Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues) (9 page)

“You, Lord Wilkes, have put my friend in danger. Not to mention my husband, and
my children
.” Danger coated every word with icy precision.

“Where is she?” He held still, realizing until Najja decided he could get up there was nothing he could do.

“You put her in danger with no protection?” Her tone made him shiver.

“She was being protected.” His voice raised on that last word as the sai between his legs pressed closer.

“Get up.”

He breathed easier when she removed the weapons. Seconds later, clothes smacked him in the face. Tryst began to move only to pause and look at her. “Do you mind?” He twirled a finger.

“Are you shy? We shared a cabin from here to Africa.”

He knew that. “No, I am not. However, you are my best friend’s wife. I am not getting naked in front of you.”

“That is a smart choice, Tryst, because I would kill you.” Colin glared as he pushed in the room. “Najja, get out and let him dress.”

Brown eyes narrowed in on him but she sheathed her sai and left, leaving him alone with an angry Colin.

“What is going on, Trystan?”

He rose and made haste in dressing. Colin waited and together they headed down the stairs. Following Colin into the receiving room, he hesitated at the sight of black clad legs sticking out from behind a settee.

“What the—”

“Later,” Colin advised. “I do not think she will be patient much longer.”

Tryst glanced at Najja who sat beside her children. Pug and Alexander. Pug glared at him while Alexander slept. Najja was a blank wall but he was not fooled. Hell, he could feel the press of her blades against him, still.

“Who was supposed to be protecting her?” Pug demanded bolting to his feet.

Najja reached out her hand and touched the boy she loved as her own, on the wrist. Pug flashed her a look but sat down, yet still shot daggers at him. It hit him; Pug was in love with Jo. He had seen it when Pug was younger and apparently, the lad’s feelings had not altered.

Trystan rolled his shoulders and walked to pour himself a drink.

“I am losing patience, Trystan.”

Najja’s voice while calm still set off warning bells. She was not a woman to be trifled with. He knew Colin was her restraint but he also knew even that would not work forever. Still, he hesitated and Colin cocked a brow at him.

“The day in the museum when Jo was attacked and her sketchbook stolen it was a result of a design she had seen. A tattoo.”

Najja glanced to Pug and Trystan watched in amazement as they shared a look before Pug rose to his feet and left with Alexander safely in his arms.

“Continue. What did this symbol mean?”

“It belongs to a man who calls himself The Alchemist.” He had honestly thought Colin would have said something to her. “He does what he can to plot against the Crown.”

“And he is after Jo merely because she saw his tattoo?”

He shifted beneath the pressing stare coming from the former assassin. “Yes. We thought The Alchemist was dead. Recently we have learned he is not.” Dawning realization filled her gaze and he swallowed. “I need to find her, Najja.”

“Did you know?”

Tryst blinked only to realize she had directed her question at Colin. He watched his friend nod and the room dropped in temperature. Eyes on Najja, Trystan observed the icy anger fill her gaze and spill over.

“You were using her as bait. Hoping this man would show himself. Yet you, Trystan, were not around so someone else was watching her.”

“Yes.”

She muttered something very unflattering in her native tongue. Her tone vibrated with the force of her anger. She paced and smacked Colin’s hand away when he reached for her. “You are as much to blame for this as he. How could you?”

“Najja listen.”

“I will not. I listened already and you put Jo in danger.” She whirled on Trystan and pressed into his space. “You had better find her, Trystan Wilkes, or the Crown will need more men to protect it. If Jo dies so does everyone who put her in the situation.” Closer still she moved until the toes of their shoes touched. “I will make them pay. You know I can and I will. Your precious Duke of Ramsay will suffer as well as the Marquess of Glassdrow. It will be slow and painful.”

He would not ask how she knew about Jack. No he would not. She was just that good.

Holding her gaze, Trystan lightly cupped her shoulders. “I will find her, Najja. I swear to you, I will find her and I
will
keep her safe.”

“She is my family, Trystan.” Again, she spoke in her native tongue.

He knew that. The same as he knew she would kill to keep her family safe. “I know. Trust me I know.”

“Get your hands off my wife.” Colin’s voice snapped the bubble surrounding the two of them.

Releasing her, Trystan stepped back. “Do you know where she would go? I am assuming she is not at her townhouse.” Najja would not have left her there alone. She shook her head.
Damn!
“Will you now tell me who he is?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Najja glanced around him to where the settee was with the feet sticking out. She sniffed and headed to the door. “He was a spy. Paid to report on you.”

He scowled. “Report to whom?”

“Someone called The Apothecary.”

“What?” He felt the thrum of anger grow in him again. The right hand to The Alchemist.

“You heard me.”

“When will he wake?”

“Never.”

He shoved back mounting frustration. “You killed him? Why?”

She paused at the door and glanced at him over her shoulder. Her gaze straightforward and matter of fact. “He was spying on you with orders to kill after he found who else you talked to. Colin can tell you what else he said.” Her expression softened the teensiest bit briefly before hardening again. “I told you, Trystan. I protect
my
family.” She slipped out the door closing it quietly behind her.

Her calling him family humbled him.

Chapter Four

Clara and I went to a museum today. Peculiar, but I thought this man to be following us. He was not. A shame really, it would have made the day more exciting. Mama always accused me of having a wild imagination. Lord Collins surprised me there. Unfortunately I am aware he is following me. He refuses to accept I will never be his.

~From the private journal of Josephine Adrys

Jo waited for Clara by the post coach. She would much rather be on horseback but knew it was excessively dangerous for two women to be riding alone. Especially at night. Therefore, they had purchased seats and travelled this way.

They would be departing in five minutes.
Two more days.
That’s all and she would be at the place Clara had. Her body was beginning to protest her lack of activity. She rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath, enjoying the clean country air. The further she got from London the more relaxed she became.

“Jo!”

Turning at the sound of her friend’s voice, Jo stepped toward her at the stricken expression on Clara’s face. Panic filled her.
I never should have let her come along. I am a danger.

“What is it, Clara? You look as if you have seen a ghost.”

Her rounder face slightly flushed as she halted. “He is on his way up the road.”

Panic grew like a massive flock of birds taking to the sky. He. He who? The person who wanted her dead? No, do not be foolish, Clara would not know said person’s appearance.

Swallowing hard she wiped her hands down her skirts. “Who?”

“Captain Bottomley.”

“Royce?” Shite. He would make her return with him. “I have to hide.”

“No, go. I will keep him occupied until the post leaves.”

“What about you?”

A kind smile. “I got part of the way. See who I said, he will help you. Write me so I know you are safe and there.” Clara urged her inside and squeezed her hand. “Be safe, Jo.”

Jo tightened her own in response. “Thank you, Clara. For everything.”

One final squeeze before Clara hurried back inside and the carriage headed off. Even at the next stop, Jo worried about Clara.

“Miss.”

She turned to find the driver behind her. “Yes?” The sun had moved behind dark clouds and the wind blew relentlessly about them.

“We will be leaving in thirty minutes. You may wish to grab a bit of food.”

Tugging on the cuff of her glove, she nodded. “Thank you.” Most stops had merely been the time it took to change out the horses. A longer stop would be nice. Reticule in her hand, she walked inside the inn.

“G’day, miss,” the man she assumed to be the proprietor said. “Is it food yer after?”

“Yes, please.”

“We have no private rooms, but there is a nice table over here.” The man gestured with his hand.

She followed him through the other patrons who were there. Their gazes bore into her and she stared straight ahead, refusing to be scared.

“I will have the missus bring something right away.”

“Thank you.” She watched him walk away before removing her gloves. Not much later, two women, one older and one younger, appeared carrying plates and bowls.

“Here you go, miss.”

The scent made her stomach rumble in anticipation. “It smells delicious, thank you.” Soup, bread, cheese, and a drink had been set before her.

“You need anything and you holler. Come, Della.”

The younger one gave her a shy smile before following her mother off. Jo picked up her spoon and dug in. Thick and hearty potato soup with the warm bread and sharp cheese made her groan in pleasure.

The driver approached and stared at her.

“Have you eaten, Mr. Pillster?” She gestured at the table. “Would you care to join me?”

“I have some bread—”

“Nonsense. Sit. We still have time and you have been so kind to take me to my destination.”

He sat and soon finished off a bowl of soup as well. Jo paid and got some extra bread and cheese for the remainder of the trip. They shared the evening meal as well when they stopped next.

She waited by the fire for Mr. Pillster to retrieve her. They were travelling through the night. A tall man approached where she stood, his black cloak wet with rain. He peered at her from beneath the brim of his hat and gave her a smile.

Rake. Rogue.

He had dark hazel eyes that twinkled in the firelight. Dark blond hair covered his head and it was—she noticed when he removed his hat—in a nice close cut. He reached out his hands to the fire and she gave a short nod before drawing on her own gloves.

“Got cold quick.” The man spoke as he removed his sodden cloak.

She gave a practiced smile. “Happens this time of year.” Lord, he was a good-looking man.

He nodded. “How true.” His eyes moved over her and she could not help but want her cloak to keep her concealed. It was like he searched for something.

Mr. Pillster caught her gaze and she sighed with relief. With a bob of her head to the man, she said, “Good eve.”

“Leaving already?”

“Yes. We have to reach our destination as soon as possible.”

His gaze moved over again before he smiled slightly. Although he returned his stare to the flickering flames, she felt as though someone watched her.
My imagination is a bit overworked.

She walked beside her driver out to the waiting coach. In the distance flashes of lightning sliced through the dark. Foreboding. Telling. The man had ridden from behind her, since there was not any rain yet. The storm was swiftly approaching though.