Page 26 of The Viscount and the Vixen
He should have paid her off. With a bit of effort, he could have bargained her down to a reasonable amount. Only he hadn’t wanted to bargain with her. Devil take him. He didn’t know if he’d ever met a woman with as much backbone and daring as she. He’d wager the tin mines that she’d not truly expected to marry, that she had come here hoping to walk away with a tidy sum.
He’d wanted to best her, with her arrogance and her ability to look at him as though she knew precisely how badly he wanted to possess her. More the fool was he.
So why hadn’t he simply tossed up her skirts and taken her? Because he wanted her as wet and eager for him as he was hard and desperate for her. There may be nothing between them except the physical, but by God he was going to make the most of that. He was going to torment and torture her. He was going to have her begging him to plow into her.
His laughter, harsh and deep, echoed around him. He could have had all that without marrying her. She wasn’t immune to him. The few moments they were together on the terrace proved that. He could have convinced her to walk away with a paltry sum.
Only he hadn’t wanted her to walk away.
That was the truth of it, and he could no more explain why than he could decipher where exactly they’d find veins of tin hidden within the earth.
Shaking his head, he pushed himself up. He was married years before he’d planned, to a woman he had no interest in knowing. Not true. He did want to know her. Her breasts, her shoulders, the haven between her thighs. He wanted to become familiar with her cries of pleasure, her hands stroking him, her tightness enveloping him.
But a bath first.
He poured only one pot of boiling water into the tub. It heated the water to a comfortable temperature. He’d save the others until he discovered how hot she liked her bathwater. Considerate of him.
As he started to leave the room to fetch her, he stopped, glanced back at the Spartan surroundings. A wooden bench he used to pull on his boots, some pegs on the walls where he hung the clothes not in use. Not the most romantic of places. They wouldn’t consummate their relationship here, but they could certainly reveal themselves, taunt and tease each other—
Damnation. He was going to let her enjoy her bath alone. Wooing a woman beside a kitchen was no wooing at all. Not that she required wooing. She was his wife, but he was well aware that the first time they came together would set the tone for their marriage. He wanted pleasant, enjoyable, heated evenings with his little mercenary.
But when he arrived in his bedchamber, he discovered her curled on her side asleep on top of the covers, as though she’d merely meant to relax for a bit while waiting for him. One hand rested beneath her cheek, the other was pressed flat, almost protectively, against her stomach—the place where his child would grow within her. The babe who would make his father happy. His heir.
The weight of that landed heavily on his chest. He had planned to marry, had planned to provide an heir. Just not for a while yet, but he couldn’t fault his father for pushing him. Ashe and Grey already had their heirs. It was time he did as well.
As quietly as possible, he eased closer to the bed and studied his wife. In sleep, she seemed younger, more innocent, but a woman with her tart tongue could not be wholly innocent. For the first time he wondered what her marriage had been like, how her husband may have treated her. She’d loved the man.
She’d never love Locke.
He was unprepared for the pang that thought brought with it. He didn’t need love, didn’t want it, and he most certainly wasn’t going to give it. It angered him that he was suddenly quite curious about her. He had no interest in her except for the surcease she would provide to his body and the heir she would give him. An heir and a spare.
An image flashed of a little ginger-haired girl looking up at him with whiskey eyes. He didn’t want a daughter. He didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want anything that challenged his sanity. It was best not to care, to become lost in work, in managing the estates, in seeing to his duty.
His duty required that he plant his seed in this woman. He would do it as unemotionally as possible. He would ensure that she never had any doubt regarding the strict businesslike tone of their relationship. He was going to use her just as she’d planned to use his father. For gain, to acquire what he needed. Other than that, she could go to the devil.
She could also bathe in the morning. It had grown late. No sense in waking her now. He didn’t want a lethargic coming together.
Reaching across her, he grabbed the blankets and folded them over her. Holding his breath, he watched as she wiggled, settled beneath the covers, and he fought not to envision her wiggling and settling in beneath him.
Spinning on his heel, he headed for the bathing room, hoping to hell that the water had cooled, because now he was in desperate need of a frigid bath to douse his desires.
Chapter7
Portia couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so deeply, so soundly. Feeling completely rested was almost enough to make her believe she was safe. With a low moan and a languorous stretch she slowly opened her eyes to a room awash in faint light and her husband at the washstand, slowly guiding a straight razor up his neck and over his chin.
He wore only trousers. Her mouth went dry as she took in the sight of his broad shoulders and muscled back. She’d seen and felt the evidence that he didn’t spend his days lounging about, but still the perfection of his bronzed physique was a bit unsettling. Not an ounce of excess marred him. He was all corded muscle, ropy sinew, and strength. She was quite mesmerized observing the play of his muscles as he shaved.
“You’re awake, I see.” His deep voice sliced through the quiet.
Her gaze slammed into his, reflected in the oval mirror hanging above the washstand, and she wondered how long he might have been watching her. Her cheeks warmed.
“You didn’t wake me for my bath.”
“Seemed cruel.” He tipped his head back, began scraping up the other side. “You seemed lost to the world. A bath is waiting for you when you’re ready. It won’t take Mrs.Barnaby any time at all to warm it.”
Taking a deep breath, she tried to regain her equilibrium. “I suppose you’re coming back to bed.”
She was grateful the words came out strong and forceful, giving no hint whatsoever that she was quivering with the thought of him shucking those trousers and climbing on top of her.
