The Viscount. Lyn Stone

river near Derwent.

      Lily reined to the right and trailed Guy to a small clearing beside the river. He slid from his saddle and held up his hands to her. “Come, I’ll help you dismount.”

      When her feet touched the ground, Lily swayed, catching his forearms to remain upright.

      “Steady there, my girl. Is something wrong?” He guided her over to a spot away from the mounts and helped her to sit on the soft grass. How gentle he was now. It was as if no one had ever disturbed his serenity.

      She pressed her hands to her face and rubbed briskly. “I felt a bit faint for a moment.”

      He released a sigh and shook his head. “When did you last eat?”

      “Luncheon yesterday, I believe.”

      He struck his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Damn me, how could I ignore something so basic as food? Rest here. Let me tether the mounts and I’ll find something for you immediately.”

      Lily scoffed at the urgency in his voice. “Wherever would you find food this time of night? Every dwelling we have passed is dark as pitch. People are asleep.”

      “Then I’ll wake someone. You cannot ride another twenty miles in this condition. I’d look over my shoulder and find you lying in the road.”

      She tensed at the reminder of those men sprawled motionless in the street. “Please, no. Water the horses and forget foraging. I’ll survive.”

      He ignored that. Lily lay back on the grass, supported by her elbows and watched him. Not more than five minutes later he had the saddles off, the horses bound to saplings that grew by the shallows and had returned to her.

      “Here. Keep this at the ready. If you need it, pull back the hammer, point and pull the trigger.” He handed her his heavy pistol, then struck out for a cottage just visible in the distance.

      His long strides ate up the ground, as if his mission were crucial.

      Lily looked down at the weapon. She had never held one or even looked at one closely. Minding what Guy had told her, she pulled back the hammer until it clicked so that it would be ready should anyone approach. Not that she would shoot it at them if they did. But she could fire above their heads and frighten them off.

      Satisfied she was prepared for anything, Lily sighed and lay down upon the sweet, scented grass. She was so tired, so sleepy. Why was Duquesne determined to go to so much trouble for her? She was mildly amused that he seemed so worried for so little reason. Her stomach rumbled beneath the gun that rested upon it and she wondered idly what he would find for them to eat.

      Above her the moon beamed down and stars twinkled through the few sparse clouds passing overhead. Such welcome silence after leaving the sounds of the city. Such peace after their brush with danger. Her eyes closed as she drank in the stillness of the night.

      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!