The Viscount's Addiction Read Online Free PDF

opiate and the utterly bewitching wench standing in front of him was overloading his senses and diminishing his judgment.
    Ryder picked up the apothecary bottle and rotated it, seriously contemplating taking a second dose. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed his uncle trying to slither away. “Where are you going, old man? This is just beginning to be entertaining.”
    His uncle peered at him over his shoulder. His eyes had taken on a glassy vacancy. Ryder had a sudden revelation that the man’s mind for this moment was as blank as his eyes. The parallel struck him. Though the narcotic never voided Ryder’s mind of thoughts, his emotions were a different matter. There were times when he felt absolutely nothing. Even now his boiling hatred for his uncle had cooled to a simmer.
    Ryder reached lazily across the table for the teapot and knocked the sugar dish to the floor. The crystals on the pine planks seemed to form an elaborate pattern. Obviously, he’d overindulged. Usually he expected only relief from the raw sensation of his nerves being gnawed. But now he was actually experiencing flashes of euphoria.
    A petite black boot swept the sugar aside, and he raised his heavy head and stared up at her. He found himself mesmerized by her eyes as his thoughts slowed. The blinking of her heavy lashes seemed in harmony with the speed of his pulse. How deep the dip was in her upper lip. How adorable the light sprinkling of freckles on her pert nose.
    His lids grew heavy. “Damn, but you are lovely.” He didn’t feel the words exiting his mouth, but he definitely heard them. It was as though the sentiment had escaped his thoughts. He rested his eyes for only a moment and when he opened them she was gone.
    Maybe she truly was only a dream.

    

    Jessie rubbed her tired eyes. The page of the ledger was starting to blur. She blew the ink dry on the last column of numbers and placed the accounts with the invented

    calculations atop the stack on the desk before returning the real book to the cabinet. And what had all her hard work been for? She’d managed to keep the estate out of thieving hands only to find that the rightful owner was undeserving. She tucked the key in her cleavage and opened the window to let the morning breeze into the stuffy room.
    Heavy smoke erupting from the gatehouse chimney caught her attention. In all the time she’d lived at Tesslyn Hall, no one had occupied the ancient building.
    She wondered which of the selection of fine gentlemen stoked the hearth? After all, having the noblest of humans as her housemates—an unscrupulous gamester, a madman, and now a murderer—she could only guess which one was attempting to set fire to the gatehouse.
    The wet grass soaked through her slippers as she marched across the lawn. What if she were to find Lord Blackwood inside? Would she have the nerve to enter? The man was uncivilized, almost brutish in his behavior. Not a wonder, she thought, considering he’d come from the same bloodline as Henry.
    She paused, took a deep breath for courage, and shoved open the warped door. The room was thick with smoke. Seeing the back of his black head, her resolve weakened. ’Twas better the gatehouse burn than face that searing violet gaze. Overtaken by a fit of coughing, she attempted to muffle the sound with her hands.
    He glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, my hallucination has returned,” he said as he got to his feet. The smoke swirled around him, giving him an otherworldly quality, like an all-too-tempting demon risen from hell. His unfashionably long hair skimmed his shoulders, the gleaming midnight black of it a startling contrast to the white of his shirt. She’d heard rumors that Lord Blackwood was impossibly handsome, but she had no idea that being in his presence would be this unsettling. He was not unmarked from his time at Newgate, though. He was far too pale. And she had no doubt that prison had hardened not only his muscles but his soul.
    “It’s