Page 24 of The Viscount and the Vixen
“Perhaps you’ll come to love her,” his father murmured, almost distractedly.
“No,” Locke assured him. “I married her because I know she is the sort I could never love.”
“How did you deduce that in the small bit of time you were with her?”
“She is a title hunter.”
“I think you’re wrong there. No doubt she is hunting for something, but I doubt very much that it’s a title.”
He didn’t like the uncertainty that slithered through him. He had judged her accurately. He was rather sure of it. “It doesn’t matter any longer. The deed is done.”
Finally, with the nightshirt in place, he lifted the covers. “Into bed with you.”
“Lock the door.”
“I will.”
“But open the window. Perhaps your mother will come visit with me later.”
No one was going to visit with him. Still Locke went to the window, turned the latch, and swung it open. It was too small for his father to crawl through—and even if he did manage it, the drop to the ground was a deterrent. While the marquess might pray for death, he wasn’t one to take his own life.
Returning to the bed, Locke tucked the covers around his father before lowering the flame in the lamp. “Good night, Father.”
He turned for the door and came up short at the sight of Portia standing just within the threshold. He wondered how long she’d been there, what she might have overheard. Not that it mattered. He’d been honest with her regarding why he’d married her. She’d be a fool to have illusions otherwise.
“Hello, my dear,” his father said.
“I wanted to make sure you were all right.” Her gaze darted between him and his father so he wasn’t quite certain upon whom she was checking. She’d changed into her nightdress. With her gown and petticoats gone, he could see that she was a bit more slender than he’d realized, seemed a bit more vulnerable. He shook off that thought. There was absolutely nothing vulnerable about the woman who had challenged him that afternoon.
“Fine, my dear. Just tired.” His father waved a hand. “Go on, Locke. See to your bride. I’ll wait here for your mother.”
Closing his eyes, he sighed as he shook his head. When he opened them, he wasn’t pleased to see the pity reflected in Portia’s expression.
“Sleep well, my lord,” she said before stepping into the hallway.
Joining her there, Locke closed the door and twisted the key.
“Is it safe to lock him in?” she asked.
“Safer than not. Gilbert will unlock it before the sun comes up.” He was taken aback by the concern in her eyes. Had he been asked, he’d have stated that she cared not one whit about anyone save herself, but she certainly seemed to have some trepidation where his father was concerned. “He’ll be fine. It’s better than having him out roaming over the moors. If he hadn’t shouted, we might not have known until morning, and who knows what sort of state he would have been in by then?”
“So he goes out often?”
He tilted his head. “I’m usually able to catch him before he makes it out the door. Tonight I was otherwise preoccupied.”
A lamp in the hallway provided enough light that he could see her blush. She straightened her spine, angled her chin. “I suppose we should get back to it.”
He wondered if it were possible for a woman to sound less delighted at the prospect of being bedded. Perhaps he’d been going a bit too slowly for her tastes. Once he had her clothes removed, she was going to be very glad to be with him. But first—
“After traipsing after my father, I’ll need a bath before I rejoin you.”
He thought it was relief washing over her face until she said on a breathless sigh, “Oh, a bath would be lovely.”
He cursed himself for not considering that after her travels she might have preferred to do more than change her clothes. “I usually bathe in a room just off the kitchen. I could haul the tub up here—”
“No need for that. I’m perfectly happy to use whatever room is most convenient.”
He’d expected her to be more demanding, more insistent that she be pampered. He didn’t like these unanticipated aspects to her that he was discovering, wanted her to be precisely the sort of woman he had judged her to be: one who always put her own needs, wants, and desires first. “It’ll take me a while to get the water warmed. I’ll come for you when it’s ready, shall I?”
