Page 41 of The Viscount and the Vixen
He didn’t like the tightness in his chest because she sounded as though she truly cared about his sire. It didn’t matter how she felt about the marquess. Locke wasn’t going to care about her, refused to allow himself to soften toward her, to be wrapped around her finger. Theirs was a relationship defined by emotional distance. It suited them both. Still, he lowered her feet to the floor. “I won’t be but a moment. Wait here.”
He was leaning in to give her a quick peck on the lips when the anger rushed over her features and stilled him.
“I’m not a dog to be commanded about,” she said. “I wish to say good night to the marquess, and so I shall, with or without your approval.”
He considered reminding her of a woman’s place—to obey her husband in all matters—but that would no doubt result in a quarrel, as she wasn’t the sort to obey anyone. It was one of the aspects to her that drew him in. Besides, he liked that she wasn’t a withering violet, that she stood toe to toe against him, would even stomp on his toe if need be. But he required some sort of victory, so he darted in for a quick kiss before turning to the door and giving it a sharp rap.
“Come in,” his father announced.
Opening the door, he indicated for her to precede him. She waltzed in with a victorious flourish. She was in need of taming, but he didn’t have it within him to kill her spirit. Standing behind her, he fought not to estimate how many seconds it would take him to undo the lacings of her gown.
“Twelve,” his father announced.
Locke looked over her shoulder to where his father sat by the window. “Pardon?”
“It’ll take you twelve seconds to get those lacings undone.”
His jaw tautened. He didn’t like being so easy to read. “Eight.”
“We’re not here to discuss my lacings,” she chastised, and he liked that she didn’t wither or stammer with the knowledge that they were discussing what was to come. “We’re here to see if you require anything before we retire.”
“An heir. But I’ll get that after you retire.”
“Honestly, my lord, you need to expand your interests. Perhaps you’d like for me to read to you for a bit.”
“No,” Locke growled.
She glanced back innocently, and he knew there was no innocence in her. Wicked woman was only seeking to torment him further. “We are not reading to him tonight,” he ground out.
“As you wish.” She turned back to his father. “We missed you during dinner.”
“I prefer to dine here.”
“Solitude does not become you, my lord.”
“I’m never alone, my dear, and you must call me Father.”
She did blush then. She really wasn’t comfortable with it, and he briefly wondered why. “Well, if there’s nothing you need, we’ll be off to bed,” he said.
“Bit early for bed.”
Locke fought not to stare. Had they not just been discussing her lacings and an heir? “I’ve had a long day.”
The wrinkles on his father’s face shifted downward. “I saw you riding out, to the mines I assume. You’ve been going there a lot lately. Is something amiss?”
He didn’t plan to discuss the troubles with him ever, but especially not tonight. “Everything is fine.”
Portia gave him a speculative look that he didn’t want to interpret.
“I’ll be locking the door now,” he told the marquess gently. “I just wanted you to know.”
His father waved a hand as though bothered by a fly. “Go ahead. Your mother will be here soon.”
Locke didn’t want to feel guilty about this. It was for his father’s protection as much as anything. “Are you certain you have everything you need?”
“I haven’t had everything I need since your mother died. But no matter. You don’t need to listen to an old man’s grumblings. Go bed your wife. Give me my heir.”
With those words, his guilt eased, and he noticed that the top of Portia’s ears turned red. Maybe she blushed more than he thought. Just not always on her face. Interesting. He’d have to explore the possibility further. He liked the idea of her blushing in other areas.
