Page 4 of The Viscount and the Vixen
Returning his attention to Mrs.Gadstone, he watched in fascination as she slowly peeled off a black kidskin glove as though she reveled in exposing something forbidden. Quarter inch by frustrating quarter inch. Yet he seemed unable to look away as her smooth unblemished hand was revealed. No scars. No calluses. No freckles. She took the same care with uncovering the other, and he fought against envisioning those small, perfect, silken-looking hands gliding leisurely over his bare chest. With care, she set the gloves primly in her lap as though completely unaware of the effect her slow unveiling could have on a man. Although he would wager half his future fortune that she knew precisely what she was about.
“Lord Marsden, how do you prefer your tea?”
Her raspy voice shimmied down his spine, settled in his groin, damn it all. She sounded like a recently sated woman.
“An abundance of sugar, if you please.”
Locke watched as she poured, added several cubes, stirred, and offered the teacup and saucer along with a tender smile to the marquess, who smiled back as though grateful for the offering when in fact he detested tea.
“And how do you prefer your tea, Lord Locksley?”
“Surely as my mother, you should call me Locke.”
Her gaze came to bear on his, her eyes as sharp as a finely honed rapier. God, she was willing to slice him to ribbons. He’d like to see her try. “I am not yet your mother, Lord Locksley, am I? Have I done something to offend you?”
Leaning forward, he dug his elbows into his thighs. “I’m simply striving to determine why a woman as young and lovely as yourself would be willing to lie on her back so a man as shriveled as my father can slide on top of her.”
“Locke!” his father bellowed. “You’ve gone too far. Get the hell out.”
“It’s quite all right, my lord,” she said calmly, never taking her challenging gaze from Locke’s, not flinching, not blushing, not so much as arching a thinly shaped eyebrow at him. “I don’t see that your father’s preferred position for coupling is really any of your concern. Perhaps he will take me standing while coming in at me from behind. Or on my knees. Or upside down. But I assure you, he will not be shriveled.” Then she slowly lowered those damned whiskey eyes to his lap, and he cursed his cock’s betrayal. With startling detail, images of him with her in all those positions had flown through his mind. He’d grown so hard and aching that he couldn’t have gotten up and walked out if he wanted.
And she bloody well knew it.
“Tea. My lord.”
“No.” The word came out strangled. It seemed every facet of his body was intent on betraying him.
Her luscious lips turned up into a smug, triumphant smile. She turned to his father. “May I interest you in a tea cake, Lord Marsden?”
Despite the innocence of her words, all he wanted to do was drag her up against him, claim her mouth as his own, and see if it tasted as tart as it sounded.
Chapter2
“Bravo!” Marsden exclaimed, clapping, his green eyes lively. “I daresay, Mrs.Gadstone, you certainly set my son in his place. Well done!”
“Please, you must call me Portia.”
While standing up to Locksley had gained her some favor with Marsden, it still took everything within Portia to keep her hand from shaking as she handed the marquess a cake. Tremors were cascading through her like a never-ending waterfall. It wasn’t just righteous indignation that was causing her to tremble. It was a strange and unwanted attraction to Viscount Locksley that was igniting every damned nerve ending she possessed.
Although she had never met him, she’d heard enough stories about him, listened as women waxed on about his good looks, that she’d known who he was the moment he opened the door. She’d been unprepared for the magnetism that his incredible emerald eyes had sparked within her or the desire that had hit her with such force that she’d nearly spun on her heel and gone racing after the coach. His hair, black as midnight, longer than was fashionable, served to make the brilliant hue of his eyes stand out all the more. She’d never in her life had such an immediate visceral reaction to any man. That she found him so incredibly alluring was distracting beyond measure, entirely unacceptable, and remarkably dangerous.
In spite of the rude and off-putting manner in which he was doing it, she knew he was striving to protect his father and couldn’t help but respect and admire him for it. Unfortunately for him she had someone to protect as well and she was going to do it at any cost, with any means available to her. Her mind, her body, her soul. She would use them all, in any manner required—no matter how unpleasant or unsavory—to accomplish her goal.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he reached a large hand inside his jacket and withdrew something from a breast pocket. A newspaper clipping that he began to unfold. Based on its size, she knew exactly how it would read. It seemed he was preparing to fire the next volley in this silently declared clash of wills. She shored up her defenses.
“Do you find the countryside to your liking, Mrs.Gadstone?” the marquess asked kindly. She would have liked to have known him when he was younger. She suspected he’d been quite the charmer.
“Strong,” Locksley declared before she could answer.
Unlike his son, who was sadly lacking in charm. Although one wouldn’t know it based upon all the tittering about him the females of London did. He’d swept half of them off their feet and into his bed if stories were to be believed.
Marsden sighed with obvious annoyance. “I shared my advert so you would know the qualifications I sought, not so you could use it against Mrs.Gadstone. She and I have already corresponded several times. I know she meets all the requirements I seek in a woman to provide me with an heir.”
“Surely then there can be no objection to my reassuring myself.” His narrowed gaze landed on her like a weighty thing that could crush a weaker woman. “Strong,” he repeated. “You must forgive my impudence, Mrs.Gadstone, but you don’t look as though you have the strength to shove that chair from one side of the room to the other.”
“I do, however, have the strength to call in a footman to do it for me.”
“How many households have you visited where the head housekeeper serves the tea?” He held up the keys he’d procured earlier and gave them a little shake, their tinkling echoing between them. “Our indoor staff includes only the butler, the cook, and the housekeeper.”
