for himself. “I will go.”

“Yes, my lord. I will have your attire ready.”

Knowing Mills, he already did. “Wake me in a few hours.” In the back of his mind, he wondered how Mills knew he would be back by now.

“Very good, my lord.” Mills retreated.

“Some days, I wonder who really runs this place.” He drank the tea given and headed for his bed, stripping off his clothes as he went. A groan slid free as he collapsed on his bed.

Later on that night, he descended the stairs of his town home, dressed impeccably in black. A nod to his butler and he was in his carriage on his way to the ball. He felt better; the four hours of uninterrupted sleep in a secure location had done wonders for him.

Late like usual, he waved off the announcement of his arrival and strolled in. He skirted the edge of the ballroom and frowning slightly when he did not see his target.

Alcoves? Perhaps with some man? Cam?

Tryst shook his head not wanting to believe Jo would hide in one with some man. Had he been in them with women? Yes. That was different. He grumbled under his breath when he spied Cam weaving through the crowd.
If he is there then were is Jo and who the hell is protecting her?

This was not a situation he approved of. Not at all. Grinding his jaw, he cut across to intercept.

“Where is she?”

Cool hazel eyes met his. “Evening Wilkes. Did not expect to see you here.”

Was that smugness he heard? Cam Trenton was the Marquess of Glassdrow and eldest son in line to become the ninth Duke of Kelley.

“I need to speak to Jo.”

One eyebrow rose. “Jo?”

“Not in the mood, Trenton.”

Cam’s answering smirk had Tryst come perilously close to punching him in the face. Forcing himself to remain calm, he waited. His anger grew, however, along with his concern when he shrugged.

“She went off with her friend, the pudgy chit, Clara.”

He waited. “Where?” he asked when nothing more was forthcoming.

“Ladies sitting room.” Cam stared at him. “I do know how to protect someone.”

Past him, he spied a brown haired miss stepping outside, the reaction in his gut shared with him the identity. Jo. “Looks like it,” he remarked. “So while she is there you what, drink?”

Hazel eyes narrowed. “I am a marquess who is out with a woman. You think I should wait at the door for her? Like I am so in love I cannot bear to be away from her?”

Tryst bristled. “No. I do not give a damn about your title. I just think instead of getting a drink you should be watching for her considering she slipped outside.”

“She what?”

With a disgusted sigh, Trystan walked away and headed outside. This was exactly what he had been afraid would happen. A gentle breeze floated around him. Beneath the soft lights along the outside wall, Tryst passed numerous younger women who flicked their fans. Some stared with desire, some looked away with fear or disgust.

He was used to it. With the past rumors about his family scandal as well as the wicked scar jagging his face, it seemed a common thing. It did not bother him, he had no interest in these young girls. Nor did he have any desire for the women who were again single or out looking for a bit of sport their husbands could not provide. Or would not.

No, what stirred his blood was…wearing a dress the hue of Madeira. While more understated than many styles it hugged her form in such a way he thought of sinning. With her. Her hair, a complicated twist, highlighted her facial features and emphasized the slenderness of her neck.

She did not appear to notice him for she was in a discussion with Clara. He could tell from here, Jo was feisty. She held her head at a certain angle when disgruntled. The set of her chin only further backed his assumption.

Jo waved a hand in the air, then whirled around and vanished into Haversham’s garden. Clara wrung her hands and looked about before hastening back inside. He gave a small sigh and melted into the garden using the shadows to mask his progression.

How the hell is Trenton protecting her by letting her go unguarded and alone?

Movement to his left had him freezing and waiting. The man was good, but Tryst was better. He identified Cam and fury raced through him. His sharp gaze picked out two more men who were part of Cam Trenton’s crew.