Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues) Read online

  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.

  “We lost Charles and his crew.”

  The glass nearly tumbled from numb fingers at the news. “What? How? When?” His gaze narrowed. “Who?”

  Charles Wildebore had been a friend, leader of another group dedicated to fighting battles for the Crown, like Trystan.

  “Same as what happened to your group seven years ago. All slaughtered, just instead of leaving one alive he left his mark on one.”

  Trystan made short work of his remaining whisky, hands trembling. “Are we sure it is not someone trying to rout out more members?” A million more questions surged through his head. Most notably, how had Charles’ group been discovered? “I mean, I killed him.”

  Jack met his gaze squarely. “You killed someone but we never figured out how your men were killed if you fought the real him.”

  “You think it was me?”

  “If I entertained a thought as such you would be dead.” Jack waved a hand. “I am saying we missed something and this bastard, or his protégé is back.”

  Trystan felt nauseous. That fateful night forever etched in his brain. He had failed his friends, the men he had trusted. It haunted him still to this day.

  “Is that why I spent my morning at the museum?”

  “How did that go? Did you see anyone who looked familiar?”

  Jo’s face shimmered before his mind’s eye. Somehow I do not believe that is what he meant. He stretched his legs out before him.

  “I saw four people in the area you mentioned and unless the snitch is a young chit or her maid, then no.”

  “The informant gave faulty information,” another voice entered the conversation.

  Trystan faced the direction the sentence had come from. Captain Royce Bottomley melted from the shadows. Tryst gave him a sharp nod in greeting, not at all surprised to know Jack had called him there.

  “Talk.” Jack gave the singular order as he took another drink.

  “Matt works there and he saw two figures talking by a statue in another room. One of the men wore all black with a hat pulled low and the other was smaller. Also ensuring to keep his face hidden.” Royce shoved his lone hand through his hair. “The one in black then attacked a patron.” Royce glanced pointedly at him. “Made off with her sketchbook.”

  His heart plummeted to the soles of his feet. “Jo,” he uttered.

  Jack swung his gaze to him. “You know him?”

  “Jo is a girl…woman. In addition, she was attacked again outside. Josephine Adrys.”

  A silvered eyebrow arched and he realized he had been played, Jack knew exactly who Jo was. “Get her. Protect her. And find out what she knows.”

  He snorted.

  “Get it done, Tryst. I have to focus on who is killing like this. So get the information and get it back to me.”

  “It will take a bit to get it.” He could feel Royce’s gaze watching him intently.

  A disgruntled sigh. “Why?” Jack asked. He crossed his legs. “Is she not known to you? I know of her. She is considered on the shelf. Buy her something, dance with her, steal some kisses. Whatever it takes. I want to know what she saw. Get it done.”

  So Jack knew about Jo. Why did that not surprise him? Jack seemed to know about everything. “Yes, sir.” His mind whirled with the numerous ways this could go wrong. More like would since it dealt with Jo.

  Now he had an excuse to be nearer to her. His heart stuttered a bit at the thought. The recollection of their first kiss had been branded into him. How soft she had been in his arms, beneath his own lips… He shook it off. There was a job to do.

  “I want an update in no more than a week. Go. Now,” Jack added.

  So he went back out into the night and made his way to her home.

  Striding up the steps to her house the following night, he rapped sharply on the door. Moments later, it swung open and he found himself facing her butler, Mr. Fowler.

  “Good evening, my lord.”

  “I need to speak to Jo.”

  “Miss Adrys is not here.”

  Unwilling to accept that, he shoved by the older man and hollered for her. “Jo!”

  “My lord. You can holler or search every room. It will not matter, she is not in residence. Miss Adrys is not here.”

  Frustration mounting he slapped his gloves against one leg. “Where is she? A party? With Miss Field?”

  “She went home this afternoon.”

  Dread filled him. “What happened?”

  “It is not my place to say.”

  He longed to shake him, demand an answer but he knew it would not do any good. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to calm down. “Was she hurt?”

  “No.”

  A large sigh of relief escaped him and he walked outside, a single destination in mind. He hesitated for a brief bit before heading home to get his carriage for the ride, instead of strictly going on horseback. If he was to bring her back to London, she could not very well ride on his horse with him.

  The thought sent his mind spiraling down an entirely different path.

  Chapter Two

  Just returned from the country and a visit with Najja. It was wonderful to see her. I do miss her so. She is radiant and expecting her and Colin’s first child (other than Pug, of course).

  Mister Wilkes was there, what a cantankerous man. Does he ever smile? And why is it that I still cannot get that kiss out of my mind?

  ~From the private journal of Josephine Adrys

  Jo shifted on the seat cushion and stared out the window at the streaming rain, which fell from the sky in torrents. She tried to figure out whom she had pissed off this time for them to send someone after her. Correction: someones. Three separate people did the attacks. Despite her attempts at bravery, it had shaken her.

  So she had come home where she felt safe.

  “My lord, you cannot just—”

  The voice cut off as the door to the room swung open and framed the body—the wet body— of Trystan Wilkes. Her pulse kicked up at the mere sight of him even soaked as he was. His blue eyes narrowed and the intensity in the air grew.

  “Apologies, Miss Adrys,” the footman said.

  She sighed. “No need, Davy. Lord Wilkes rarely follows mere things such as decorum. Since he is already here fetch him some towels to dry off with and some refreshments.”

  “Right away, miss.” The man left leaving them alone and her oh-so aware of his hard body.

  “Something happen for you to barge into my house uninvited, my lord?”

  “What the hell did you see, Jo?” He prowled toward her, tense like a predator stalking his prey.

  “What did I see, when?”

  His look was not an amused one. “Enough with the games. You must have seen something. Or did you make a move at the wrong man?”

  Davy returned with a maid carrying towels and left again after delivering them. Tryst shrugged out of his soaked coat, which left him in his white shirt. It accentuated his broad shoulders and the leanness of his hips. Lord, she wanted to touch him. His black breeches hugged powerful thighs and it was with difficulty she kept her gaze above his waist.
Desperately needing something to do she headed for his discarded coat and hung it over the back of a chair, trying to ignore how it smelled like him.

  “I did no such thing. If I knew why someone was after me, I would tell you.”

  She absently rubbed her arms and rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. His gaze zeroed in on that before he blinked and looked away. He toweled off his hair and hunger grew in the pit of her stomach. She wanted him. Had for a long time. The maid returned with tea for her and whisky for Trystan, as well as sandwiches.

  “Thank you, Polly. I will serve.” A small curtsey and the young woman left.

  Once they had been served, she took a small sip of her tea. The warm brew slid easily down her throat. Tryst sat, ate two sandwiches, and toyed with his drink.

  Trystan sat. “Which sketch is missing from your book?”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “The only thing he took was your sketch book. They say it has been returned to you. However, there was a page missing. So I will ask again. What drawing is missing?” She hesitated and he drank his whisky in one gulp. “You had no clue.” It was not a question.

  She shook her head, not even sure she wanted to know how it was he knew so much about what went on in her business. “I never looked. When I got it back, I was just relieved to have it returned to me. How did you know a page was—”

  “Get it.”

  Her hope at figuring out what was going on overrode her distaste at following his order. She rose and hastened from the room, retrieved the requested item from her desk, and returned to where he waited. The sandwiches were gone and he eyed the one on her plate, hungrily. However, he rose immediately to stand beside her as he flipped through the book.

  “Here.” He shoved the pad at her. “What was on this page?”

  Biting back her anger at having her privacy violated, she took the book and looked at the drawings before and after it. Why this page? She did not argue when he reclaimed the pad, just continued to try and figure it out.

  “Well?”

  “Let me think,” she snapped. Jo walked to the window and stared out again. The rain continued to fall in heavy sheets. “I had a flower, a cat, a tree, and an odd design I had seen. Something I’d seen at the museum. Maybe he was angry I looked at him.”

  “What design? Can you recreate it?”

  “Of course.” She was offended.

  “Draw it for me.”

  She exhaled heavily and touched the windowpane, trailing a falling droplet. “No.”

  Jo watched his reflection. He paused and frowned, the action causing his brows to converge. “No?”

  She turned partially toward him and perched on the cream cushion. “That was what I said. You want me to recreate it, maybe you should ask instead of trying to order me around.”

  With a grunt, he shoved his hand through his hair. Closing the rest of the distance, he dropped the sketchbook beside her in the window seat.

  “Someone is after you.”

  “Really?” she drolled. “I had not noticed. Sorry to disappoint you, Trystan but I have faced people being after me before.”

  “Listen to me. This is no time to be foolish.”

  He thought her foolish. Like a little girl. She shoved to her feet and got in his space. Glaring at him, she stabbed her finger into his chest.

  “Just because I am a woman does not make me foolish.”

  Tryst grabbed her wrist and she found it hard to breathe. His hand was callused and sent tremors throughout her entire being. The vibe in the room changed. No longer was the issue from an outside source. This was all about her. Him. And the passion between them.

  His blue eyes darkened and she watched his jaw clench, the scar along it paling against the tan of his skin. Craving his touch, she waited to see what he would do. Time passed as they stared at one another, thunder in the background adding to the intensity. Her hopes for another kiss faded as his gaze cooled.

  “Really? You seem foolish right now. Touching me, alone in a room with me.”

  Her nose flared slightly at his words. “You were the one who barged in. Not me. Besides I am not afraid of you, Trystan Wilkes.” Of her feelings for him? Yes. He did not need to know that. Even if he did, she did not intend to share it with him.

  “You should be.” He spoke with an assured drawl.

  “No reason to be.” She tried to grab her hand back. He refused her silent request.

  “And why is that?” He tugged her closer. “Expect your footman, Davy, to save you?”

  She gave him an over exaggerated smile. “I do not need it. I merely figured you would not wish to lose any blood today.”

  He opened his mouth but another voice interrupted.

  “Jo, do not bleed Lord Wilkes. Your mother would not like it on her rug.” Najja’s calm voice jerked them apart.

  Her face flushed, she swallowed hard before lifting her gaze to find not just Najja there but also her son, Colin, and Pug. Colin’s green eyes burned with murderous intent. Najja’s were bland but Jo knew nothing escaped her hawk like gaze. Pug’s seemed to mirror Colin’s.

  “Tryst,” Colin rumbled.

  He released her. Smoothing her hands down the yellow fabric of her day dress, she took a much needed fortifying breath. “What are you doing back? I thought you were staying in London.”

  It amazed Jo that she came to her family’s country seat expecting to be alone with her parents away on a trip, to not only have Trystan arrive but the Faulkner brood as well.

  “What is going on?” Najja said, placing her son on the floor where he immediately ran to Jo.

  She scooped him up and peppered his face with kisses. Alexander Faulkner was a gorgeous mix of his parents. He had vivid green eyes like his daddy and skin a tad lighter than his mom. Holding him allowed her to ignore her desire for once.

  “Jo.” Najja’s voice ran with reprimand.

  With reluctance, she handed Alex off to Pug who carried him out of the room. “I was in another incident so I came home.”

  “She refuses to draw the symbol on the lone page taken from her sketch book,” Trystan snapped, lifting and tossing the pad back down again.

  “Maybe if you would ask instead of demand I would,” Jo retorted.

  “You need to tell me,” he said, rounding on her, his eyes shooting sparks.

  She refused to be intimidated. Crossing her arms, she matched him glower for glower. His blue eyes narrowed further. Okay, perhaps I am a bit intimidated.

  “You need some manners.”

  He leaned close. “You already know what I think you need.” His words were low and intimate.

  Another wave of longing crashed over her. She almost dared him, recalling exactly what he had told her.

  “Perhaps more productive matters should be pursued.”

  Najja was right. Jo held out her hands and backed away. “I will tell him.” She dragged her tongue against her lower lip, ignoring the thrill of pleasure his sharp intake of air gave her. “The moment he tells me why it is any of his business.”

  “Seems reasonable.” Najja‘s agreement came as no surprise to her.

  “I do not want to worry her if not necessary to.”

  Jo scoffed, instantly forgetting to not square off with Trystan. “So you come barging into my house, into this room, and question if I can even redraw the image? Demanding I do? All because you do not want to worry me unnecessarily?”

  “I had to know. And I am trying to protect you,” he thundered.

  “From what?” she hollered back, nearly stomping her foot in frustration.

  He threw up his hands and glanced past her.

  “Jo?” Colin asked seconds later.

  She flushed again, embarrassed she had forgotten others were there. Loosely clasping her hands before her, she met Colin’s waiting green gaze. “Yes?”

  “Can you recreate the image?” Of course she could and nodded. “Please.”

  She sighed and glanced to Najja who encouraged her to
comply with nothing more than a look. Silent, she swiped the pad in one hand and took the pencil from her other book before sitting on the cushion.

  Working quickly and not going into intricate detail, she did as they had requested. The page in question had been used for four drawings. She did them on different sheets and as the last stroke fell, she ripped them out. Slammed them against Trystan’s chest. Then with her head held high, she stormed from the room.