Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues)
Read Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues) Online
Authors: Aliyah Burke
Tags: #historical romance
Table of Contents
HER RELUCTANT VISCOUNT
ALIYAH BURKE
Passion in Print Press
www.passioninprint.com
Copyright Acknowledgement
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2013 by Aliyah Burke
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Published by
Passion in Print Press, LLC
3052 Gaines Waterport Rd.
Albion, NY 14411
Visit Passion in Print Press, LLC on the Internet:
www.passioninprint.com
Cover Art by MMJ Design
Editing by Lawan Williams
Issued 2013
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.
To my readers who’ve been asking for Tryst’s story. I hope you enjoy his adventures with Jo. Thanks for the support! To my hubby, thank you for the unwavering encouragement you never fail to show me. You are my greatest champion. Last but never least, to all those who risk their own life in defense of this amazing country—God Bless You and thank you and your families for all of your selfless sacrifices!
Prologue
1810
He tossed back the whisky relishing the burn. The four men with him had long since succumbed to their cups. They deserved it, after all it was, a celebration. One only he seemed to have difficulty in participating.
“Sir,” the proprietor said, materializing beside him.
“Yes?” Trystan Wilkes glanced askew at the man.
“I was told to deliver this to you.” He offered a note.
Instinct had him immediately scanning the establishment. No one new popped out at him. “Thank you.” His senses screamed at him, but he still lowered his gaze to the folded note and opened it.
So close.
Two words. Words which shot him out of his seat and to the door. He paused and glanced back to his comrades. No, they would be of no use to him in their condition. Shoving through the tavern door, his gaze darted right and left, desperate for the deliverer of the note.
A chilling whinny yanked his attention toward the lane leading to the building. The night, while frigid, had nary a cloud in the sky and the moon offered enough light for him to make out the man’s face who rode upon the horse.
It cannot be!
Nevertheless, it was. There was no mistaking that figure. That face.
He grabbed the nearest horse, swung up, and set off after him. Maniacal laughter drifted back to him as his steed thundered up the road after the other rider. Rounding a bend, he screamed in agony as a blade tore across his jaw line, barely missing his neck in what would have been instant death.
Withdrawing his own saber, he wheeled his mount around to meet the next charge head-on. The battle was short and intense but he prevailed. After hefting the wiry body on the back of a horse, he mounted and headed back to the tavern.
An eerie silence surrounded the building and he hopped off ignoring his own bleeding face to head for the door. No noise greeted him upon entering either. Saber drawn, he hurried in to find…
Oh dear, Lord
. Bodies lay strewn everywhere. Hastening to his friends, he found them dead as well, still warm to the touch and the blood pools around them growing larger by the second.
A clatter to his left had him spinning, weapon drawn. A tavern wench cowered there in the corner, bleeding, hand over her mouth, and tears in her eyes. His fingers flexed on the handle of his weapon as he strode toward her.
“Who did this?”
She shook her head. He paused before her then jerked her unceremoniously to her feet.
“Who?” he growled.
“He…he said his name was The Alchemist.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “No way.” That was whom he followed. Whom he had fought. More importantly, whom he killed. Right? “Get out of here. Go get the constable.”
She bolted without any further prodding. Whether or not she would send anyone well, time would tell. He grabbed a cloth and pressed it to his still bleeding face. Moving to his friends’ side, he worked swiftly, checking them over. Three had throats slit from ear to ear. Gilbert gave him pause. He could find nothing to cause death.
A thought occurred to him and he tipped Gilbert’s head forward and checked the back of his neck. Dread filled him as he spied the hole with a thin line of blood trailing from it.
How could this be? They had delivered The Alchemist to the gaol five days ago. Two days ago, they had watched him dangle from the hangman’s noose after the trapdoor fell from beneath his feet. Or so he had thought. That’s why they had been celebrating. Then he saw him again tonight, fighting and killing him. So how could he have survived? Moreover, who helped him escape?
Trystan’s hand had grown tacky with his own blood and he headed for a chair as the sound of horses thundering up reached him. The next few hours passed in a whirl as they tried to sort out the mess.
Mess? Hell, massacre would be a more apt word for what had occurred here.
He left immediately after his face was sewn up; he had a report to file and answers to seek. Each step that carried him closer to the Home Office pumped anger through him. He was pissed. Mad his friends had died. Mad he had survived. But most of all he was livid this had been allowed to happen.
The body of the man he fought had vanished while he had been in the tavern. He was furious over his own failures. Moreover, it fed his growing rage.
Another chilly blast blew around him. “I will find you, Alchemist. Never will I cease hunting you down.”
He turned up his collar and asked his mount to go even faster. “Until I breathe no more will I ever stop seeking you out.” A shift in the saddle before he fell into the easy gait of his stallion.
Chapter One
I am a caged bird. Having lost the warm sun and fresh air. I live in darkness and sorrow. My heart and soul yearn to again be free. Will I ever again sit high in a mangrove tree? Hear the screech of monkeys? Shiver from the raw and pure power of the leopards roar? Or am I destined to remain in the gilded cage? Until I am no more.
~From the private journal of Josephine Adrys
1817
“He is watching you again.”
Josephine Adrys, more commonly known as Jo, sighed with boredom even as she followed the not-so-subtle nod of her friend, Clara Field, to where Ian Crane, Earl of Stanton stood staring at her.
“Great.” She looked away and wished she were anywhere else but where she was.
Ian had been an earl since he was a little boy. Although for some, early responsibility created an impressive man. It was not so in his case. For in Ian, Lord Stanton, it had created nothing more than a spoiled and whiny individual.
His wife had passed going on two years now and he had decided it was time to marry again and get an heir. Unfortunately, he had set his sights on her.
“I do not understand his persistence,” she muttered. “How many different ways and times can I—must I—refuse him?”
Clara gave an understanding smile. “At least you still have prospects. I am considered firmly on the shelf.”
Immediately contrite, Jo reached out and squeezed her hand. She had met Clara when she first returned from Africa and the two had become fast friends. Clara was heavier than the others who had come out for their first season. Ridiculed by her so-called friends the poor child had yet to receive any proposals.
“You just have to find the right man.”
“I should become a nun. No one wants a fat, long in the tooth bride.”
Jo scowled then smacked her friend on the arm with her fan. “Enough of that talk. You are
not
fat. Nor are you long in the tooth.”
“I just want to dance a waltz one time with someone other than my brother.”
The wistfulness in her friend’s voice tore at her. “I would dance with you, Clara. I have a feeling it would, however, cause a scandal of its own though. But I am willing.”
As she had wished, Clara broke into a large smile and laugh. Her entire face lit up and showed off how beautiful she truly was.
“I am so glad we became friends, Jo.”
“As am I.”
“Miss Adrys.”
Her heart dropped at the familiar tone of Ian Crane. Rolling her eyes—which almost set Clara off into another round of laughter—Jo composed her features and faced him with a practiced smile and curtsey.
“Lord Stanton.”
“I wondered if you had a partner for the final waltz.” He paused and sent her a lecherous grin. “Or might I sign your card?”
Drat.
How am I supposed to get out of this one?
She was not asked to dance much and he knew it.
“Actually—”
“The final waltz is mine, Stanton.” Another broke in.
Unlike Lord Stanton, this newcomer did not make her skin crawl. No, he had this way of setting it on fire. Even now, she could feel her pulse quicken as she faced him.
Trystan Wilkes.