Page 14 of The Viscount and the Vixen
“End of the hallway, last door on the right.”
“And mine?”
“End of the hallway, last door on the right.”
She stopped walking. He turned to face her, arched a brow.
“Will I not have my own room?” she asked. Surely Marsden had prepared a room for her or had he expected her to share his? His she wouldn’t have minded sharing, but Locksley’s? She was fairly certain he’d dominate the space.
“I don’t see the point, do you? You’ll be with me all night.”
“Still, it might be nice to have a place where I can be myself.”
“Are you not being yourself now?”
Did he have to read something sinister into everything she said? “I simply meant that my own little sanctuary where I can relax would be very much appreciated.”
“The room is large with a sitting area that should suffice. I won’t bother you there during the day.”
“Because you have your library. I will feel as though I’m a prisoner if I am relegated to one room.”
“You can use the parlor.” He spun on his heel. “What the bloody hell is in this trunk? It’s heavy as the dickens.”
So he was human, after all, not some god who could balance the world on his shoulders. She took grim satisfaction in the knowledge.
He reached the end of the hallway. “Can you get the door?”
She was tempted to take her sweet time doing it, but she needed to keep him in an amicable mood to ensure things between them became as pleasant as possible. After swinging open the door, she followed him in, watched as he set her trunk at the foot of a massive bed, and had no success not envisioning lying there with his large and powerful body hovering over her. Her mouth went as dry as sawdust.
Circling the room permeated with his sandalwood and orangey scent, she wasn’t surprised by the absolute masculinity of it, the dark woods of the furniture, the burgundy striped paper on the walls, the burgundy cloth covering the chairs and sofa before the fireplace. There was also a starkness to the setting. Only the minimum amount of furniture, no trinkets cluttering any surfaces to provide any insight into his tastes. She supposed that was telling enough regarding his preferences. He cared only for things that were useful. She would have to ensure he considered her useful.
“There’s no dressing table,” she said.
“Pardon?”
Turning, she discovered him leaning negligently against one of bedposts. “Most ladies require a dressing table in order to prepare themselves properly.”
“I’ll see about having one ordered for you.”
It was quite possible one was sitting unused in another bedchamber, but then as nothing was to be disturbed...
“Thank you.”
“Meanwhile, I’ll send Mrs.Barnaby up to assist you.”
“I appreciate it. I shan’t tarry.”
“Take all the time you need. The vicar’s not going anywhere and neither am I.” He headed for the door, stopped, glanced back to her. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
It had been too late before she’d ever arrived. “Your manner of courtship needs some work.”
His laughter circled the room. “I think we’re going to get along, Portia.”
“I hope so. It will make for long years if we don’t.”
“We’ll be waiting for you in the library. Mrs.Barnaby can show you the way.”
Then he was gone, leaving her alone with her misgivings. Opening her reticule, needing something familiar to help settle her, she snatched out a peppermint and popped it into her mouth. After placing her purse on the bed, she walked to the window and gazed out on the wildness of the land surrounding the manor. If the marquess never went out, perhaps she would be allowed to tame it. And surely in this massive manor, she could claim one small room as her own.
