Page 25 of The Viscount and the Vixen
“You’ll do it yourself?”
“I’m not going to wake the elderly servants this time of night.” Truth be told, he always prepared his own bath, took care of most of his own needs.
“I don’t want you to go to that trouble for me, then.”
“No trouble. I need prepare only one bath. We’ll bathe together.”
There was that blush again, only this time it was a ruddier hue. It wasn’t very gentlemanly of him to take delight in making her blush, and yet he did. It made him want to smile and it had been a good long time since he’d honestly, completely smiled. Since there had been any true joy in his life. Not since his father’s wards reached their majority and moved back to their ancestral estates.
Oh, he had a jolly good time when he saw them in London or when they traveled, but the joy here—within this manor, on this land—was practically nonexistent. He’d been content with it. It was the way of things. Yet he suddenly felt this tiny spark of something he couldn’t quite identify, realized he might enjoy moments with her out of the bed as much as he was going to enjoy them in it.
Her gaze slowly roamed over him, and his body tightened in response to her perusal. When she did finally get around to touching him, he was likely to explode.
“Considering your immense size,” she said, “I don’t see how the two of us can fit together in the tub.”
“It’s a rather large tub.” It was one of the few indulgences he’d allowed himself. Specially made so he could stretch out in it. Although it took heating several caldrons of water to fill it, he never minded. He enjoyed taking a leisurely bath. He was going to enjoy it all the more with her in there with him.
She nodded. “I’ll need to put up my hair.”
“As I said, it’ll take a while to prepare it. I’ll come for you.”
Her lips lifted into the smallest of smiles. “I’ll be waiting.”
She spun on her heel, heading back toward his—their—bedchamber. Guilt pricked his conscience, made him uncomfortable. “Portia?”
She turned back to him.
Swallowing, he cleared his throat. “I don’t know how long you were standing there, what you might have heard—”
“I have no illusions regarding your opinion of me, my lord, or what it is you want from me. To be quite honest, I fully expected you to merely toss my skirt over my head and have your way with me. I’m quite relieved to discover you’re willing to give me some consideration.”
“You married me thinking I would force myself on you?”
“I married you knowing that women have very little say in how they are treated.”
He was not going to ask about her marriage. She’d said she loved the man. Surely he had not abused her. “I told you that you would find pleasure in my bed.”
“Men often lie, Lord Locksley. Or they overestimate their ability to... please.”
With such a poor opinion of men, why the devil was she here? “Yet you sought another marriage?”
“As I mentioned, I sought security.” That small smile again, as though she were amused by a private joke. “Men also tend not to listen when women speak. I’ll be waiting for you.”
When she walked away this time, he didn’t stop her. He wasn’t going to feel guilty because she was fully aware that for him, this arrangement was based on nothing more than the physical. Considering how little they cared for each other, he could probably dispense with the bath, but he wanted a long, leisurely coupling—and he wanted more than one before the night was done.
Turning on his heel, he headed down the stairs. He might have offered to bring his father a girl from the village, might have considered finding one for himself earlier in the day, but the truth was that he wasn’t in the habit of taking advantage of women in the area—even the willing ones. He had an obligation to see to their welfare, not to take advantage.
He acquired his pleasures in London and he hadn’t been there in a good long while. So he was quite looking forward to being intimate with his young bride, especially as she knew her way well around a man’s body. His father had the right of it there. No skittish female, but one who it seemed might be able to show him a thing or two.
Although he still hadn’t quite figured out how to take her upside down.
In the kitchen, he set three caldrons of water on the stove to begin heating before going into what had long ago been designated as the bathing room. He filled the copper tub halfway. Once the water on the stove began boiling he’d pour it into the tub. He liked his bath hot, steaming. He wondered if it would be agreeable to his wife.
His wife.
Barking out his laughter, he wondered how it was that term came to be associated with him. Bending over, he spread his arms wide, grabbed either side of the tub, and laughed again. Normally he was not prone to rash decisions, and he’d certainly not awoken that morning intending to be married by day’s end.
Yet it had come to pass. What the hell had he been thinking? He couldn’t deny that she was a fetching wench and he hadn’t minded the notion of having her in his bed. But to take her as his wife when he knew absolutely nothing about her except that he could never love her?
