Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues) (23 page)

He smiled. “Hard to be when you are fighting for food.”

“You are wealthy now, yet you still do not put on airs.”

“Keeping an eye on me to see if you can snag me?” He meant it as a jest. Unfortunately, the way she stiffened informed him she had not taken it the same way. Still, she was quick with her response. Any and all traces of hurt were wiped clear as if they had never existed.

“Your worth is common knowledge. Were you in London more often I am sure you would be invited to many soirées as mothers tried matchmaking.”

The section fell off onto the growing pile; Jo shook her arms but did not leave. Dropping the saw, he glanced up at the sun’s position then started another cut.

“I have not had my eye on any young chit for many years,” he said honestly. “The last thing I need is a girl trying to be a woman.”

“I thought that was what you men wished for. Young and nubile.”

He dropped the hand saw and placed the other back. Jo took hold and he captured her gaze.

“I would rather have a real woman at my side. Who will challenge me on occasion. Not act like a servant and never disagree.” Together they began to saw.

“Hard for you, I suppose most are scared of you. At least from what I have seen.”

“Not everyone is.”

She blinked but never missed a beat. “Like Arabella?”

“No.” The truth slipped free unimpeded. “She is…” he trailed off, unsure on how best to state it.

“Your mistress.”

Was. He had left her a note terminating their assignations.

“Not a woman I would marry.” More sweat rolled. “With my job I do not believe I would marry anyway. Too dangerous.”

“For who?”

He stared at the tendrils of hair stuck to her face. Her skin shone with a sheen of perspiration.

“Is it not obvious?”

“No.” Her tongue snuck out and dampened her lips. “Who is it too dangerous for? If this woman knew what you did and shared your love, you would still refuse to marry her?” Jo’s blue eyes held his unflinchingly.

“My life is dangerous, Jo. I have enemies.”

She released the saw the moment the next piece fell. “So is mine apparently. Danger should not dictate love nor happiness.” She walked off, back ramrod straight and he knew she wanted to run.

He took a shuddering breath and shook his head. “Great,” he muttered. As if she had not been avoiding him enough already.

He split some wood and jumped in the pond before heading to the house. His discussion with Jo would not have happened with another female. Talking about his ex-mistress or his job.
Because you cannot tell another and Jo already knows what you do. Discussing things with her is not a problem.
His brain chimed in with that bit.

“Jo?” he called out upon his entrance.

There was no answer. After a quick trip to change and one to the kitchen for some food, he went to the sitting room. The soft enticing scent she wore hit him the moment he walked in the door. Its effect so instantaneous and powerful he almost wheeled around and returned to the water.

She sat at the desk a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of small sandwiches beside her. Like normal, she had her head buried.

“Jo.”

“Tryst.” She flipped some pages and looked at him. “I should—”

“Stay.”

He was not about to let her bolt. She had already been partway out of the chair when she sank back her eyes were wary, uncertain.

“What?”

He pulled up a chair and sat beside her. “You have been in here almost all the time except when you are outside.”

She watched him without blinking. “So, now I am not passing my time properly?”

“Sheath the claws, hellcat. I just want to talk.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So talk.” She began sketching again.

He did not say a word, distracted as he was by the smooth strokes of her hand on the paper, he could not.

“I thought you wished to speak to me.”

He had to think of something. “How long have you drawn?”

“Forever, it seems.” A gentle smile lifted the corners of her mouth, softening her total expression. “I remember sitting on our porch in Africa when papa came up to me with a flower, paper, and pencil. He asked me if I could draw it for him. He still has that drawing framed on his desk.”

The tears in her voice cut him. Tryst leaned forward and reached for the paper. “Do you contribute to the books?”

“I have. Mostly it is him and mama, but I have done a few.”

He watched the sketch come to life in the form of a male lion. So real, he almost leapt off the page.

“You have amazing talent.”

“Thank you.” More details were added to the lion. “Oh.” She paused and turned up three pages before tearing one out and pushing it before him.

“What is this?”

“I drew the tattoo again. Larger.”

He stared at it, a knot in his gut growing larger. This image had been burned into his brain. It had been carved into some victims and branded into others. Or left on notes. The job Jo had done was as clear as he had ever seen.

“How did you do it so precise?”

She put her pencil down and gave him her full attention. “It was simple once I broke it down. It contains the three most important substances used by alchemists. Salt. Mercury. Sulphur.” She traced each one individually as she mentioned it.

“All these years,” he muttered. They even talked to another alchemist and that man had not noticed the three symbols within the mark. Frustration welled up. He blew out a breath, berating himself would not be productive. “How did you…”

“I told you. Papa is into this as well. When he and mama taught me to look at something and draw it, they said to break it down into parts. Guess I still do it. My first recreation was not the best so I redid it.”

“This is incredible.” He pulled it closer. “May I?”

“Of course.”

He folded it only to open it back up. “What is this?” A name sat in one corner.

“Pierre’s?”

“Yes.”

“He is an alchemist who lives along the cliffs near Dover. Papa and he are friends. I remember we went for a visit when we first got back to England.”

“I need to stash you.”

“How much more hidden can I get? I am at a house with explicit instructions to not speak to anyone other than three people.”

“I know this is hard for you.”

“No. You do not have any idea, Trystan.” She slammed her book closed. “I love my family and not being able to see them or communicate with them is tearing me up. My family is close. We do not hate one another and I actually enjoy spending time with them. Our evenings were full of lively debates and games. I have gone from that to isolation. Do not sit there and tell me you understand. I may never see them again and I…I never got to say goodbye.”

She ran from the room and he let her go. Those heartfelt words tore a hole through him. With a muttered curse, he pocketed the drawing and followed after her. Slowly, he ascended the stairs to pause before her door.

“Jo?”

“Leave me alone, Tryst.”

“I am coming in.”

“Of course you are,” she mumbled.

He pushed in yet remained in the doorway. She was in the process of confining her hair into a braid.

He wanted to touch her. Undo the braid and grip her hair while he…

“What?”

“You will see them again, Jo. I will do everything in my power—”

“Do not,” she interrupted. “I want to go home. I have been gone for over two months. I miss my bed. Clara. Najja. Alexander. Pug. My parents. And even Colin.” She shifted on the bed. “You are not exactly talkative.”

He hardened his resolve and went to her side. “I know you think nothing is happening but we are working. I will have you home soon.”

She frowned, eyes narrowing. “Do you smell that?”

Trystan sniffed. “I smell nothing.” A warning snaked up his spine. “Stay here.”

Thankfully, Jo did not argue it with him. Giving her a nod, he slipped from the room. The house was silent. Eerily so. He moved swiftly and checked the entire house. Nothing was disturbed or out of place.

Still the unease remained with him and he hastened back up to her room. Had they been located? She watched the door with wide eyes. He did not miss however the deadly razor-sharp blade in her hand.

“I heard and saw nothing. What did you smell?”

She shook her head. “I am not sure. I smelled it before but I cannot recall from where.”

He did not dismiss her. Jo did not make things up. “Cam or some of his team should be here soon.”

“Why?”

“A hunch.”

She stared at him before rising to her feet. “I am going for a cup of hot cocoa.”

“Will you make me one? I would like to know more about the alchemy books you have read. I mentioned it to Jack in the missive.”

“That is why you think someone is coming?”

He ignored the niggling of reprimand from his conscience. “Yes.”

“What if someone intercepted the letter?”

“They would see a letter from me to the duke. Nothing more. Everything of value is in code.”

“Do you not get tired of it?” She hid the weapon on her body.

“Of what?”

Jo paused, her hand on the door. “The lies and deception.”

“No.”

“Guess you are perfect for the job then.” She walked away without a single look back.

Trystan thought about it on his way to his room. Her questions were honest and well deserved. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he wanted to give a different answer. Her words about wanting what Najja had, hit a resonating note within him. More and more of late, the idea had shown up. The more time he spent with Jo, if he wanted to be perfectly honest. He could make more of an effort to engage her however. It would make her happy.

Shaking off the warm and fuzzy thoughts, he headed from his room and paused, as he too, smelt something unfamiliar and unique. Correction, not without some hint of familiarity to it. He tried to recall from exactly where but he could not. What he did know was he should not smell anything like it, because it meant someone had gained access to the house.

Jo!

He ran downstairs, moving with both speed and stealth. Gun drawn in one hand and a saber in the other, he burst into the kitchen. The silence mocked him. That scent was more powerful here but it did not matter. Only one thing did.

Jo was gone.

Milk poured in a narrow stream to the puddle on the floor. The chocolate all over the counter. He ignored it all. His attention firmly on the partially open door with a knife embedded in it, holding a sheet of paper. Trepidation filled him as he yanked it free.

Can you catch me before I tire of her?

So focused on the note, he never heard the warning hiss of air as the club cracked him in the back of the head. Darkness descended instantly, his last thought of Jo.

Chapter Nine

To be free like the ocean.

To have no rules or dictates.

To come and go with the tides.

Never having to feel the sting of disproval.

What it must be like to know such freedom.