Page 19 of The Viscount and the Vixen
“She took my hand. ‘Keep your eyes on me,’ she said. ‘I won’t let you fall.’ I was twelve, she all of eight. Never took my eyes off her. But still I fell anyway, hard and fast.”
“Were you badly hurt?”
He winked at Portia, smiled with fond remembrance. “I fellfor her. So Locke comes by his love of climbing naturally. He got it from his mother.”
He hadn’t known that, had never heard the story, had known only that they’d become interested in each other at an early age. Not wanting to sadden his father, he’d avoided asking questions about his mother. Perhaps for himself as well, because he didn’t want to know what he might have missed by not having both parents present in his life.
“You loved her a long time,” Portia said, her voice filled with a sense of wonder.
“All my life. Well, except for the first twelve years, but they hardly count. When I met her it was as though my life began anew.” He slapped the table before raising his wineglass. “And speaking of life beginning anew, we are here to celebrate a wedding. To my favorite son and my new daughter. May you never take your eyes off each other.”
Portia lifted her glass, but didn’t look at Locke. He suspected it was because she didn’t want him to see the tears that had gathered, but her profile revealed them glistening in the corner of her eye. It was a revelation. She was sentimental, with a soft heart that she didn’t want him to see.
Downing the wine that remained in his glass, he had an insane urge to tell her that he wouldn’t let her fall. But he kept his thoughts to himself because he knew from experience that along that path lay madness.
Following dinner, Portia and Locke retreated to the library, where he poured them each a glass of port while his father saw the vicar to his carriage. They sat before the fireplace, in awkward silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire blazing in the hearth. Yet for all the heat it generated, she couldn’t seem to get warm.
Her husband—dear God, a husband whose eyes never strayed from her as though he expected her to try to make off with the family silver. He thought her a mercenary when she knew damned good and well that money could not protect her nearly as effectively as he and his position in Society could. It occurred to her that perhaps he was mentally disrobing her, but why bother with doing that when he could escort her to his bedchamber and tear off her clothes with as much haste as he desired? Based upon his earlier fervent kisses, she suspected their coupling was going to be rough and quick. And often. She couldn’t recall ever meeting a man who could appear so virile and capable when doing nothing other than sitting, sipping port, and staring at her.
“How long does it take to say goodbye to a vicar?” she finally asked, staring at the flames because it was easier than looking into his eyes and seeing the lust for her reflected there. Knowing how badly he wanted her was a sort of currency, if she could just determine how to spend it without angering him.
“I suspect my father forgot that we were waiting for him, and he has retired to his chambers.”
She dared to look at him then, the way his long fingers were curled around the stem of the glass, and tried not to think about how they might close around her later. “Should you check on him?”
“He’s a grown man.”
Angling her head, she gave him a rueful smile. “Yet earlier today you thought him incapable of selecting a wife.”
“There is a huge difference between deciding one should retire for the night and deciding one should marry.”
Well, there was that, she supposed. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to hold his gaze. “I assume we’re going to consummate our marriage tonight.”
Never taking his eyes from her, he lowered his head slightly. “Once you’ve finished your port and are a bit more relaxed.”
“I’m relaxed.”
He simply looked at her. She wasn’t, damn it. But it was imperative that they consummate the marriage, that he not be able to claim her an improper wife, that he not have any justification for an annulment. Not that she wanted him to see the desperation in her or understand the importance of his place in her life. “Perhaps I should go on up, have Mrs.Barnaby help me prepare—”
“I’ll be doing all the preparing that needs to be done.”
“I simply meant that she could undress me—”
“I’ll undress you.”
“I thought to have a few moments alone, to prepare, to slip into my nightdress—”
“You won’t be needing a nightdress.”
“At some point—”
“Not tonight.”
“Must you constantly interrupt?”
He gave her a devilish grin that held naughty promises. “I see no point in delaying our departure upstairs with words that won’t change anything. Finish your port.”
She took merely a sip, because she wasn’t going to be ordered about. She had expectations as well, and they didn’t include bending to his every wish. He could just bloody well wait until she was ready.
