The Viscount's Addiction (15 page)

She shrugged. “After your confrontation, he’s gone back to hiding in his room. I am sure he’s busy plotting my demise. He would probably prefer something more torturous than burning me at the stake.” Jessie put her hand over her mouth to cover a yawn. “I will

admit I haven’t the strength to haul buckets to your dressing room, so I’ll just fill a tub for you below stairs—”

“You are my wife not my nurse,” he said, reducing the point he’d continually made once he’d turned the corner in his recovery to a succinct phrase. “I’ll fetch the water myself.”

“Some wives enjoy doing things for their husbands.” She found it difficult to relinquish her role as his nurse. She clung to it knowing she was quickly becoming unnecessary in his world.

He nodded what was clearly a grudging assent. Ryder drew back the curtains and surveyed the work below. “It looks like I’ll live.”

She yawned again.

“No need to get so excited about it.” His laughter had a deep, captivating sound.

She’d experienced a muted version of this charm before. But now, rid of the influence of opiates, this appealing side of his personality seemed to predominate. She wondered how many more facets there were to him. She would probably be long gone before she truly got to know the real man.

With another yawn, she left him and headed to the kitchen. She dragged the tub from a cabinet in the scullery room and set it before the stove.

Her arms were shaking by the time she emptied the last steaming pot of water into the tub. She heard the heavy footsteps behind her. The heat of his body enveloped her as she set the empty pot down. She rested her head against his naked chest. He turned her around to face him and tenderly rubbed his lips over hers. She put her hands on his face. He’d shaved, and his skin felt moist and smooth.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “’Tis only a bath.”

He tugged her closer. “I’m not talking about the bath, Jessie.”

She buried her face against his chest. She wanted to crawl right inside his warmth. Tears rolled down her cheeks. It had been a very trying time, but they had both survived. Now all she had to do was survive losing him forever.

“Jessie, I’ve been thinking—”

“I’ll fix you a grand supper after you bathe,” she interrupted, dreading how his sentence would end. She pulled back from his hold and wiped the tears away with her apron skirt as she dashed from the room.



Ryder was drying off his legs when loud voices and footfalls sounded from the back entrance.

“Have a gander at that, men. ’Tain’t often that you get to set your eyes on a nobleman’s naked arse,” William said with a laugh.

Ryder stood upright a little too quickly and swayed for a moment before gaining his equilibrium. “I’m glad I could entertain you and your crew. How is the work coming?”

“She’ll be fit for a king by the time we’re through here.” “I knew I could count on you, Will.”

“Now, we’ll just be helping ourselves to some of the goods in the buttery,” Will said over his shoulder as the four hungry men crowded into the larder. They emerged laden with bread and smoked meat.

Ryder grabbed a piece of bread to hold him over and climbed the stairs in search of Jessie. He found her asleep at her little writing desk, with her face resting atop the blotter, a quill still clutched in her hand. His heart tapped a strange beat. He’d grown more than fond of the little witch. After locking the door, he leaned over her and stroked his tongue over the curve of her ear. She sat up with a start.

Her feline-green eyes blinked at him with confusion. “Your supper! I’ll get right to

it.”

“Later.” Food wasn’t going to satisfy his hunger right now.

There was a small ink smudge on her cheek. As he reached over to wipe it away, she

quickly flipped over the letter she’d been writing. “More secrets?”

“Routine correspondence. Very dull reading,” she explained unconvincingly. Her gaze dropped from his face to his erection, which tented the bath sheet. Her seated position put her eye level with it. She pushed the towel from his hips. Ryder realized she was trying to distract him from what she’d been writing, but he could no longer summon a logical thought when she placed her hand on his cock. She rubbed the length of him with her dainty hand. Then using both hands, she began pumping him.

“I want you naked,” he demanded. He was ready to rip the dress from her.

After removing her clothing, she sat back in the chair. He dug his fingers into her thick golden fairy-tale hair and shook out the pins. It fell like a silken shawl over her shoulders.

He did not have to ask. She knew what he wanted. With the tip of her tongue she traced the slit of his shaft, tasting him. He gathered up all her hair and wrapped it around his fist so he could watch her as she applied her sweet mouth to him. She dipped her head and tasted his balls. Then her tongue lapped the length of him. He thought he’d die of the pleasure when she began suckling him. She was a novice to be sure, for which he was grateful as hell, but she lavished attention on his cock like…like a woman in love.

That invented idea sent him over the edge. She would have none of it when he tried to tug her upwards. When she lifted her head, she traced her top lip with her tongue, seeming to relish every last drop of him.



After her very satisfying ruse to keep his curiosity at bay, she dragged him down to the kitchen. He gobbled the cold meat pie and watched her dreamy lids drift shut and then startle open again. She looked particularly adorable in her sleepy state. Absently, she got up to clear the table.

He took the plate from her hand. “Jessie, you need sleep.”

She plodded to her room and in her daze didn’t seem to mind that he followed. She slipped out of her clothes and crawled into bed.

Having shed his clothes, as well, he tugged back the coverlet, and instantly she curled into his side, draping one silken leg over the tops of his thighs. Her breath was warm against his skin as she snuggled into him. He’d survived his withdrawal from opium, but he could do nothing about his inextinguishable desire for her delicate body. The ordeal he’d gone through in the last weeks was going to pale in comparison to how painful it would be to send her away. But she was a liar, or worse, and he would be a damn fool to keep a woman like that close to him.

Ryder woke from a fitful sleep. Since weaning himself from the drug, dreams that floated pleasantly at first always plummeted to nightmare depths. He looked over to find Jessie clinging to the other side of the bed. He’d probably been thrashing around. The fading daylight cast the room in muted golden shades. He padded soundlessly across the room on bare feet.

With only a twinge of guilt, he turned over the missive she’d been writing. She’d detailed her accomplishments, her educational attainments. She was advertising for a position as a governess. Here he was torturing himself about sending her away, and she was anxious to leave him.

He swallowed hard on the bitter lump that formed in his throat. He crumpled the paper in his fist. He looked down at her. One petite foot jutted out from beneath the covers. He thought of the golden circlet around her ankle. And he realized that it had become a symbol in his mind for their marriage. A sort of wedding band. Though he hadn’t placed it on her, he believed he was the first man to have seen it. It somehow made Jessie his. After yanking on his clothes, he shoved the wadded paper in his pocket. He doubted she would ever mention its disappearance. Still, he knew it was useless to destroy it. She would only write another.

Ryder had the men stop working on the roof to ready the carriage house. Days later, before the final nail had been hammered into the structure, Jessie, kneeling in her garden, watched Lord Blackwood’s sleek new coach arrive. It was pulled by a team of four matching black beauties. For Jessie, it was a vehicle of doom.

After the freshly-hired groom had been given instructions, Ryder walked up the path to the house. He gave her a hard look as he passed. She blinked back the tears and dug her spade into the soil with more fervor. It had been days since he’d come to her bed. Days since he’d spoken but a few terse words to her. Everything was happening exactly as she’d envisioned. Free of his opium vice, he no longer had use for her.

The house, as well as the stables, was quickly being staffed with servants. He never consulted her about the hiring. Suddenly, she felt an intruder in the home she’d been in charge of for five years.

And the post brought no relief from worry over her future. There had been no offers of employment. After her first draft of the advertisement for work had gone missing, she’d blamed him. But his dismissive attitude told her otherwise. The man had no interest in her whatsoever.

At the sound of another set of wheels on gravel, she glanced up from her work. The Ducketts’ curricle hurtled down the drive. It occurred to her that this was the first time since the viscount’s return that someone dared to pay a visit.

The moment the chaise came to a grinding, pebble-spewing stop, the twins leapt with athletic agility to the ground. Joseph and Jeffrey Duckett jostled each other for position as they hurried to greet her. Joseph, outfitted in his military uniform and sporting the newly grown moustache, gained ground and was the first to take her hand.

He handed her an envelope, his fingers brushing hers as he released it. “Mother has decided to honor my promotion at her summer party, and she insisted your family attend.”

Jeffrey rolled his eyes as his brother twirled an end of his moustache. “Is Viscount Blackwood included, as well?”

Jeffrey’s gaze slid toward the house. “Certainly. In fact, it would be catastrophic if he did not attend. The female guests are in ecstasy about meeting that rather beastly fellow.”

A queasy sensation settled in her stomach. Once he entered society again and mingled with the wealthy beauties, Jessie’s unhappy fate would be sealed. “I can’t say I blame them,” she said.

He chuckled as though he thought she jested.

“There’s never a surplus of rich handsome men,” she added.

“I saw him inspecting some horseflesh just this morning at Lodge’s farm. Looks the devil himself,” Joseph said.

She forced a smile. “Hardly the devil, Joseph.” When she spotted the object of their conversation strolling toward them, she felt guilty for gossiping.

Ryder was dressed only in his shirtsleeves and gripped a hammer in his big fist. Though he’d begun acquiring all the luxuries of a lord, he could not seem to settle into a life of leisure. He thrived on physical labor, a consequence, she assumed, of what he’d grown accustomed to in the House of Corrections.

Joseph tugged with some agitation at his moustache as he approached. “Mother will have our heads on a platter if we do not see to the rest of the invitations.”

Jeffrey was quite in agreement with his brother. He gave Joseph a shove to hurry him aboard the curricle.

“Your gallant admirers are spraying gravel the length of the drive in their hurry to depart, no doubt chipping the paint off my newly refinished stables.”

Jessie turned expecting to find one of Ryder’s deliciously wicked smiles, but he was far from amused. “The Ducketts are celebrating Joseph’s rise in the army,” she said.

He examined the address on the envelope she held. “They’ve made a mistake and listed you as Miss Nash.”

“They still think me unattached. And if you hadn’t opened your mouth to William, no one would know of this marriage but your uncle, cousin and the bailiff your uncle discharged. And your uncle only shared the news with Mr. Dresley to get his hands on your books.” She did not mention telling Lucy. There was no point in getting her involved.

Anger flared in his eyes. “You’re ashamed to admit any connection to me.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” She bent over and tossed her gardening tools into her basket. “Darkly handsome, exciting, forthright, rich. Did I mention handsome? Truly attributes of which to despair of.” She snatched up the basket and hurried away from him before he noticed that her heart was nearly leaping from her chest.



That night she lay alone in bed listening for his return. He’d taken the carriage out at noon. She drifted in and out of sleep until she heard the door latch click. There were no lit hallway sconces to light his way. His boot heels rang hollow on the wooden floor. She shut her eyes tight pretending to be asleep. A familiar fragrance drifted to her. Perfume with a heavy candy-like scent. Lucy’s scent. Jessie felt as though someone had punched her in the stomach.

There was a thud as he walked into the furniture. “Dammit,” he cursed. The bed linen rustled as she sat up. “Jessie,” he said, sounding annoyed. “Come to my room. You know this bed is too bloody short for me.” With Lucy’s fragrance lingering in her nostrils, she was unable to work up any sympathy for the fact that his feet hung off the end of the bed when he stretched out completely.

“I’m too tired tonight, Lord Blackwood.” She winced at the petulant tone in her voice.

“Lord?” He bumped into something else, and a glass item crashed to the ground. Whatever it had been crunched under his heavy boot heels. “Light a lamp, would you, before I kill myself.”

“I’d rather you just leave.”

“Why?” His tone was becoming angrier.

“Because, sir, you are an adulterer.” It was absurd to accuse a man who had been tricked into marriage of infidelity, but she really did not give a damn. “I can smell Lucy on you.” Tears were starting to spill from her eyes.

“You failed to mention that you’d shared the news of our union with her.”

She heard him struggle with more obstacles in his path, and then he yanked open the curtains with force. The room was silvered in moonlight.

“Deceitful bastard.”

He had yet to remove his greatcoat or gloves. He hovered over her, a dark menacing figure. “You are the disloyal creature. Was it not you who paid visits to the tavern after my incarceration? Providing charity and solace. Atoning for the sin of your husband. A sin I hadn’t even committed. Did you once write to me to ascertain the truth?”

“I had only your uncle’s and cousin’s characters to judge you by. It did not seem improbable that a relative of theirs could do murder. I have not thought of my visits as a way to assuage guilt for a long while. Lucy is, or rather
was,
a friend.”