Page 111 of The Viscount and the Vixen
Of course she’d told him about Sophie, blast her. That knowledge had no doubt aided him in finding her.
“I am indeed, m’lord.”
He took her hand, bowed over it, and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Thank you for being her friend.”
“We loose women must stick together.” She glanced back over her shoulder at Portia. “He’s quite the charmer. I approve, for what it’s worth.”
Only her approval carried no weight, could not undo the horrendous wrong. As soon as Sophie was out of sight, he closed the door and leaned against it, never taking his gaze from Portia. She was not going to fall into the depths of green; she was not going to let him deter her from her path. “I’m glad you’re here,” she stated succinctly.
“No, you’re not.”
She bit down on the inside of her cheek. “No, I’m not, but as you appear to be somewhat sober—”
“I am completely sober.”
“You might be more open to my plan.”
“And what plan is that?”
Did he have to stand there so calmly, sound so reasonable? She released her hold on the mantel because her fingers were going numb, and clutched her hands just above her waist, above where her child was growing. “We shall fake my death.”
His flummoxed expression gave her a bit of satisfaction. Knowing she could take him as off guard as his appearance had so easily done to her was rewarding.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked.
“You will tell people that I died—in childbirth if need be—and I will quietly slip away so you can marry again.”
He shoved himself away from the door. “So you’d have me be a bigamist? None of the children my second wife gave me would be legitimate.”
“No one need know that. However to ensure their legitimacy we’ll get a divorce first, but a quiet one, so you don’t have to suffer through the humiliation—”
He began walking toward her. “There is no such thing as a quiet divorce. Besides, it would be a matter of public record.”
“No one is going to go looking for it,” she said impatiently. He was too near now. She could smell his sandalwood-and-orange scent, wanted to inhale it into her lungs and hold it there forever. How would she ever eat an orange without thinking of him?
“Have you not learned that secrets never remain secrets? Besides, I’ve told you before, there will be no divorce.”
She didn’t back up this time because she knew he’d only advance, so she stood her ground until he came to a halt in front of her. Only then did she notice the dark circles beneath his eyes, the new creases at the corners. “Locksley, be reasonable. If I’m carrying a boy—”
“Then he will be my heir.”
“Precisely. Which is the very reason that you must rid yourself of me as quickly as possible. If there is a way to annul—”
“There will be no annulment.”
“Will you stop interrupting me? It irritates the devil out of me when you interrupt. I will tell whatever lies are necessary—”
“No more lies, Portia.”
He’d done it again, interrupted her, but before she could object, he cradled her face between his hands. So warm, so familiar. She wanted a lifetime of him touching her.
“Listen to me, carefully,” he said slowly as though she were dimwitted. “We will not get divorced, and it has nothing to do with public embarrassment, or ridicule, or shame. I don’t give a fig what people think about me. My God, I grew up among whispers about my mad father and our haunted estate. Do you really think that getting a divorce would bring me to my knees?”
“Then why not do it? If you’re willing to endure the shame of it, why not divorce me?”
“Because I am not willing to give you up. For you see, my little vixen, I’ve fallen quite madly in love with you.”
It was as though he’d closed his fist around her heart. Tears stung, filled her eyes, rolled over onto her cheeks. Beaumont had told her he loved her but the delivery had never been so heart-felt, so soul crushing. Nor so uplifting as to make her feel as though she were soaring. “But your bloodline.”
