Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues) (2 page)

Tall and powerful, he stood there as if not a single care in the world. A rakish gleam burned in his blue eyes and she suddenly had the urge to fan herself. His brown-blond hair hung longer than fashion dictated but on him, it worked. He wore black, which in her mind seemed to amplify the broad width of his shoulders and the strength she knew firsthand he possessed. The flickering light from the chandeliers above gave him a dangerous air, especially how it made his facial scar appear. Her throat had fallen dry and she swallowed to rectify the situation.

“Hello, Trystan,” she said with a smile.

“Trystan?” Lord Stanton echoed in disbelief.

Shite! She had forgotten the proper way to address him. He never failed to throw her for a loop. Ever since that…
Oh no, not thinking about that!

Trystan never missed a beat. “I am a family friend, Stanton,” he replied smoothly, even as his eyes began to heat. “If you will excuse us, the waltz is about to begin and we would like to collect our partners.”

She tuned out Ian’s response. Trystan had said “we.” So discombobulated by his appearance, she had totally missed the man beside him. She recognized him as well. Major McCutcheon.

Trystan gave her a wink and swept her out onto the dance floor. Past him, she caught a glimpse of Clara in the major’s arms.

“Thank you for getting me away from him.” She licked her lips and tried to concentrate beyond the feel of his touch on her sensitive body. “And for having Major McCutcheon dance with Clara.”

“I did not have him do that. He wanted to. Now, tell me what you are doing with Stanton.”

“I was not
with
him,” she snapped.

His decadent chuckle skated up her spin and increased the fire in her blood.

“There is my little hellcat. And here I was worried when I saw you looking so bored that you had become like everyone else.”

“I am not yours, nor am I a hellcat.” She gave him a brittle smile.

His fingers flexed along her waist and she felt claimed. A simple movement and she reacted with such thoughts. How pathetic was she?

“If not, why have you not married?”

“How is my personal life any of your business?” she demanded.

“You have had offers. Yet, here you are in my arms,” he paused, “again.”

Ignoring the flush of heat his implication gave her, she had to fight to keep her smile hidden. Trystan was unlike any other she had met. He pushed the bounds of propriety without a care. She enjoyed their verbal spars; it made her feel more alive. The heated way he looked at her did not hurt either.

He had become Viscount Wilkes two years ago and that had been the last time she had seen him. At the funeral. The Wilkes name had been fodder for the
ton
until Trystan inherited the title. With his money, he had paid off all the debt and had plenty of his own to spare. Of course, it helped, he had invested some with Colin Faulkner, Earl of Clifton and had made quite a bit from the venture.

“Merely to avoid Crane and his wandering hands,” she said airily.

Trystan’s face hardened into a mask of displeasure. “He has been improper with his advances?”

She glanced into his eyes and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I am capable of defending myself, Trystan, as you should well recall.”

He gave her a slight smile. “I remember
everything
about that day.”

Words escaped her. Trystan Wilkes had way more experience than she did. While she had stopped him that day after the kiss, to this day it was something she continually thought about. His taste, so raw and purely masculine. And so unforgettable.

“Me too. And I meant every word,” she said with sugary sweetness.

The music wound down and she began to step back only to find his grip had tightened, keeping her anchored to him. She coolly arched a single eyebrow at him. People had begun to toss them strange looks.

“Something else to say, Lord Wilkes?”

His eyes traveled with overtly familiarity along her face and her stomach tightened. He had stared at her in a similar fashion after he kissed her. Five years ago he had kissed her and she
still
could not get it out of her mind. She wanted to slide her hands up along his shoulders and sink them into his hair before tugging him close enough to kiss.

“Not a thing, hellcat, not a thing.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do not call me that.” Trystan opened his mouth only to shut it with a snap. All emotion drained leaving her with a shell of a man.

He released her and took her arm before leading her back to where Clara stood with Major McCutcheon. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Adrys.”

“My pleasure,” she replied wondering what had caused him to withdraw into himself like that.

Trystan lifted his gaze to hers and the heat returned, bringing with it more shudders and want. “Until next time,” he said. His look possessive and intimate. Then he was gone with the major as well.

Clara touched her arm and she glanced at her friend. Her green eyes sparkled with excitement.

“My first dance with a non-family member and it is a waltz,” Carla said on a sigh of pure pleasure.

“With a handsome major, too,” Jo teased.

“He was that. All of them are.”

Jo followed her gaze to find Trystan and the four military men she had met first a few years ago. They turned as one to head for the door, only before they vanished, Trystan glanced back at her. Even from this distance, it was as if he had reached out and dragged a finger down the side of her face.

Damn him! His lips twitched and she knew he knew what affect he had on her. Still, she wondered as he strode out if he even cared. He rarely noticed her. In addition, when he did, he flirted as he did with every woman. He was after all, a rake.

Another breathy sigh came from Clara and she took her friend’s arm, leading her away from the approaching and scowling Ian Crane. Three steps from the sanctuary of the ladies sitting room and he caught up to them.

“Miss Adrys, a moment.”

Grinding her jaw, she slapped a smile on her face and rotated so they faced one another. “Yes, my lord?”

“Are you busy tomorrow or would you care to join me in my phaeton around Hyde Park?”

Let me think. Be in a place where I cannot escape from you without jumping. Hmm, I think not.
“Although it sounds lovely, my lord, I fear I must decline. I have a previous engagement.”

His eyes darkened dangerously and she knew he would not remain relatively pleasant much longer. “With who?”

Her own gaze narrowed. Clara’s fingers tightened on her arm in silent warning. Or plea, she was not sure. Her friend was well aware of her temper.

“You are not in a position to demand my daily accounting, Lord Stanton.” Her words were icy and sharp.

He grabbed her arm and she snarled lightly at the presumption of his unwanted touch. “Remove. Your. Hand.”

She breathed a bit easier when he did, however, he stepped closer instead of further away. The smile on his face did not banish the chill in his blue eyes.

“I will be around for you by ten.”

“Come whenever you like, I still will not be going.”

The arrival of another overshadowed his next words. Jo glanced up to meet serious brown eyes. Captain Royce Bottomley.

“Captain,” she said with a genuine smile.

His brown eyes moved from her to Stanton to Clara—where they lingered for a second longer—and back to her.

“Lord Wilkes asked me to see you ladies home.”

In her periphery, she noticed Stanton stiffen. “That would be wonderful thank you.” She would deal with Trystan’s overbearing attitude later for she was grateful at this moment. Jo moved to his right side and Clara went to his left, taking the offered arm. She walked proudly beside him. He had lost his right arm and wore the sleeve secured up out of his way. She glanced around him to see Clara holding his left arm and watching Royce from the corner of her eye.

Their carriage waited and after Royce helped them in she spied Lord Stanton on the top step watching them, eyes tiny slits. She dismissed him and slid her dress over so Royce could climb in.

They went to her house and as she and Clara climbed out, she peered up at the driver. “Johnny, take the captain wherever he needs to go.”

“Yes, miss,” he called down.

“Good night, Captain. And thank you.”

Royce gave them both a nod before swinging with incredible ease up to sit by Johnny. The carriage rumbled off again. She and Clara entered the house, passing the butler with a smile. Parting ways with her friend, she sought her room and let Sally, her abigail who had been sleeping while she waited, undo her dress. Then Jo shooed Sally on her way and readied herself for bed.

Images of Trystan Wilkes filled her dreams. Despite the late hour she went to bed, Jo woke early to Trystan’s name on her lips.

Full of frustration, she climbed from bed, donned her wrap, and sat in the window. Journal in hand she began to write. She wrote for at least an hour before she rang for Sally. As Sally tightened her corset, Jo sighed. Five years back and she had yet to get used to wearing all of these insane clothes.

“There you go, miss.”

“Thank you. Will you please go check on Clara and see if she needs anything.”

“Yes, miss.” A bob and the young woman left the room.

With a sigh, Jo exited as well, her sketchpad under one arm. She entered the breakfast room to discover her father sitting there reading the paper.

“Did you have fun last night?” he asked, peering around one edge to meet her gaze.

She waved off a waiting footman, placed her items down, and went to the sideboard to fill her own plate. “It was boring, Papa. We did see Lord Wilkes, Captain Bottomley, and Major McCutcheon.”

“How nice. Lord Stanton sent me a message this morning.”

Her hands shook so bad she almost dropped what she held. Placing a sausage on her plate, she took a deep breath and carried it to the table.

“What did he want?”

“To call on you.”

She did not even try to hide her exasperated sigh. “No.”

Slowly her father lowered his paper and stared at her. “What is his problem?”

“Besides the fact he is a boor?”

“Jo.”

Appetite gone, she put her fork down and stood. “I know you are embarrassed by me, Papa, and the fact I am not married. But I will
not
even give that man a date.” She whirled around, spun back to grab her sketchpad, and stormed from the room.

Clara met her with a smile. “Carriage is ready.”

They headed on their way to the museum and Jo’s mood lightened considerably.

“Excuse me, my lord.”

Trystan barely avoided the large man who brushed by him in a hurry. Whatever the problem was, the man appeared extremely harried. Tryst leaned against the wall and consulted his timepiece. Three minutes past the half hour of when the meet was supposed to have gone down.

My contact could have been wrong.
It was always risky. It could even have been a trap. Which was why he lingered by a statue, dressed as suited for Viscount Wilkes. In his periphery, he could keep track of the afore mentioned meeting place. He flexed his gloved hand over the head of his walking stick. His thumb skimmed over the lacquered ball on top before he sighed and ambled around the statue.

He surveyed the room, taking note of the few people wandering through the Egyptian artifacts. A tingle skated up his spine and immediately all senses went on full alert. He frowned slightly when he realized what had set him off. Or rather who.

His gaze riveted to the woman across the room as she made her way over the marbled floors. Josephine Adrys. A thorn in his life. Not because she clung to him wanting what he refused to give, commitment. Moreover, not because he had to continually save her from problematic situations. None of that.