Her Reluctant Viscount (Rakes and Rogues) by Aliyah Burke Page A

it keeps our identities a secret.” He rubbed his jaw and the scar dissecting it. “I thought he was gone.” A deep breath. “I was wrong.”
     
    “Gone? Gone where?” She threaded the needle. Lord help her, she wanted to reach out and drawn him to her. Offer some comfort to dispel the grief she could see wracked him.
     
    He told her of the night it happened while she poured some water. The more she heard the angrier she became. A compilation of betrayal and fury of what he had gone through whirled in her stomach. Back at the table, she maneuvered the chair closer to him after placing the items out in a line.
     
    “This is the time you received your scar?”
     
    He nodded. “Sliced me with a rapier, a few inches shorter and we never would have met.”
     
    That fact had not escaped her notice. She also did not care to think about it much. At all. She said nothing.
     
    “No snide comment?”
     
    “Despite how it may appear to you, Trystan Wilkes, I do not wish death upon you.”
     
    “Good to know.”
     
    She swallowed and mentally prepared herself the best she could for what came next. “Take your shirt off.”
     
    His gaze burned her and she forced herself to remain as opposed to running away as every single preservation instinct told her to do. He licked his lips and she felt a twinge in the pit of her belly, which spread throughout her entire body. Her skin prickled like it did during a lightning storm, only much more intense.
     
    He reached for the top pearled button and slid it through the hole, exposing a flash of golden tan skin. Breaths came difficult as she waited. Their gazes locked as one after another he undid them.
     
    Magnificent. The man was simply magnificent. Light smattering of hair covered his chest but did nothing to hide the ridges and definitions present. The desire to touch and caress him hit her. Hard. Run her fingers over his muscles, through the hair, and feel his heart beat beneath her palm.
     
    “This would be grounds for marriage if we were caught,” he said placing the balled up shirt on the tabletop.
     
    “Or you buying me some expensive bauble,” she retorted, wetting the cloth and cleaning out the wound. “I am on the shelf. Firmly.”
     
    “Is that what that Callum Blackwood was doing here?”
     
    Again, she heard the jealousy. Or was it again her imagination? She saw in her periphery the firming of his chiseled jaw. Focusing on her task, she carefully cleaned her injury to him, desperately trying to ignore how wonderful he smelled and the texture of his skin beneath her touch.
     
    “Tell me where you learned to do this,” he ordered after clearing his throat.
     
    She reached for the needle and lifted the flask of whisky. “I grew up in Africa, Mr. Wilkes. I realize I am not all that important to you, but surely you could have recalled that bit of information.”
     
    “I did not forget.” His voice, a dark promise for all those things she imagined in the privacy of her own bed under the cover of night. “I was looking for more detail.”
     
    A deep breath which assaulted her nose with his unique scent and she handed him the drink before setting needle to flesh. His sharp inhale almost severed her concentration. She got to work.
     
    “You saw where we lived. Accidents happened and my mother is no good around blood. So I learned. I can stitch a wound but not a shirt without making a mess of it.”
     
    “And your father allowed this?”
     
    “He spent most of his time buried in his work. It was after all why we were there. I was raised with the servant children. Then I met Najja. She taught me a thing or two as well.”
     
    “Of that I have no doubt. Did she teach you to throw knives?”
     
    There was no censure in his tone, only curiosity. Two more stitches and she would be done.
     
    “Yes. They were a gift from her.”
     
    “She cares a great deal for you.”
     
    “And I her.” She made a knot, leaned close, and used her blade to cut