Texas Viscount

by Henke, Shirl

  “It doesn't make sense,” he muttered to himself as he poured two fingers of Who Shot John into a glass and took a swallow. The earl was richer than he was, and Josh had been well into making his second million when he'd been summoned to London. If the old man didn't need the money from the Russians, what other reason could there be for him to betray his honor and his country? The answer was simple.

  There was none.

  Josh commenced to pace in bare feet, polishing off the bourbon and pouring a refill. Maybe when they caught Zarenko, they'd find out the truth. That would not only relieve his own mind but clearing her cousin would make Sabrina happy as a pig with its snout in the slop bucket. Edmund had written her a note, explaining that all had gone well and telling her not to worry. One of the earl's servants had been dispatched to deliver it to her lodgings as soon as they'd arrived at Hambleton House and found she was not there.

  Josh assumed she had decided to return to the safety of her own space. “Runnin’ scared, darlin',” he mused with a chuckle.

  Sabrina. She had slipped under his guard and gone straight for his heart...a target he'd believed impervious to marriage-minded females. The idea of getting hitched still made him itchy, but he knew that was the only way he'd get to keep her. What an uproar it would create if the Yankee heir to the glorious Hambleton titles took a country squire's daughter to wife. The thought of it made him grin.

  But he was getting ahead of himself. First they had to catch the Russians and wait for the dust to settle after this all-fired important treaty was signed. Then he'd tell his uncle what he intended to do...that is, if Sabrina ever forgave him for his deception. Somehow, he figured he could convince her to do that.

  Just thinking about the nature of that “convincing” made his body stir. He began wondering if there was any way he could get past that old harridan who ran the lodging house. Maybe there was a drainpipe he could climb or a trellis, or he might toss pebbles against her window until she opened it.

  ”Nah, that's a damn fool idea that only works in storybooks,” he muttered, disgusted with himself for being as lovesick as a calf who'd lost its mama. The hell with it, he was burning up with need! Josh started to unfasten his robe. He'd dress and go do whatever it took to reach her.

  Then he heard a faint ping against the windowpane. A second one. He crossed the room, mystified and a bit edgy about the bizarre coincidence. Someone was tossing pebbles against his window. He peered below, trying to make out the figure in the misty moonlight.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was Sabrina! Josh rubbed his eyes in amazement. Then a slow grin spread across his face as he slid open the window and ducked his head out. “You have this Romeo and Juliet business ass-backward, darlin'. It's real sweet, but don't you think the door would’ve been easier?”

  Sabrina clutched the bundle of letters in her hand, resisting the urge to throw them at the arrogant oaf. If not for their vital importance, she would never have come here, she assured herself for what seemed like the hundredth time. “The door is locked, and it's late. I have to give you something of a critical nature, but I don't wish to alert the household staff. Please come down,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster given her near brush with disaster.

  Something in her voice indicated that she had not come for the reason he'd foolishly hoped. Josh could not make out her face, but he could tell she was excited. “I'll be right there. Don't move.”

  He slipped down the rear servants’ stairs and out the back door into the garden at the side of the house. High stone walls surrounded it, and the brick pathways were shaded from the misty moonlight by the low-hanging branches of willows and pin oaks. The heavy air was warm and moist with the promise of rain as he approached the spot where she'd stood beneath his window.

  He didn't see her. “Sabrina?”

  “I'm here,” she replied in a small voice, materializing from behind a wisteria bush. “I—I didn't want anyone to see me lurking about and call the police.”

  “Always sensible,” he said as he drew near. “Now, what's so all-fired important that you're out alone in the middle of the night to deliver it to me?”

  “Love letters—”

  “Oh, darlin', you shouldn't have,” he said, bending down to kiss her.

  Sabrina fought the urge to smack the grin from his lips. “From the Duke of Albany's son to Natasha Samsonov,” she said, gritting her teeth. She shoved the bundle beneath his nose.

  Josh nearly dropped the letters. “How in Johnny blue blazes did you get ahold of them?” He pulled her into his arms, suddenly frightened half out of his wits. There was no way she could've done this without considerable risk.

  He wore nothing but a silk robe. She could feel his heart pounding as her hands pressed against his chest. Her own heart was pretty erratic as well, and not only because of the danger. “I decided that searching her suite while she was performing might prove worthwhile. You'll recall how simple it was to obtain a maid's uniform. It was equally simple to pilfer a skeleton key.”

  “Sneakiness must run in your family,” he said with a sigh, planting a light kiss on the tip of her nose.

  “Will you be serious, Josh? You know what these letters could mean to the Russians—how they could employ them to create a horrible scandal in the press and humiliate the royal family,” she said, pressing her hands against his chest until he released her.

  “And you found them in Natasha's suite?” he asked incredulously, glancing at the fistful of papers.

  “Well...” She had always been an abject failure at prevarication. “No—that is, I found a small piece of one. With the Wettin crest on it. When I couldn't find any more in her quarters, I searched her brother’s and—”

  “You went into Nikolai Zarenko’s lair alone!” He would have yelled at the top of his lungs if all the breath hadn't been squeezed out of his body. “Do you have any idea what he would've done if he'd caught you in his suite, tearing the place apart?” Now he was yelling.

  She shushed him. Before she could utter another word, she was back in his arms.

  “This calls for something to drink—something wet and strong and I don't mean tea,” he said as he scooped her up and began walking toward the house.

  “Your arm—you'll reopen the wound,” she protested.

  “My arm's fine. Just a scratch,” he said, kissing her into silence.

  Before she knew it, Sabrina was carried stealthily up the rear stairs. Josh moved silently on bare feet, taking the steep wooden risers two at a time until he reached the second floor. He did not put her down until they were safely behind the closed door of his room. As she slid from his arms to the floor, she felt as breathless as he—and she'd not exerted a bit of energy climbing the steps. She watched him take a bottle of whiskey from the small library table across the room and pour two shots into glasses.

  “Here, drink this. I think we're both going to need it,” he said, handing her one as he tossed down the other.

  She shook her head. “I do not require strong spirits to fortify—”

  “Yes, you do. Go ahead. Fortify yourself,” he commanded, his green eyes skewering her fiercely.

  Sabrina attempted to emulate him, taking a fulsome swallow...and began coughing fiercely the moment the powerful stuff hit the back of her throat. Josh patted her back while she blinked back tears. “Th-that b-burns,” she finally managed to accuse between coughs.

  “I didn't intend for you to toss it back like a Texas drover at the end of the trail, darlin’,” he said with a hint of a smile.

  She didn't know if her face was red from the strength of the vile corn whiskey or from embarrassment. “I was merely trying to get it over with as quickly as possible.”

  “Try sipping it,” he suggested as he led her over to a comfortable-looking settee that filled one wall of the large, masculine room.

  She tried not to look at the rumpled bed from which she had most probably awakened him. Instead, she carefully arranged her cloak,
preparing to sit down.

  “Here, give me that thing. It's wet from the fog,” he said, pulling the tie at the neckline so the cloak hung open, revealing the maid's uniform she still wore.

  Before she knew it, he had peeled the damp garment off her, tossed it across a chair and was taking a seat beside her. Sabrina tried to scoot away from the heat of his thigh, but could not manage it with the glass in her hand. When she tried to set it on the table beside her, he placed his hand over hers and guided the glass to her lips. He put his arm around her, and his robe gaped open so that she could see the curly black hair on his chest...and knew that she was lost.

  “Now finish it.” His voice was soft now, under control after his angry outburst downstairs. Damn, the woman frightened him...in more ways than one.

  “This is taking advantage,” she said, already feeling the warm glow building in her belly from the first swallow of whiskey. Still, she took another sip. “Perhaps this is not as bad as I first thought. If one imbibes slowly.” He nodded in encouragement. Before she knew it, the whole glass was empty and her head felt light as air. She had to focus to understand what he was saying.

  “How did you find these?” Josh had untied the packet and was sorting quickly through the foolish protestations of undying devotion addressed to “Darling Tasha” and signed “Georgie.”

  “I told you. I searched his quarters just as I had hers. They were hidden behind the headboard of his bed in some sort of secret compartment. I suppose I was fortunate to stumble upon it.”

  “You were just plain dumb lucky he didn't catch you,” he groused.

  “Oh, but he did,” she blurted out. Curse that whiskey! Why had she volunteered that? Perhaps because you're still frightened out of your wits...and you're inebriated, a voice in her head teased.

  Josh's heart missed a beat as he pulled her into his arms. “How the hell did you get away? He could've killed you! He would’ve—” He broke off, unable to let himself think of what might have happened. “Tell me how you escaped,” he demanded, his voice hoarse with fear.

  “Well”—she moistened her lips, still unable to quite believe the whole of her adventure—“he thought I was the new chambermaid, come to turn down his bed. He...he asked me for a sweet.” Her face reddened.

  “A sweet?” he echoed, not liking where this was going.

  “One of the mints the maids lay on the pillow after they turn down the covers. But, of course, he didn't mean just that.”

  “Go on,” Josh encouraged, touching her face gently, trying to keep the killing rage that burned inside him from showing. If Zarenko had touched her, he'd die hard... Texas hard.

  “He started to...to press unwelcome advances on me. I imagine the bounder has taken advantage of dozens of poor, defenseless serving girls over the years,” she said darkly, warming to her story in spite of the fright Zarenko had given her. “He laughed when I tried to push him away, and then he pulled me onto the bed.” Josh stiffened and muttered a curse. Feeling his anger, she said quickly, “That's when I coshed him with the brass samovar on the tray beside the bed.”

  “You what?” he asked, torn between relief and laughter.

  “I hit him over the head with a very large, heavy teapot,” she replied tartly, rubbing her wrist. “And probably sprained my arm doing it. He fell backward against the pillows, unconscious. Dear heavens, I hope he was unconscious! Do you suppose I could've killed the wretch?” she asked as the thought suddenly occurred to her for the first time.

  “His head's too hard,” Josh replied, thinking that when he finished with the bastard, Zarenko would be dead anyway, so it really did not matter. “Even if you had managed to kill him, you'd a done a patriotic thing for king and country. Just think of England,” he said, with a grin as he cupped her chin in his hand and gazed into her troubled blue eyes. “You are a wonder, but I don't want you taking any more chances, gussying up in disguises and getting into scrapes. Promise?”

  When he eyed her uniform, Sabrina explained, “I was in such a rush to escape that I fled the hotel without my own clothing.”

  “Where did you change—in the same place as before?” he asked. When she nodded, he dismissed her fears. “I'll send a servant over in the morning to return this and fetch your duds,” he said soothingly.

  “Oh! I still have the key. I took it from the manager's office.”

  “Aren't you just full of surprises.” His voice was amused now. “Imagine, a fine, educated lady like Miss Edgewater pinching keys and play-acting. I can't believe Zarenko'd mistake you for a maid.”

  “I'll 'ave ye know me da's a preachin' man, 'e is. An’ I be a good girl, sor, I swears it,” she replied in a convincing cockney accent.

  “I see that a talent for the stage really does run in your family. You're better than your cousin,” he said, chuckling in admiration.

  “Eddy! Is he all right? Dear me, in all the excitement, I utterly forgot about him! Did he convince Zarenko to pay him for the false documents? Where is he?”

  “He did just fine. Zarenko took the bait. Now we have to see if the trap works this time. Right now, Edmund's asleep at the other end of the hall with two footmen spelling each other to be sure he doesn't give us the slip until the dust settles.”

  “You still don't trust him, do you?” she asked apprehensively.

  “I trust you, darlin’. And that's all that matters. If you're so all-fired sure he's innocent, then I expect he is,” he said, trying to soothe her with his voice as he caressed her face. Then he gently wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and drew her closer as he lowered his mouth to hers for a kiss.

  She knew she should not have drunk that whiskey. The thought flashed through her spinning head as the last of the bourbon settled in her belly. She knew the heat spreading through her body had less to do with the restorative power of spirits than with the nearness of Josh Cantrell's lips. Those magic lips that were brushing hers, the tongue rimming her mouth until she gave in and opened breathlessly.

  Josh murmured her name as he deepened the kiss, cradling her head in his hand, pressing her gently against the soft, overstuffed back of the settee. His body settled over hers and the swell of her breasts brushed his bare chest. He reached down and let his fingers play with the sensitive nipples. Even through layers of clothing he could feel them beginning to harden into points. She tasted of whiskey, his prim lady who never “imbibed”—whiskey and that unutterable sweetness that belonged to her alone. He groaned when her tongue danced with his as she returned his kiss passionately.

  Sabrina could feel his fingers as they deftly began to unfasten the buttons of her uniform, starting in the middle so he could reach her breasts. Once he had opened a wide enough space, he slid his hand inside and continued his maddening assault, pulling down the thin cover of her chemise and using his thumb to circle the aureoles until she felt the sweet ache, now so familiar. The world went away as she seized a fistful of his hair in each hand and arched into his kisses and caresses with fierce passion.

  Her hands roamed over his shoulders, shoving his loose robe down, baring his sun-darkened skin and sinuously rippling muscles. She felt him shrug the robe off. Sabrina was so hungry to feel, to touch, to taste this man. Even if he betrayed her, even if he could never love her, never offer her anything more than this...this was enough. More than enough.

  Josh laid her across the length of the settee as he slid from the side of it and knelt before her, all the while continuing to rain kisses over her face and down the slim column of her throat while his hands deftly worked on getting her out of the maid's costume. Fortunately, it buttoned down the front. Unfortunately, her corset was laced down the back. But he was nothing if not resourceful, even when confronted with a confounded contraption such as this. He slipped her chemise over her head, then laced his fingers in her heavy hair, gently lifting the pins so they scattered, allowing the tresses to fall in a cascade of bronze silk over her shoulders.

  Just looking at her made him ache with d
esire. He lowered his mouth to her collarbone and nipped and licked at the delicate skin covering it until his tongue touched the furiously beating pulse point at the center. Then he moved lower to the swell of her breasts, nuzzling them as his hands gently brushed aside the lace cups covering the lower halves of them. He took one in his mouth and heard her gasp as he suckled it with firm insistence before using his teeth to lightly bite down on the distended nipples, first one, then the other.

  She felt the jolt of fire shoot from her breasts, radiating outward until every inch of her body burned from it. A long, slow moan escaped her lips as the heat licked deep in her belly, pooling lower at the juncture of her thighs. As if knowing exactly what she felt, he slid his hand beneath her skirt and caressed her leg, moving unerringly to the ultimate destination. He cupped her mound, pressing the sheer fabric of her under drawers over the wetness where she ached to be filled. She squirmed, bowing her body up into his caress.

  Taking advantage of her move, he pulled the drawers over the lush curve of her little buttocks and peeled them down her legs. “Now,” he whispered in a labored voice, “let’s get rid of the rest of your clothes. I need to see all of you, Sabbie.”

  He began by removing her slippers, a well-worn black pair she'd chosen to match the maid's outfit. Sabrina had never felt a man's hands on her feet before. He squeezed her toes, then massaged her instep, his large palm fitting into the arch while his thumbs pressed on nerves she'd never imagined existed on the ball of her foot. She purred with pleasure as he moved from one foot to the other, repeating the process.

  Her lashes fluttered closed, then opened again. In spite of the languid pleasure his touch elicited, she wanted to watch his naked body move while he made love to her in this slow, unexpected way. His eyes met hers as his hands began to roll down her garters and stockings, kissing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, bending her knee and gliding along her calf. One much-mended cotton stocking flew to the floor. He worked on the second one.