Page 29 of The Viscount and the Vixen
“He did.” She lifted the cup, took a small sip, her lips teasing the rim, the heated brew. What was wrong with him to think he’d never seen anything more provocative in his life? She licked that lower lip, then the upper. “I thought to put the funds to better use. Enhancing my wardrobe, for example.”
“Surely your husband didn’t leave you penniless.”
“He left me nothing at all. His money was for gambling and pleasure. So I was quite destitute and desperate when I saw your father’s advert.” She lowered her head slightly. “Are you going to eat?”
He looked down to see a plate had been set before him. Glancing over, he saw Gilbert standing at attention in his usual spot. How the devil had he made his delivery without Locke noticing? He wasn’t the most fleet of foot or the quietest. It was her. She managed to somehow garner every last bit of attention he possessed. He should stop asking her questions now. He was not going to sympathize with her scheming, no matter how bad off her husband may have left her.
“You said you were going to the mines today,” she mused softly.
“Yes, immediately after breakfast.”
“Will you hand over my allowance for the month before you leave?”
He almost laughed. How easy it was to forget that marriage to her had come with a price. “Of course, my little mercenary. As soon as we’ve finished eating.”
“Then we should get to it, shouldn’t we?” She turned her attention to the creamed eggs.
For the life of him, he couldn’t determine why earlier he’d wanted her to join him—except for a while there, she made the room feel not quite so empty.
Chapter8
She had to take such care in answering his questions that it was trying beyond measure. There had never been a husband. She wasn’t a widow. But there had been a love, what she had thought was a grand love. What a fool she’d been. She wasn’t going to make the mistake of falling in love again. He had no interest in it and neither did she. Which should have made them perfect for each other. Instead it served to tie her stomach into knots. She could have coerced the marquess into caring for her. She didn’t stand a chance of doing that with his obstinate son.
Yet she felt this insane urge to be as honest as she could with him. If he ever discovered the full truth, he would at least see that she had limited her deception as much as she was able. Of course, if he discovered the full truth, it would all be moot, as he was likely to kill her anyway. Put those strong hands of his about her neck and choke the very life from her.
But she couldn’t worry about the future. She had to concentrate on the present. And presently he was leading her down the hallway to the library. He strode into what she was certain could easily become her favorite room. While it was tidy, it still had a musty scent to it that wasn’t completely a result of all the books that lined the shelves. She wondered how long it had been since the room was aired, the carpets beaten, and the draperies washed.
He walked over to a painting of dogs on a hunt, flipped it aside as though it were a door, and revealed a safe. While she couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, she heard a series of metal clicks. Then there was a clack. The clinking of coins, followed by more clanking before he swung the painting back into place.
He returned to her side, held up his hand. She extended hers, palm up. He dropped a velvet pouch into its center. She was incredibly tempted to open it and count out the money, but it had the correct heft and there should be some trust in their relationship. He gave her what she could only describe as a disappointing smile before heading for his desk.
“Go ahead and count it,” he said.
“I trust you.”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “No, you don’t.”
Had he been able to read her mind? That would be unfortunate. “If I discover it short later, I know where to find you.”
He hoisted a hip onto the edge of the desk, crossed his arms over that wide chest. “Anything you require I will purchase for you, so why do you need an allowance?”
“For things that aren’t required.”
“Such as?”
She lifted a shoulder. “A frivolous bonnet.”A residence.“An extra pair of slippers.”Food.“Chocolates.”A new life.Safety. Security.
“You are my wife, Portia. It is my duty to see after your care.”
“The care of my person, yes, but the care of my heart? I daresay you no doubt draw the line there.”
“I want you to find happiness here.”
He almost made her feel guilty for taking advantage—almost. But too much was at stake. She held up the pouch. “I have.”
He shoved himself up off the desk. “I have to get to the mines. Enjoy your day. And be prepared for tonight. You won’t get another reprieve.”
“I didn’t ask for one,” she reminded him sharply. “I was willing to have a go at it this morning, but you turned me down.”
