Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues) (19 page)

“About last night, Jo,” he began.

“Nothing to say,” she interrupted. “Like you said, not going to happen again.” She pushed her chair back and continued to hold his gaze. “Do you think it safe for me to get my things?”

He cocked his head to the side but nodded. “Sure. I will walk up with you.”

She shrugged as if it made no difference to her one way or the other. It did not take long to get ready. Outside, with a pointed look from Trystan, she allowed him to assist her into the carriage.

She hated being inside but she drew the curtains back on both sides to allow maximum light inside. Rooting through her bag, she withdrew her paper and got back to staring at the drawings on the page.

Something about this struck her as odd. Flipping to a clean page, she put her pencil to paper and began drawing the tattoo, this time using an entire sheet. The ride was not bad, the carriage well sprung so it was not a hardship to work.

She did not move, not even when the carriage stopped hours later. Trystan opened the door and put his head in.

“You coming?”

“Yes.”

She made a final stroke and closed the pad. They went in and ate a quiet lunch. Then they got back on their way. She worked until the light faded with evenings approach. It went like that for three days.

She sat up when he drove up to a well-lit house. Items in the bag, she waited for them to come to a stop. Was this their final destination? The house was not huge like Kittle Manor but it was no small cottage either.

Trystan hopped down and she waited for him to come to the door. He did not. She watched him stride toward the house door and knock. Her heart leapt in her throat when a slender blonde appeared. The welcoming smile on her face made Jo’s stomach turn over uneasily.

She blew out an exasperated breath when the woman’s laughter rang out on a tinkling threat after Tryst lowered his head to whisper in her ear. Unease turned to nausea and worse as she observed the obvious intimacy between them.

She settled back and fought the tears of frustration which threatened. He truly did not want her did he? Childish hopes and fantasy had played too big of a part.

The door to the carriage opened and he met her gaze in the eventide.

“Come.”

She allowed him to assist her from the inside. Casting a look around she noticed the outlying forest and open fields. It was beautiful.

“We can stay here until we figure out what to do next.”

She wanted to ask so many questions but merely nodded. A man appeared beside them and reached in for her bag. They walked toward the front door where the woman waited.

“Oh, what a lovely little girl, Trystan.”

His fingers flexed on her arm and she understood the silent warning. He wanted her on her best behavior.

“This is—”

The impeccably dressed woman waved a hand. “I do not believe I need to know your sister’s name, Trysty. I shall have a room for her on the second floor. You can stay with me.”

Jo wanted to throw up and plant a fist in the woman’s pale complexion. Did not need to even know her name?

“I am not sleeping with you while my…sister is in the house, Arabella.”

She made a move taking Trystan from her side. Cozying up to him, Arabella shot her a look of pure hatred, one so quick Jo would have wondered if it was her imagination were it not for the warning tingle which raced up her spine.

“Fine,” she said with a silky purr. “We really do not sleep anyway.”

No longer did a punch seem enough. Jo wanted to draw blood. Tell this whore to stay away from…
From what?
Her brain asked.
A man who said kissing you is a mistake.

Regardless she had no wish to hear her brain’s comment, she recognized the painful truth. This was the type of woman he obviously preferred.

Jo looked at the older servant who held her bag. He looked as though any strong wind would knock him over. “Are you taking me to my room?”

“Yes, miss. When you are ready.”

As if she wanted to witness more of Arabella and Trystan. “Shall we?”

Thankfully, he headed off and she followed. The interior of the house was beautiful. Coldly so, however. Art, statues, and hangings, all of it added to the home, yet Jo could feel no warmth from any of it. She did not want to be here.

Considering the lack of emotion from the rest of the house, she found herself pleasantly surprised at the room she was given. It reminded her of her room at Kittle Manor. The walls covered in a soft blue, the large window allowed a vast view and would be lovely come morning when the sun broke through.

“Pardon me, miss, would you like me to put your things away, now or later?”

She turned to find a plump maid standing there. “No need.” She really had no desire to have someone go through her things.

“Is no problem, miss.”

With a reluctant sigh, she said, “Now is fine.” The young woman bobbed. “What is your name?”

“Tilly, miss.”

“Nice to meet you, Tilly.”

She took her pad and watched from the end of the bed as her few items were put away. Tilly never said a word about how little she had.

“Can I bring you anything, miss?”

“Tea would be lovely.”

“Right away, miss.”

A knock came shortly after Tilly left and she figured she had just come back. “Come.”

The person who entered was definitely not the maid. Trystan stepped through and she fought that damn instinctive reaction she had to merely being in his presence.

“What do you want?”

“Came to see how you were settling in.”

“It is another room that is not mine.”

“About Arabella,” he said.

She did not want to hear it. “How long are we staying?”

If he was taken aback by her change of topic, it never showed.

“No more than three nights. I need to send a post to London.”

Three nights here, with a woman who was obviously not pleased she was around. “Very well. Good night.”

“You need to eat.”

“Close the door on your way out.”

“Jo.”

She sighed, quickly losing her temper. Why did he insist on pushing this? Could he just not let her be alone?

“I am not feeling well, so will take some tea and lie down. Besides, I do not believe your…hostess would like me around.”

“Arabella—”

“Is your
friend
,” she talked over him. “Go spend time with her.” With that statement, she turned her back on him and did not move until the door clicked behind him. Somehow, it seemed so final. After her tea was delivered, she drank one cup and crawled into bed. For the first time since this thing began, she did not fight the threatening tears.

Tryst picked at his poached fish. He had no appetite. His mind remained on Jo. She had appeared defeated. Staring at the woman across from him, he debated on if it had been wise to even arrive here.

Arabella Snowmund, Duchess of Iverton, had been his sole outlet for sexual release since he had first laid eyes on Jo. She was everything Jo was not. Yet until today, he had never seen this side of her.

“Why so quiet, Trysty?”

He hated her pet name for him. “Why so rude to Jo?”

She blinked coquettishly at him. “Was I rude?” She blew out a sigh and pouted her rouged lips which were no draw to him compared to Jo’s. “You know I tend to not always remember to curb my tongue. I need a husband to set me back on that path.”

He knew this game. Far too well. “Be nice to her.” Her games were not anything he had time for.

“Anything for you, darling. Shall we retire?”

“I told you, Arabella, I am not sharing your bed with her here.”

Her mouth pinched and eyes narrowed with her displeasure. “Would you rather have her?”

Yes but that was beside the point. “You have no say over my activities.”

“So you are sleeping with her?”

He dabbed the corner of his mouth and frowned. “I told you she is my sister.”

“Never said anything about having a sister.” The tone expressed her doubt.

He sipped his whisky and watched her calmly despite his desire to leave her presence. “You never motioned your having a husband our first night, either.”

She did not even blush. There was no remorse on her face either. “Would it have mattered?”

“No. Merely pointing out we do not tell each other everything.”

“Point taken, Tryst. I will be nicer to her.”

He rose. “Good. I will see you tomorrow.” He walked away ignoring her sputtered complaints.

Upstairs, he paused outside Jo’s room before continuing to his own. The room Jo was in tonight would keep her safe. Unless they could go straight up a wall. He frowned briefly as he made his way to the desk in the room. No, she would be fine. Safe.

He penned to messages to send in the morning. Reclining back, he put his hands in his pockets and withdrew a small square of soft linen. Sapphire blue with a single silver word embraced on one corner. Jo. He had swiped it from her room after he kissed her.

Dear Lord, that kiss. The feel of her body against his had sent him mad with desire. She smelled divine. A blend of scents which reminded him of Africa after a rain. She melted against him with a full response to the kiss.

He pressed the cloth to his face and inhaled, her scent still lingered.
Then I told her it was a mistake.
The pain he had seen in her eyes had torn at his heart like a saber through flesh, slicing through and causing so much damage.

She had been quiet since. None of the fire he associated with his hellcat. She kept her nose buried in her book, drawing and making notes. He wanted to take it from her and see what had her attention so completely.

So weak. He was so weak. “Jo.” The word ripped from his gut on a guttural moan. He could not succumb to his desire for her. No matter how thick and powerful it was.

One final sniff before he shoved the cloth angrily back into his pocket. He paced for a while before he finally crawled into bed. The sound of a dog barking woke him. Sliding from the bed, he yawned and made his way to the window. Morning had arrived and it felt like he had just lowered his lids.

Jo was outside running and playing with Arabella’s dog, George. She wore another of her everyday dresses, obviously uncaring if it got dirty, for the dog and she ran and rolled. Her hair fell free down her back and shone in the sun. He stood by the glass and watched her just enjoy the day. This was the Jo he wanted to see, full of life and vigor.

Well aware Arabella did not arise until noon, he dressed and made his way outside. George growled and barked at him; the dog had never liked him. Trystan noticed how Jo composed herself, locking all emotion away.

“I see you found George.”

“Is that his name? I found him curled up outside my bedroom door.”

“He belongs to Arabella. He is a Dandie Dinnmont.”

She sniffed and for a moment, he thought she would say something. Nothing came. In fact, she presented him with her back and walked in the direction he had just come from. The house.

“Are you mad at me, Jo?”

“Would it matter if I were?” She never slowed and George with his long body kept between them.

“Yes.” That was the truth.

She paused and faced him. “I can assure you, Lord Wilkes, I am not mad at you. I have no feelings one way or the other. Of any kind. As you so dearly love to point out this is about locating The Alchemist. So other than me expecting you to keep me safe as you claim you will, I do not feel anything toward you.” She continued on, leaving him there to watch the seductive sway of her derrière.