Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues) Read Free Page A

refused to give, commitment. Moreover, not because he had to continually save her from problematic situations. None of that.
     
    The reason was simple. He wanted her. He wanted to possess her, know that her rare smiles were for him. Or because of him. He wanted her in his bed, bearing his children, and whatever else came along with marriage.
     
    Therein lay his problem. He worked for the Crown and he refused to put her in danger. If any one of his enemies found out who he truly was or what he felt about her, they would not hesitate to kill her merely to get at him. So he watched from afar.
     
    He had seen her off and on over the past five years. Always surprised when he found her unmarried, for if he were free, he would already had claimed her as his viscountess.
     
    The light shone through a window and onto her sun kissed skin and he could see it glint off a few rebellious strands of her hair. Hair he longed to unpin and sink his hands into, bury his nose against, and inhale her fragrance. A fragrance he knew to be as rare and fresh as Jo herself. She smelled as fresh as the African rain. No cloying scents on her to mask her body’s natural musk. The cleansing rain and female. A perfect combination.
     
    He had been in hell last night having her in his arms for the waltz. However foolish his move had been, he had refused to let another share the dance with her. Trystan frowned a bit more when he caught the set of her jaw and the way the museum personnel hovered around her. Then there was Clara, whose rounder face seemed unusually pale. He moved toward the quartet heading for the exit. A sense of tenseness surrounded them all.
     
    “Miss Adrys. Miss Field.”
     
    Four sets of eyes focused on him but he found himself immediately captivated by Jo’s large and luminescent blue orbs. Eyes which churned with barely restrained fury.
     
    Lord, she is magnificent.
     
    “Try…Lord Wilkes.” Her words were clipped.
     
    “Is everything all right here?” His protective instincts tended to flare out of control when it came to Jo.
     
    The two men with the ladies exchanged nervous glances and he stepped closer, his size larger than that of the others.
     
    “Oh, stop hovering!” Jo snapped. “I am fine! I am not in need of a doctor, nor am I about to succumb to the vapors. Leave me alone!”
     
    The men walked off but Trystan never took his gaze from her. “Why would they feel you need a doctor?”
     
    She did not respond until the two men had gotten far enough away and were sure not to overhear. Then she slapped her gloves against the side of her forest green dress.
     
    “Because men seem quite content in believing women are incapable of being pushed down and not needing one. I mean why not, hitting the floor is so much more strenuous than say…oh childbirth.”
     
    “Jo!” Clara placed her hand over her mouth. The mustard yellow not really helping her complexion in any way.
     
    “Who pushed you?” The question sounded more akin to a wild animal’s growl.
     
    Jo tugged her gloves on and speared him with an annoyed glance. “If I knew do you not think I would be after him to get my sketchbook back instead of standing here?”
     
    Her sarcasm and fire lit him from the inside. God, he loved her spirit. He despised the thought of an uncouth man placing his hands on her.
     
    “Jo,” he said with strained patience.
     
    “Do not dare, Trystan, to put the blame on me. I did nothing wrong.”
     
    Somehow, he doubted that. Jo had a way of finding situations. She had never learned to curb her tongue. She stared at him before her expression fell sending a dagger into his heart.
     
    “Of course you would think the worst of me.”
     
    Her features hardened into a mask. One he knew exactly where she learned it. Najja. The “show zero emotion” face.
     
    “She is telling the truth,” Clara broke in, shattering the eye connection he had with Jo. “She had been sketching and when we got up to leave this man