What the Stubborn Viscount Desires

by Sandra Sookoo

  “I do, of course, but there was no other choice.”

  “What rubbish.” He shook his head. “There is always a choice.” Didn’t Archewyne keep drilling that phrase into his head? He gave no quarter and kept the gun trained on her. “I’ll ask again, and this will be my last time. Why are you really here? Do not give me that gammon about our engagement.”

  She kept her hands primly in her lap and stared at him.

  Jonathan worked his jaw as the anger burned hot within him. “Well?”

  “You told me not to mention our betrothal.” When she shrugged, the bodice of her gown pulled tight over her generous bosom, the upper swell of which was visible above the seed pearl-studded lace. Perhaps in other circumstances, he might have admired those charms, but not here, not now, and certainly not on her. He wanted her far away from him. “There is nothing else I wish to say at present.”

  He tamped down the urge to curse. This whole thing was unacceptable, and she was beyond vexing. “Who hired you to kill me?” That was the only scenario that made sense. She might be unhinged, but not even she would do something as bacon-brained as throwing her reputation into question by stealing onto a ship.

  Surprise lit her eyes and expression. “Kill you?” When he nodded, she continued after a lilting laugh that had him half-arrested with interest, “I brought no weapons, though I am quite skilled at archery. It was my intention to come here and talk to you and then be on my way. Perhaps I could find release in Hyde Park before traveling home.”

  “I… I beg your pardon?” Shock had him lowering his pistol, if slightly. Surely she didn’t mean—

  A smile curved full lips that captured his attention. Of course this bit of trouble would have to have kissable lips. “What?” Then a splash of red stained her ivory cheeks that heightened her beauty. “Oh! I meant the release that comes from physical activity.” Her blush deepened. “Or rather exercise, that perhaps I could practice—”

  “Please, spare me the details of your private life.”

  “It’s not like that,” she rushed to insist. “Archery is my preferred method of clearing my head, of working through a stressful situation. Perhaps I could rent the equipment in the park. I didn’t mean what you obviously are thinking I meant.” A sneeze followed her statement, and that recalled him to their current situation.

  “I see. Then you are not here in an official capacity, on a clandestine mission, as it were?” Finally, he uncocked the revolver and returned the pistol to his pocket.

  “Of course not.” Then her blonde eyebrows rose. “You thought I was a spy.” A snicker followed the statement.

  Jonathan glowered. “It grows more difficult to tell these days.” His life as a king’s man taught him that. He crossed his arms at his chest. “I must ask you to return to your own quarters. I assume you have them since you’ve obviously changed your mind and travel with the Hawkins family.”

  Guilt infused her expression then vanished as quickly. “I do not travel with them.”

  His mind reeled with the muddled information. “Regardless, if you wish to talk with me, do so through proper channels. I am not at leisure here.”

  “You refused to grant me an audience.” Interest twinkled in her eyes. “What are you doing here?” She glanced about the room, but of course, nothing there gave him away.

  “I am not obliged to say, even if I wished it. Now, off you go.”

  She sprang to her feet. “I cannot do as you ask.”

  “Can’t or won’t, Miss Wickham?” As mildly diverting as she was, it was time to send her on her way. He needed a clear head before his mission officially began.

  “Both.” She tossed her head. “Besides, I don’t exactly have quarters.”

  “Beg pardon?” Conversing with the woman was near impossible.

  The blush renewed itself in her cheeks, and he rather enjoyed seeing her at sixes and sevens. She sneezed. That was an annoying habit. “Like I said, I wished to speak with you. Since you’re a boorish prick, wrapped up in other affairs which often include growling and sulking about, I took matters into my own hands.” The vulgarity slid from her lips as if she were accustomed to such.

  He raised his eyebrows as shock moved through his chest. What the hell? “I do not sulk.”

  Miss Wickham ignored him. “I sneaked onto the ship. Let us talk. I sincerely doubt it will take over a quarter hour.” She glanced at a watch about her neck. “And do let’s be quick about it. The ship will depart soon.”

  Dear God, the woman is mad. “That, at present, will not happen. Grab your belongings. I’m escorting you off the ship. This is both ridiculous and highly improper.” Why the devil had she brought luggage when she’d only wished to talk and then leave? Under no circumstances could she stay here, not when he had a mission before him, and not when he needed to avoid a scandal at all costs. Such nonsense wouldn’t be permitted.

  “No, you will not! Besides, when have you ever worried over impropriety? You, who has played at being both a rake and a rogue.” She went so far as to stamp her foot—a small, dainty foot encased in a brown leather half boot. “I refuse to go anywhere. I need to know what will happen to my future, and you are the one who can tell me.”

  His lips twitched and he quelled the urge to laugh. He admitted to himself she made a fetching picture, all high color and hands propped on full hips that brought attention to the narrow nip of her waist. Why, she was short and petite enough to pick her up and carry her off with little resistance. No, she was not the frying pan-faced chit his father assumed. “I am not a diviner, Miss Wickham. Only you can decide your fate.”

  “Exactly my point and why I’m here.” She took steps forward, and when she was close enough, she drilled a forefinger into his chest. “I meant my future, including you and I.”

  Good God, she dared to lay a hand on me. His brief humor died, and he scowled once more. “Then you shall be sorely disappointed, for I still have nothing to say to you.” He refused to continue this conversation. Desperate for an escape, he gripped his cane in his right hand and made his way into the bedchamber.

  “Where are you going, Viscount Trewellain?” Her plaintive call chased his steps. Damn her for having a pleasant voice.

  “Somewhere that is not here. Somewhere you are not,” he added in the event she didn’t understand. Too bloody bad the ship wasn’t all that large. There was nowhere to hide. He wrenched open the doorway to the passage beyond.

  “I’ll be here when you come back. I meant what I said about not leaving,” she said from the connecting doorway. “We have much to discuss, unless you wish for me to follow you.” Excitement hung on that last suggestion.

  “I do not, but I am thinking of betraying your presence to the captain. Either he’ll throw you off on your arse or I’ll toss you overboard, but the result for me will be the same—peace. It would behoove you to decide the direction of your very immediate future.” With a sound of frustration, he slammed the door behind him with no other choice than to seek out Miles and hope the outrageous woman who’d invaded his life would be gone by the time he came back.

  For one thing was certain: he would not spend the next five days with her.

  Not able to locate the captain or his first mate, Jonathan left Miss Wickham to her fate and played cards with Miles, or spent time with Archewyne’s small daughter, Lady Jane. It occurred to him that what was happening in his life would amuse the girl. She’d assume it was some lovely adventure tale and urge him to find out what would happen next. He didn’t know if he wanted to know, so he kept mum on the subject. Lady Archewyne hovered. She sent him glances of concern as she encouraged her baby to take his first toddling steps, but she never directly asked what bedeviled him, even if those thoughts were no doubt all over his face.

  Yet through everything, he hadn’t approached Miles or his wife to ask them about their errant governess. Why was that? He had no answer for himself. Perhaps he wanted the matter between him and Miss Wickham settled as much as she claimed to
.

  During tea, he’d performed as he always did, but his appetite had fled. How could he eat when faced with the unhinged woman currently in his quarters? For nearly a year he’d become accustomed to conducting his life alone. It was better that way, for everyone. Now his singular existence was threatened with a female whose path was irrevocably twisted with his through no fault of his own.

  What a dashed coil.

  “Jonathan.”

  The sound of his best friend’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. “What? Cannot a man be alone with his musings?”

  “He can, of course, but then you are not a man predisposed to thinking.” The earl chuckled. “What troubles you?”

  “Would that I knew.” Oh, he knew, of course, and he wished she’d vanished into the sunset. He stared over the railing and sighed. They’d been underway for the few hours he’d remained out of his quarters. Had she removed herself like he’d asked, or was she even now still cooling her heels in his sitting room?

  “Would you welcome some advice?”

  He snorted. “From you? I would not.”

  “I’m going to give it to you anyway, old chap,” Miles said with a grin. He was temporarily distracted by his wife as she cooed to the two children. “The best way to solve a problem is to meet it head on. It won’t resolve itself otherwise.”

  Jonathan glanced sharply at his friend. Did he know what was afoot? Surely not. How could he? “I shall bear that in mind, oh wise earl.”

  It was Miles’ turn to laugh. “There are times, my friend, when I don’t feel all that wise. Dealing with the fairer sex is one of them. Much of my waking hours are spent trying to catch up.”

  “Truer words have never been spoken.” He stood. “I should return to my quarters. I’ve yet to unpack, and I need to peruse the duke’s dossier…” His words trailed off. Dash it all. He’d been in such haste to escape Miss Wickham that he’d not secured his bag. She couldn’t access his trunk since it was locked, but his dossier from Rathesborne resided in that piece of luggage. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps I shall see you sometime tomorrow?”

  “No doubt you will, since we will be stuck onboard for a handful of days yet. Nowhere to go.” Miles stood with him. “I hope you pass a good night, my friend.”

  That was the understatement of the year. Nothing good would occur if Miss Wickham was still in his quarters. However, it was time to set his affairs in order. Once he gave her what she wanted, she would leave him be. “You as well.” And once she was out of his life, the better off he would be.

  Chapter Four

  Sophia wiped her mouth with a linen napkin and then threw it onto the tea tray where the detritus of her repast rested. Hours had gone by, and still the viscount had not returned.

  Bored, but determined not to leave the quarters until she came away with her future free and clear, she wandered into the bedchamber. Spying a nondescript black valise on the trunk at the foot of the bed, she crossed the floor, and with a quick glance at the door, she undid the brass buckles that held the luggage closed.

  Perhaps she would find out more regarding her elusive betrothed.

  The first thing her fingers brushed against was a folio of dark brown leather. Heart pumping with excitement, Sophia opened the file. Handwritten notes, envelopes, maps, tickets, letters and various other pieces of correspondence lay in a jumbled heap. She flipped through them until she came to sheets of notes written in a firm, steady hand.

  Intrigued on more levels than one, she scanned the concise notes. A few words jumped out at her: Duke of Rathesborne. King’s agent. Locate missing Lord Basselton. Find jewels and the Chalice of—

  The door swung open and the viscount strode into the cabin. When his gaze alighted on her and the folio in her hand, he advanced to her position and snatched it from her. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  She opened and closed her mouth like a caught fish as she searched for something clever to say. “Well I… I thought… I wanted to see…” She jumped as he slammed the door closed. Needing a change in topic, Sophia popped her hands on her hips. “Where have you been?”

  His eyes widened. In the low light from an oil lamp on the bedside table, they gleamed a mossy green with brown flecks. “Where have I been?” The low rumble of his voice grew with intensity and anger. “You have the audacity to ask where I’ve been, when you have no right to be here at all.”

  One thought stuck in her head as she faced down his anger. He’s a king’s agent. This sudden trip to Spain. His evasiveness. His friendship with the duke. Everything made sense. She sucked in a breath. Is the Earl of Archewyne a king’s man too? Good heavens, and she had outright lied to his wife. No doubt they’d had her investigated. Cold dread cramped her belly. Yet there was no way they could know of her connection to the viscount.

  “Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself?” he demanded as he shoved the folio back into the bag.

  Time to rout the angry bull. “Obviously you were not successful in evicting me from the ship. Why is that? Never say you’ve experienced a change of heart.”

  The viscount remained silent. He propped his cane against the wall. Then, he strode into the sitting room with the veriest hint of a limp, glanced about at the remains of her tea, and then removed his outer garments. He tossed both his hat and greatcoat onto the one chair in the room.

  Sophia followed him. “Do you mean to finally talk to me regarding our betrothal?”

  Another wave of silence was her answer. He prowled past her, his arm brushing hers, resulting in unexpected tingles of awareness over her skin. She trotted after him, feeling very much like a small puppy to his stalwart wolf. Back in the bedroom, the viscount busied himself with removing his jacket. When he tossed it over the foot of the bed, he began working the buttons of his waistcoat.

  “What are you doing?” Panic wound up her spine as the dawning reality of her situation took root.

  He sought her gaze with his and held it. A smirk pulled at one corner of his lips. “My quarters. My prerogative. I am preparing to turn in for the night.”

  “So early? Tea was over just an hour ago. It’s still light outside.” Well, it had turned overcast, but that was beside the point.

  “Yes. What else is there to do?”

  A gasp escaped her. “You wouldn’t. I thought you were a gentleman.”

  “Only as far as I assumed you were a lady.” With a shrug, he allowed the waistcoat to fall from his body. After, he unwound the pristine length of his cravat from around his neck.

  No matter that his words stung, for she indeed wouldn’t be here if she was a lady, she narrowed her eyes. “You have always been an insufferable pig. Why change now?” When he ignored her, Sophia’s anger hit the boiling point. “Fine. Do not think you will have the upper hand in this.” Courage and a certain recklessness straightened her spine. Quickly, and before she could change her mind, she yanked her gown over her head. Thank goodness it was one she could manipulate herself. It fell into a lavender puddle at her feet.

  “Damnation but you are a troublesome bit,” the viscount muttered. He lingered his attention upon her as she tugged at the laces of her short corset though he looked away once the restrictive piece of clothing hit the floor to join her gown.

  Ha! He cannot hide the urge to be the rogue. She would use that knowledge to her advantage. Sophia grinned as she toed off her half boots. “No more stubborn than you, Viscount Trewellain. You might be the most obstinate man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet, but you have no idea the strength of my determination.” Clad in her shift, petticoat and stockings, she glared at him. “Shall we retire?” When his eyes held the look of brewing fire, she bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing, and slid beneath the counterpane. The sheets cooled her overheated skin.

  “Good God, Miss Wickham, have you no shame?” The anger in his voice reverberated in the stillness of the room. With a curse, he extinguished the oil lamp. Darkness immediately swallowed the space.

&n
bsp; When her eyes adjusted, the gloom of cloud-shrouded twilight filtered into the cabin. “I have no place to stay on this ship since you refused to conclude our business. Whatever happens is your fault.” She pulled the covers up to her chin and looked in his direction. All she saw was a shadowy silhouette, but even that exuded annoyance. Perhaps if she could entice him with flirtation, he would finally agree to release them both from the betrothal.

  As if she had a bloody clue how to lure a man into her bidding. Most eligible men, when they discovered the wastrel her father was, suddenly became interested in a different woman in the village. Plus, her post as governess didn’t afford much free time in London to socialize—even if she’d been free to do so. Lady Archewyne kept the family hopping. “Besides, how much scandalbroth can we both land in if we’re truly engaged?” A throaty laugh escaped, and she couldn’t believe that sound came from her. “And you are said to be a notorious and unrepentant rogue. I would think this is exactly where you’d be most comfortable.”

  A sound much like a growl came from the viscount. “For all of your talk, you know nothing about my life.” Seconds later, the mattress depressed beside Sophia as he joined her on the bed. Panic wound up her spine. What would she do with him now? “Is that what is really at play here, Miss Wickham? You’ve decided to pursue me, and this is where you think you’ve finally caught me?” The growl had softened to a purr, but it was no less deadly.

  Warning screamed through her mind, but she didn’t listen. The scents of lime, exotic Caribbean spices as well as sandalwood and cedar drifted to her nose from his shaving soap or cologne and put her in mind of warmer climes and the slap of waves against sand. As unobtrusively as she could, she took another inhale even as she shook her head. “The only reason I’ve pursued you is to talk.”

  “Why do I not believe you? After all, you wasted no time in removing your clothes in front of a man you barely know and don’t even call by his Christian name.” Fabric rustled and he moved closer. The warmth from his body preceded his arrival. Then he dropped a hand onto the flat of her belly, and each finger burned through the counterpane, the sheet and her petticoat to singe her skin.