The Viscount's Addiction (3 page)

“Dead drunk,” he sneered. He moved to the man’s feet and took hold of his ankles. He grunted with effort as he tugged him a couple of inches toward the door. “Help me get the whoreson outside.”

“There’s a storm. He’s soaked through already. He’ll catch his death.” “Would you rather have a convicted murderer waking up in your home?” “Whatever else he may be, he is your cousin,” she reminded him.

“And your husband,” he said with a nasty chuckle. She shuddered at the thought.

Lewis purposely knocked him against the doorjamb on the way to the parlor. Unable to lift him onto the settee, they were forced to leave him on the parlor rug. Breathing hard, Lewis plunked himself onto the settee. Jessie put her hands to her back and stretched. The man was huge.

Noticing that he’d begun to shiver, she fed the meager fire. If he was truly Lord Blackwood, why the perplexed look when she’d told him her name? According to her stepfather, Lord Blackwood had arranged it all. She had been told that he’d eagerly signed the marriage certificate to protect the estate, to make certain it would remain in safe hands while he was in prison.

“I’m off to tell Father. I pray he’s lucid. I do not want to handle this alone,” Lewis said and heaved himself off the couch. “If it weren’t for the drenching rain, I’d go out and get the constable tonight. Have him manacled and returned to prison. Perhaps they will hang him this time and be done with it.”

True to his self-serving nature, Lewis thought nothing of leaving her alone with this formidable stranger. “Fetch some blankets,” she called after him.

She fell to her knees beside the shivering man. Using all of her strength, she rolled him to his side and pulled on the sleeve of his rough woolen coat. Nearly panting from the effort, she finally removed the coat. She was about to toss it aside when he seized her wrist. She gasped at both the suddenness and the pain of his grip.

“Give me that,” he said. His voice was low and rough.

Fear stole her breath and set her heart racing. He had enough strength in one of his big hands to snap her neck. She uncurled her fingers and dropped the jacket onto his chest. He released her wrist and, although barely conscious, fished through his pockets and retrieved a small druggist bottle labeled laudanum. After removing the cork, he dribbled some of the elixir between his lips. Though his hands trembled, he put the stopper in the bottle with care as though he were capping liquid gold. He replaced the bottle in the pocket and there was the sound of glass clinking against glass. Jessie wondered if his pockets were filled with goods from the apothecary. He folded the wet coat and trapped it beneath his head. His eyes drifted shut. Apparently, now that he’d had his dose of opium he was perfectly indifferent to the possibility of freezing to death in his soaked clothing.

Her first wifely duty, it seemed, was to undress her husband, though she’d always envisioned performing the task under more romantic circumstances. As she brushed his long wet hair back from his temple, Jessie could see he had the type of face that could steal a woman’s breath away.

She tried to forget how handsome he was as she concentrated on removing his shirt. His body felt hard through the linen fabric. She blinked a few times at the musculature she exposed. He was built like an underfed gladiator. It seemed a muscular strength built from hard labor, not from nourishment. She traced her fingers over the scars that marred the sleek skin of his chest. A particularly wicked scar scored the skin beneath his ribcage. With a shudder, she daringly ran her fingers along it.

She quickly pulled her hand away as her stepfather stumbled into the room followed by Lewis. The old man blanched at the sight of the half-naked man. Once he’d

determined that the man was insensible, he shambled toward him. His face went a shade paler, and he reached back to brace himself on the arm of a chair.

“It is true then. The devil has escaped his shackles,” he said in a trembling voice. “Henry!” Jessie spoke sharply. “He thought it a jest when I told him who I was. He

initiated the proxy marriage, did he not?”

Henry’s frail frame quivered as his watery eyes continued to focus on his nephew.

She got to her feet. “You told me that it was his signature on the marriage certificate.”

“Indeed, it is his signature,” Henry replied, refusing to meet her gaze.

She looked down at Lord Blackwood. The trembling in his limbs had lessened. She suspected it was due more to the laudanum than the warmth of the fire.

Taking the blankets from Lewis, she scrutinized his face. “Lewis, did he know what he was signing?”

He thrust out his chin and sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he usually did when caught in a lie.

“My God.” Her throat nearly strangled on the words. “You tricked him into this marriage, didn’t you? This man has no idea he has a wife.”

“I’m not afraid of him.” Lewis let out a nervous giggle. “The man’s pathetic. Drunk as a bloody lord.”

“Yes, the bloody lord of this manor,” she said, her voice edged with hysteria. Lewis shoved past his father, escaping the room.

She reached out and grabbed Henry’s elbow, steadying him before he toppled over. “What will Lord Blackwood think when he finds he has been duped? ’Tis surely a good reason to commit another murder. And I don’t think any court would convict him this time.”

Henry seemed to look right through her. His eyes were now as empty as a cloudless sky. He pursed his lips and whistled tunelessly. Cold, wet and tired, she was in no mood to coddle her stepfather back to reality. Jessie tucked a blanket around Lord Blackwood and led her stepfather away.



Ryder moaned and squinted into the daylight. It flooded the room unimpeded by prison bars. Surveying his surroundings, he tried to remember where he was. Cautiously, he stood, hoping to stall the inevitable headache. He swept his coat from the floor. Disturbed, the dust motes swirled over the familiar furnishings. The aroma of frying bacon drifted into the musty room, wakening a long-forgotten feeling of homesickness.

The evening had left little of an imprint on his mind. He could vaguely remember his uncle’s voice and the insipid face of his cousin. And the woman, no doubt, was an opiate-induced vision. Evidently, the druggist had cooked up a quality batch of laudanum. Hallucinations had never been part of his experience before. But a beautiful vision like that was more than welcome. Ryder, for once, felt pity for those who did not indulge.

He made his way through the house. With disgust, he observed the buckling wallpaper of the hallway, the tarnished silver vase on the side table and the waxy blobs of cheap, tallow candles clinging to the sconces. There wasn’t a servant in sight. Clearly, Lewis did not want to waste money on servants when it could be so much better spent at billiards or Faro.

In the dining room, his uncle and cousin, the two people he hated more than the guards at Newgate, were making themselves comfortable at his table.

“You look unwell, Nephew,” Henry said, nervously licking his thin lips.

“Truly, and I thought that that five year luxury holiday you sent me on had done me a world of good.”

“You have the pallor of a cadaver.” The thin lips drew into a hopeful smile.

Ryder yanked out two chairs and sat down hard in one while propping his feet on the other. “You’d better make arrangements for three caskets, old man. I intend to take you both with me.”

His uncle looked aghast but wisely held his tongue.

Meanwhile, Lewis sat mutely at one end of the table. With fierce concentration, he slathered marmalade on toast.

“Do not get too used to breathing free air, Nephew. It is only a matter of time before they haul you back.”

“I didn’t bloody escape, you old fool. They released me.” “But why?” Lewis’s sullen mouth was shiny with butter.

“Because they could no longer deny the fact that I am innocent.” “Innocent?” Lewis repeated, his voice lilting into a question.

Ryder resisted the urge to wipe the sour expression off his cousin’s face. His gaze skipped over the food arrayed on the table. “I thought for sure that all the servants had fled.” He wasn’t hungry but strong tea held some appeal. He reached behind him and tugged the bellpull.

Ryder was growing bored waiting for the servant to respond when the door finally swung open, and a woman strode in carrying a tray with eggs, bread and tea. He actually pressed his fingers to his eyes for a moment, convinced she was a mirage. But she kept moving toward him. She set the tray in front of him, making eye contact for a fleeting second. Her eyes were a pale, exotic green shadowed by heavy dark lashes. He hadn’t seen a female so alluring in…well…forever. She had the kind of body that could stop a man’s heart.

Without a word to Henry or Lewis, she plucked the dirty dishes from the table. They did not acknowledge her either, reinforcing the notion that Ryder truly had conjured her. His hand smoothed over the bottle in his pocket. Perhaps a swig would make the hallucination last. She leaned over him to pour tea and with an unobtrusive movement he shifted his shoulder so that it grazed her breast. He inhaled the sweet scent of her. She
was
real, and he had the erection to prove it. Suddenly, he looked at Lewis. Was it possible that a wretched loser like his cousin could be wed to a woman like this?

“She is most assuredly not a servant. Who is she?” he asked with feigned nonchalance, bracing himself for an answer he did not want to hear.

Father and son exchanged looks that made Ryder uneasy. The question had made the girl freeze in her steps. A moment later she rushed off with the dirty dishes.

“That is my stepdaughter, Jessie,” Henry finally muttered.

She didn’t belong to Lewis. Ryder felt an uncommon sense of relief. “You remarried while I was at Newgate?”

Henry cleared his throat and wiped his double chin. “Yes. Did you think I was supposed to stop living just because you were in prison?”

“I stopped living. It seems like you two bastards should have suffered some.” Ryder glanced around at his pitifully altered surroundings. “Although, this place does not look much better than Newgate.”

“Blame Dresley. The man was clearly an inept bailiff. ”

“Ballocks! Dresley was the finest steward I’ve ever employed. But damn his eyes for leaving the estate in the hands of you two imbeciles.”

Ryder then focused his fury on Lewis. He placed his father’s timepiece on the table and took satisfaction in watching his cousin’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

Lewis blinked fearfully at the pocket watch as though he expected it to attack. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“Why don’t you tell me, Cousin?”

Lewis narrowed his eyes and really studied Ryder for the first time since he’d entered the dining room. “That was you hiding in the dark of the gaming hall like a thieving highwayman.”

Ryder’s lips curled slyly. “You are finished gambling away my family’s possessions. Nothing else leaves this house—do you understand?” He wished he could shake the lethargy and remove both his uncle and cousin bodily from the premises. But the opiate drew the spirit from him.

Lewis leapt to his feet, knocking his chair into the wall. He spun on his heels and fled the room.

“Well, Uncle, where is your wife?”

“Clarissa is gone. She died two winters past.” He said it in a flippant manner.

“That was number three, wasn’t it? A person might think that you were doing them in yourself.”

“That is preposterous.” Henry’s face went red and his jowls quivered with anger. “You’ve a soul as black as Satan’s.”

“Calm down, Uncle. A man of your age and with your explosive temper could be struck down by apoplexy in a thrice.” He felt a ruffle of air as the door opened then heard a light feminine step behind him. His cruel words had not been meant for her ears. He expected a scolding look and almost felt it was deserved. But, instead, she gave him an unconvincing frown. He had been so deprived of anything beautiful or good for the last five years he could not draw his gaze from her.

Jessie walked toward him. The simple dress she wore clung to her slim curves. She was so sensual he felt himself grow achingly hard again just watching her glide toward him. He adjusted his coat, covering his erection. Opium, which usually kept lust at bay, seemed to be having no effect on him today. He groaned inwardly, imagining his hands cupping her perfect round breasts, rubbing his thumbs over what he felt sure would be rose-colored nipples.

“You’re not hungry, Lord Blackwood?”

He shook his head and pushed the plate away. He was hungry all right, but not for the cold toast and rubbery eggs on his plate. He wanted to pull her into his lap, press that sweet bottom against his cock and clamp his mouth on a delicious nipple.

He took a shuddering breath. He needed his crutch. He removed the bottle from his pocket and set it before him. She cast him a disapproving look. The erotic goddess was a tad sanctimonious for his taste. With a wink, he toasted her with the bottle then took a drink. She snatched up his plate and flounced out of the room. Her exit was followed by a loud crash.

He quickly decided that she was the last thing he bloody well needed. The mere sight of her, and he lost all composure. He’d be suffering with a stiff prick until he had her out of his house. Why the devil
was
she here? Dowry or not, a woman like that had suitors groveling at the door. How could she not prefer marriage to living with these insufferable relatives of his?

Ryder relaxed back. The door flew open, and there she was again, glaring down at him.

Ryder thought it a bit of an overreaction for not touching his meal or for the breaking of a few plates. She twisted around, aiming her wrath at Henry.

“Will you tell him or shall I?” she asked Henry.

“What, tell your husband that his wife is a sinful harlot?”

“Tell him the truth, Henry,” she responded with surprising calm.

Damn it, so she was married to his cousin, after all. Being locked in a wedded state could be the only explanation why such a luscious creature would stay at Tesslyn Hall. “Let’s bring that cuckold Lewis back in and see what he thinks of that,” Ryder said.