The Viscount's Addiction by Scottie Barrett Read Free Book Online Page A

Gripping the rough wall with her fingertips, she kept herself from crumbling to the ground.
    His chest was heaving. He stared at her as if bewildered, then turned hard on his heels and stalked away.
    Jessie stared at the broken rose. Would she allow him to do the same to her heart?

Chapter Four

    Carrying a tray of tea, Jessie passed Henry scuttling down the hallway toward the parlor, his books on the black arts clutched to his chest.
    “Won’t you have something to eat, Henry?”
    He curled his back, hunching his shoulders over his precious tomes as though he were afraid she’d pluck them from his grip. “Must you always disturb my thoughts? Impertinent baggage.” He hastened his pace. His behavior had become even more erratic since Lord Blackwood’s return.
    In the dining hall she set down the tea and tied back the heavy curtains allowing sunlight into the room. She fingered the empty brandy glass on the table. It could only belong to Lord Blackwood, since Lewis had ridden off immediately after breakfast. She eyed the brandy decanter. Not a drop remained. Food did not hold much interest for the viscount. His vices fortified him. Opium followed by a flood of liquor. More than likely, he’d taken himself upstairs and collapsed atop his freshly made bed. She hoped he would be insensible for the rest of the day and on through the night. The possibility of having to sleep in his bed and submit to his demands terrified and thrilled her all at once. He was convinced she was as much to blame for the marriage ruse as his uncle and cousin. And he was seeking retribution for the wrongs he thought she’d done him. The punishment he’d dealt her in the garden still sent shivers of pleasure through her body.
    After enjoying a peaceful meal alone, Jessie packed two straw baskets with the herb loaves she’d baked that morning and set out to the barn to saddle Titus. Lord Blackwood had upset her normal schedule. Her visit would be later than usual, but hopefully not so late that she would face the wrath of Retscliff, the innkeeper. Or worse, have Lucy suffer for it. Jessie still cringed, thinking of the terrible thumping Retscliff had given Lucy, merely because she’d accepted Jessie’s meager offering. Retscliff had flung the cake and ground it into the dirt. Blaming herself, Jessie had vowed not to return. After all, her visits had started as an ease to her conscience, a sort of penance for her husband’s crimes.

    But after Lucy had risked venturing to Tesslyn Hall, the bruises still fresh on her cheeks, it occurred to Jessie that they were kindred spirits.
    Jessie adjusted the cowl of her cape so it hung far over her face, giving her anonymity.
    Titus needed no prodding. He knew the route too well. It was a good thing because Jessie had a difficult time thinking of anything other than the far too big, far too handsome viscount.
    Jessie gave the deep hood one last tug to make certain her features were obscured and reined the horse in at the rear of the tavern. The weathered, splintered door sandwiched between soot-caked windows spoke of utter despair and oppression. The rope ladder that dangled from the upstairs balcony swayed in the breeze. An easy escape for adulterous men. She cued Titus to snort three times.
    The door opened, and Lucy stepped into the narrow alley. She squinted against the pale, lowering sun. Lucy was not a creature of the daylight. Her blood-red lips were startling against her waxen skin. She was far too young and frail to take the abuse Retscliff dealt her.
    “Jess, do not linger. He’s in a monstrous foul mood today. Poor Sarah has had the worst of him.”
    Jessie handed the woman the baskets. “Won’t you leave with me?” she asked as she did every time. But what sanctuary did she have to offer? What an arrogant notion to believe that she could save Lucy, when she couldn’t even save herself.
    “Soon,” was the rote response.
    “The night Maggie died, did you see the man who killed her?”