The Viscount

Guy juggled the cloth-wrapped bundle of sausages and bread he had purchased from the disgruntled farmer he had awakened. Simple fare but hearty, the victuals should suffice until they reached her home.

He smiled to himself as he approached and saw that she had fallen asleep. But was she only sleeping? She looked so deathly still. Had she fainted? Damn, she was already weak from hunger. And she had imbibed the brandy at his house on an empty stomach. With all that in mind, he hurried his steps and crouched beside her, laid their meal on the ground and firmly shook her shoulder.

“Lily? Wake—”

The boom deafened him and a hot streak of fire grazed the side of his thigh. Before he could recover, her hands were at his face, pounding, clawing, pushing.

Guy grabbed her wrists, suffered a sharp knee thrust that barely missed his essentials before he pinned her to the ground. “Lily! It’s me! Leave off!”

Suddenly she went limp beneath him. He felt her chest heaving from her efforts and from fright.

“Easy now,” he huffed, his own breath uneven. She was a fighter, his Lily. Slowly he released her arms and moved off of her. “Are you all right?”

She pushed to a sitting position, shaking her head and placing her hands over her ears, rubbing them as if that would restore her hearing. His own were still ringing from the loud report of the gun.

Then he remembered the sting on his leg and ran his palm down the side of his breeches. A long tear in the fabric felt a bit wet and sticky. “My God, you’ve shot me,” he said with a short bark of a laugh.

She issued a sound somewhere between a scream and a groan as she scrambled to her knees and began running her hands over his shoulders. “Where?” she demanded. “Where are you hurt?”

“Settle down, Lily. It’s only a scratch and hardly even bleeding.” But he enjoyed her moans of sympathy and those agile hands exploring his body. If they had the time, he might play the invalid and enjoy it, but they would need to get back on the road if they were to make Sylvana Hall by daybreak.

He recovered the pistol and carefully tucked it away. Lesson learned.

“Sit back now and calm yourself,” he ordered, glancing around them in all directions. “We should leave here shortly. Someone might have heard the shot and come looking for poachers.”

“Not until I see the wound!” she argued.

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “Go and wet this at the bank while I saddle the horses.”

“You cannot ride!” she announced as she discovered the patch of blood on his trousers. “We must find a doctor!”

“Do as I say!” Guy thundered. It was time he took firm charge of her before she went into hysterics.

She jumped up immediately.

He stood, swept up the bundle of food and strode off to where he had left the saddles. His thigh stung like blazes, but he dismissed the discomfort. There would be time enough to see to it once they reached their destination.

Lily was scurrying to the riverbank, his handkerchief waving like a flag as she ran. “Lily, mind the slippery—”

Splash!

Guy closed his eyes and clicked his tongue. Now she would be soaked to the skin. Lily was just too…too active for a damsel in distress. He liked self-sufficiency in a woman, but this was ridiculous.

She sputtered an epithet and splashed, making her way back up the bank.

“Need help?” he called, choking back his laughter.

“No! I’m fine!” He could hear the shiver in her voice. Though the night was fairly warm, she must be chilled after the dunking.

“Come here and let’s see the damage,” he ordered, dropping his saddle on the ground.

“I’m only wet to the waist,” she muttered as he reached her and began running his hands over her shoulders.

She turned her face up to his and the moonlight illuminated her features a ghostly blue. Her gaze fastened on his. Her slightly parted lips beckoned. Without a thought to resist, Guy leaned toward her and brushed his mouth across hers. The sigh she issued drew him deeper into the kiss, tasting her fully for the first time ever.

Sweet urgency, an innocence hardly touched, honeyed depths waiting…just for him. Guy surrounded her with his arms and held her fast, melding her body to his, his palms cupping and caressing her hips…her curvaceous, very wet hips.

His good sense intruded and he released her. “Best save this for a more propitious time,” he whispered.

She gulped and nodded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Guy turned away abruptly, shook his head to clear it and picked up one of the small padded blankets used for cushioning the saddle. Then he returned and began to mop the excess water off of her.

She jumped back, her boots squishing. “Stop! I’ll smell like horse sweat,” she protested.

He laughed and tossed her the blanket. “Better that than to drip all the way home. I’d offer to exchange but I’m afraid Brinks’s breeches won’t fit me.” Especially now that he had nearly burst out of his own. Damn, he could use a quick dunk in the river himself. “Will you be all right?”

“Yes, will you?” she countered, handing him the wet handkerchief.

He pushed aside the thought brought on by the wet curves of her beneath his hands and the mind-rending effect of that kiss.

Later he would pursue it, he told himself again, just as he had after the strange ceremony that united them legally. Now was still not the time, unfortunately.

Stripping her of those wet garments and making love on the grassy bank of the Derwent was not an option he could consider. “Come, we need to ride out before the sound of that shot brings half the populace down on us. We haven’t the time for explanations.”

She hurried over to the mare and began the chore of saddling up while he finished his own task with the gelding.

In short order they crossed the Derwent and were once more on the road to Maidstone. Guy reached into his makeshift sack, withdrew a link of sausage and handed it to her. “Here, eat this before you starve to death. No use being wet and hungry.”

“What about your wound? We really should see to it. Is it bleeding still?”

“Not anymore. As I said, it barely broke the skin.” He sighed. “We make pair in our deshabille, eh? But you’re no complainer, are you, Lily?”

“Depends,” she said, the word barely discernable through a mouthful of sausage. “Any bread?”

Guy handed her a portion torn off the loaf and then joined her. How strange it was to feel so easy in the company of a woman, he thought as he chewed. Despite the way she had aroused him with her response and the fact that he had left both of them wanting, Guy somehow knew Lily expected no apology for it.

She was a strong lady, his wife, and canny, too. Guy still could hardly believe how well she had weathered that attack in the street and the way she’d calmly accepted his need to eliminate those two. Smarky had warned him last week that they were dogging his heels and determined to make an end to him. Lily had accepted what had to be done without question. A truly welcome measure of trust.

With her there seemed no need for entertaining banter or observing false niceties. He was good at both when he put his mind to it, but this camaraderie with her was infinitely more comfortable. “I think I’ll like being married,” he commented, apropos of nothing.

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