What the Stubborn Viscount Desires

by Sandra Sookoo

  “I rather think your obvious amazement and enjoyment is praise enough.” The rumble of his laughter trembled through her chest, and when he pulled out completely, she mourned the loss of their connection. He turned them about and slowly, haltingly moved them back to where they’d started the erotic odyssey, his hand on the pool’s lip guiding him. When the viscount collapsed onto the boulder, he gathered her gently into his lap, cradling her as if she were a babe. “Ah, Sophia, where do we go from here?”

  As exhaustion took hold, she laid her head on his shoulder. Did he mean in a potential relationship between the two of them, or did he refer to the mission and how to exit the cavern? She didn’t ask for fear the answer wasn’t something she wished to hear. “Perhaps we should rest. A few hours of sleep will clear our heads.”

  And postpone the inevitable.

  “Perhaps.” He didn’t move. Neither did she. Instead, he wrapped his arms tight about her and held her with his cheek resting atop her head. The strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her ear comforted her as much as the warmth of the pool’s water lapping around her.

  How long she remained nestled within his embrace, she couldn’t say, for she’d shed her timepiece along with her clothing. Eventually, he stirred, brushed his lips along her temple. “Let me build a fire so our clothes at least have a chance of drying. Then we will discuss our options.”

  “All right.” How quickly the cocoon of belonging came unraveled once their bodies no longer sought the friction of pleasure or the comfort of being layered together. Sophia more or less fell off his lap in her attempt to let him up. When he didn’t smile and had once more retreated into his thoughts, she dove beneath the surface to hide her tears, this time for the end of something truly beautiful.

  By the time she allowed herself to come up for air and to face him, he’d exited the pool and had fitted the false leg back onto his thigh. When she rubbed the water from her eyes, he’d donned his trousers, effectively becoming once more the king’s agent and explorer she accompanied. She might have imagined the emotions she’d seen in his eyes earlier, for they were certainly gone when next he looked her way.

  His expression suggested she was a puzzle he had no idea how to solve and didn’t wish to. As he busied himself with setting fire to the small pile of kindling he’d found earlier, Sophia climbed from the glowing pool.

  Falling in love was a terrible endeavor. It made a person feel worse than when they had no prospects. Her lips twisted into a wry grin. But at least she’d shared something extraordinary with the viscount. No one could erase that fact. Yet, even as sweet as the memory was, it meant little and changed nothing. There were no words of love or devotion uttered by him, and in the end, he would set her free of their bond.

  Why was he so blasted stubborn?

  Chapter Twenty

  After dozing fitfully for a few hours near the small fire with Sophia tucked in his arms for additional warmth, Jonathan finished tying his cravat into a sloppy knot. His collar had been hopelessly crushed, so it had been sacrificed to the fire, as had the cuffs of his shirt. At least his clothing had more or less dried, with the exception of his jacket and greatcoat.

  His spirited companion studiously avoided his gaze as she finished dressing, which was probably a good thing. Making love to Sophia that last time had been surprising. Yes, it had started frantic and intense, but the moment he’d breached her backside and introduced her to an enhanced way of having coitus, he’d crossed an unspoken line of no return. Had it been a level of debauchery, a scandalous act that she’d hate him for once she examined it in the cold light of day? Or had it been a natural progression of their relationship, an extension of the unorthodox intensity that had always flared? Regardless, something had passed between them, something more than the base sharing of their bodies, as if a curtain had been pulled back and exposed a world he’d never seen before, and it had arrested him so that he’d gasped at the wonder of it. That something shook him to the roots of his soul.

  At present, he could do nothing about it, didn’t know if he wanted to. Having a woman in his life would complicate everything, put undo expectations on him he didn’t know if he wished to fulfil let alone fail to meet, regardless of what she’d teased him with during their earlier banter. Thankfully, his heart wasn’t engaged, but if he continued his current freefall, he’d land in a rather sticky wicket. A man in love did stupid things for perilous reasons; he refused to be one of those men, for he was already in danger of failing on this case. If he fell in the soup with Rathesborne, what the devil would he have left to offer? For a lady, even one in reduced circumstances, wouldn’t want a man with no way to support himself.

  Above all, he wouldn’t take charity from his father’s coffer or his reach.

  When the rumbling of her stomach cut into his musings, he allowed himself a small grin. Even that was endearing, drat her. Best to ignore any thought that smacked of love or romance and revisit it at a later time, and certainly once his mission had concluded. “I discovered the last orange you secreted away in my coat pocket. Perhaps you should eat. I don’t know how long we shall linger below ground before we find a way out.”

  “I will. Thank you.” She snatched the fruit from his greatcoat that he’d spread out near the dying fire. “Would you mind terribly much if I ate this while exploring what’s in the next cavern?”

  Could she not stand to be in his presence after what he’d done to her? Or was her reticence due to something else entirely? He cursed himself as a coward for not asking. “Not at all.” He frowned at the loss of the easy comradery they’d shared before the incident in the mineral pool. How to return to that without mentioning the act of exquisite communion and the possibilities thereof? “Though please indulge me and take your pistol.” He’d buried his once more in a pocket of his greatcoat.

  She rolled her eyes. “Is that truly necessary? We’re alone.”

  “You’d like to hope we are, but never forget we’ve been purposefully led down here. No doubt we’ll be given the reason soon.” That fact ate at him. Removing his murky feelings for her, Lord Basselton had stolen those crown jewels, had given him a breadcrumb trail and had shoved him down a well in the hopes he wouldn’t find the secret passageway to the caves.

  And all for what?

  “I suppose there is that.” Sophia nodded and then took her reticule from one of the greatcoat’s pockets. “My mind isn’t properly focused on the real reason we’re down here. I have been… distracted.” She removed her pistol from the handbag but stuffed the beaded accessory back into the pocket. “How much longer do you intend to tarry here? No doubt you wish to carry on and finish the mission as soon as possible.”

  “Once I tidy up, we’ll resume our trek.” He shot her a questioning glance. “Are you, ah, anxious to complete the trip?” Though he’d glimpsed adoration in her eyes during the pool incident, it could have been gratitude for the release. She’d not been shy about coaxing him into the act. He forced a swallow. Perhaps that had been all she wanted from him. If so, he could appreciate that, for he’d spent more than a handful of years perfecting the image of a rake, but did Sophia have that guile? Of course she didn’t. He’d seen additional feelings in her eyes. It would wound her terribly once they returned to their separate lives.

  A slight shrug pulled the bodice of her gown across her full breasts. “It will be a relief to go above ground.” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “Is there anything else you wish to say? Anything you want to ask after everything?” A gesture with the orange indicated the glowing water.

  He tugged at his cravat that suddenly felt too tight. “I’m glad I shared that experience with you. You’ve proven quite adept at being an adventurer.” Additional, better, more intimate words sat on the tip of his tongue, questions and possibilities, but he couldn’t give voice to them. It was too soon, and he didn’t have enough information to make intelligent discourse. Or give her a promise when he didn’t know what exactly he wanted.


  “That is what you’d say?” When he remained silent as words tumbled over themselves through his mind, she uttered a huff that ruffled a fine tendril of hair which had escaped the thick braid she’d bound her tresses into. “I see. It would appear I’m nothing special after all, for any other woman who found herself on this mission with you would have met with the same fate.” When she held his gaze, hers was luminous with a sheen of tears. “I had expected much more from you, my lord, but in the end, you can only be what you are—broken. I won’t hold that against you. Perhaps I do not possess the skill to help you heal like I thought.” With that, she turned and made her way across the cavern, being careful to give the thermal pool a wide berth.

  Bloody hell. “Sophia, wait.” The pool wouldn’t illuminate the next cavern, and their lantern had given up its last when they’d slept. Jonathan took a few steps after her but halted as guilt smacked into him. Of course he’d disappointed her. It was his lot in life. With a cry that did nothing to alleviate the tension riding his shoulders, he shoved his hands into his hair. Why didn’t the woman tell him what she wanted him to know? He couldn’t fix what remained shrouded in secrets. Games were not his forte, and though he appreciated females and their charms, he didn’t understand them. On the other hand, why the hell couldn’t he have stuck to his promise to be a damned gentleman and keep from defiling her?

  She represented a unique challenge for him. Sophia possessed unfailing instincts on all the things he did not. Having her beside him made him somehow better. She bewitched him in all the ways that mattered, and he was too much of a coward to put his feelings into words and speak them aloud, no matter how convoluted they were. If he had, perhaps she could help sort them, make sense of them, show him what to do. Damn it, Sophia, I need you. Isn’t that enough? Perhaps men as broken as he—body, mind, soul—didn’t deserve happiness.

  A muffled scream pierced his tortured musings. Sounds of a struggle followed and then the thud of flesh hitting flesh reached his ears.

  “Sophia?” Jonathan darted to his greatcoat, yanked his pistol from one of the pockets. “Answer me, please.” He strode across the cavern floor with his gun clutched tight in his hand. When a weapon discharged and the sound kept echoing, his blood ran cold. “Sophia, report!” When he exited the cavern, the unmistakable click of a cocked pistol rang in the sudden silence.

  “It would be highly advisable, Viscount Trewellain, if you would return to your quaint little campsite.” The voice was the same as the man who pushed him into the well.

  “Lord Basselton.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or should I address you as bastard? I wondered when you’d show your face.” His heartbeat pounded through his chest and he tamped down on the rising fear when he didn’t immediately see Sophia. The green glow about the cavern seemed more ominous now without her.

  “Ah, you possess a sense of humor. I was not given correct intelligence, apparently, but yes, I am Lord Basselton, and the last person you’ll speak with.” He kept the nose of his pistol trained at Jonathan’s heart. “Move, Trewellain, if you please, unless you wish for me to kill your companion prematurely.”

  Without recourse, Jonathan retraced his steps, moving slowly backward in order to keep his weapon trained on the hated lord. “How interesting you’ve chosen now to reveal yourself. Concerned that you might not have killed us in the ruins?”

  Another man followed Basselton into the cavern, and Jonathan inhaled a sharp breath. Basselton’s man-of-affairs, Mr. Hatfield, escorted Sophia. The right side of her face was lit with an angry red handprint. Her captor had a dagger’s blade pressed against her ribcage.

  Rage welled within him that another man touched her and had the audacity to take her hostage. Silvery tracks of tears lined her cheeks. Did she cry from the pain of the slap or from fear? It didn’t matter. He’d take his revenge for every one of those crystalline drops. Never before had he realized how petite, how delicate her frame until she stood next to the hulking man-of-affairs. And she had been relieved of her weapon. Bloody hell. “Let Sophia go.” The last thing he needed was for that bigger man to lay hands on her, break her bones, render her unconscious. If they knew her safety was his weakness, they wouldn’t hesitate to use that information.

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Lord Basselton gestured with his pistol and Jonathan kept retreating. “You are more intelligent than I gave you credit for, viscount, even if you were rather slow to piece everything together despite my obvious clues.”

  Jonathan narrowed his eyes. “To what purpose? Why did you lead us down here?” He’d reached the campsite.

  The other man huffed. “Patience, Trewellain.” Every raven hair on his head remained arranged in a popular style, with a top hat resting upon those locks as if the man had just stepped from a carriage not too long before. Even his dark suit and greatcoat were in pristine condition. Obviously, he hadn’t spent much time in the cavern network, which meant there was an exit close by. “Since your doxy killed the other man in my party, I am not in the mood for conversation at the moment.”

  “Sophia killed your man.” It wasn’t a question. He glanced at her, met her gaze. Though terrified, one corner of her mouth tilted upward in a quick grin. That’s my girl. She nodded before Mr. Hatfield jostled her arm and the tip of the blade tore through the fabric of her gown.

  “She did. With no hesitation, I might add.”

  “Well done.” Perhaps if he downplayed his relationship with her, Basselton would let Sophia go without harm. “However, she is not my doxy. She is my assistant while on this mission. Nothing more.” His chest tightened at the shock shadowing her face. Forgive me.

  “I’m disappointed, Trewellain. The woman is a looker with a body made for sin.” Basselton slid his gaze to Sophia.

  “I’m used to provoking such response from everyone I meet, Basselton,” Jonathan said in a loud voice meant to distract. “Your words or your opinion have no effect on me.”

  The mysterious lord snorted. “One would think, after my first attempt on your life, that you would take comfort where you could.” He snapped his regard from her back to him. “Now you’ll not have the opportunity for a quick tryst. More’s the pity.”

  Jonathan set the hammer in his pistol and renewed his grip while pointing the nose at Lord Basselton’s heart. “Why are you here?”

  “To put an end to you, of course. I thought we’d already discussed this.” He looked at Mr. Hatfield, and then shared a laugh with him.

  What a prick. Jonathan kicked at one of his greatcoat’s pockets. The chalice rolled halfway out, the silver filigree glowing blue from the reflection of the algae. “Are you here for this? If so, take it and be on your way.”

  “Such a foul temperament, my lord.” Basselton tsked his tongue. “Do I want that chalice you remarkably discovered?”

  “I discovered,” Sophia interrupted before being backhanded by Mr. Hatfield. She whimpered and fought in the man’s hold.

  Jonathan bristled. “Touch her again and I will put a ball through your forehead, I swear it.” He transferred his revolver’s site to the hulking man.

  “In any event, neither of you found said chalice, for I planted it there. In fact, if you live long enough to carry the relic back to London, an expert will quickly find that it didn’t originate from Christ’s time or even from the region of the world where he lived.” His bark of laughter echoed eerily through the cavern. “It was meant as a marker for you. Nothing more, for I knew of Rathesborne’s zealous intent on tracking down the chalice.”

  “Why?” Jonathan asked from around gritted teeth. Basselton’s words were confirmation he’d failed at his mission. Now the conversation grew stale and dull. His body tensed for action. If he had fortune on his side, he could take down Mr. Hatfield, for he rather doubted Basselton would pull the trigger. That wasn’t his style. He didn’t dirty his hands with grunt work. He took orders and made them. Regardless, Jonathan kept his pistol trained on Mr. Hatfield.

  “Stand down, Tre
wellain.” Basselton rolled his eyes. “Hatfield, mind the viscount. I was warned he’s more of a hands-on fellow.” He focused his attention on Jonathan once more. “Why did I plant the chalice? Oh, the reason is ominous and quite delicious, really.”

  “The question stands.” Jonathan shifted the revolver back to the lord in front of him. His muscles ached for action, but he hesitated. Too risky. Sophia might be trapped in the crossfire or stabbed with the blade.

  “Why not?” Basselton’s shrug was insolence personified. “My superior is very interested in seeing you delayed. Who am I to disobey a direct command, especially one that pays so handsomely?”

  None of it made sense. “Why and whom?”

  “So many questions.” Lord Basselton laughed again, and this time Mr. Hatfield joined in on the mirth. “I cannot reveal all my secrets just yet, but suffice it to say, my employer wishes you dead. He has other game to hunt.”

  “Then why the chase?”

  “Perhaps I am bored. Spain doesn’t hold the same excitement for me that France does, and in order to gain my promised payment for this task, I must either kill you or render you well on your way to death. In essence, my return to England is delayed due to your obstinacy.”

  “Your employer is in London.” How could he use that information to his advantage?

  “Very good, Trewellain. You are not as stupid as I began to believe.” Basselton grinned, and in the dim light, shadows twisted his expression into a gruesome mask. “The man I work for merely wishes you out of the way while he pursues his real prize, so I made the task more interesting for me. In fact, Hatfield and I laid down wagers on when you might expire.”