Page 42 of The Viscount and the Vixen
Walking forward, she kissed his father on the cheek. “Sweet dreams, my lord.”
“Father,” the marquess insisted.
She smiled, nodded, tried to look contrite, but she didn’t repeat the word. Locke had a feeling she never would. She walked past him, out the door.
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” his father asked, regaining Locke’s attention. “Prettier than your mother, but don’t tell your mother that.” He patted his chest. “Your mother’s beauty was all inside. Portia has a good bit in there as well. Don’t forget to look there.”
The woman was a conniving vixen. That his father failed to see it only reaffirmed that Locke had made the correct decision in marrying her. She would have had his father wrapped around her finger five seconds after the marriage papers were signed.
“I require only that she warms my bed. I don’t have to like her for that.”
“Don’t be a fool, Locke. Open that damned heart of yours.”
So I can live my life in misery should she die? Not likely.“Sleep well, Father.”
As for himself, he didn’t plan to sleep a single wink.
Chapter10
Standing in the hallway, she fought to ignore his telling his father that he didn’t like her. She took some consolation in the fact that he didn’t seem to despise her. And he’d given her the keys. There might be no affection lost between them, but theirs would be a civil relationship. At least outside the bed. She suspected it was going to be quite untamed within it.
Stepping out, he closed the door, turned the key, waited a heartbeat as though needing a moment to shirk off the pall that came over him after spending time with his father. Then he faced her, giving away nothing, none of his doubts, his concerns, his troubles.
“What’s wrong at the mines?” she asked.
His jaw tautened, his eyes narrowed. “Nothing is wrong at the mines.”
“You answered so quickly”—so tersely—“that I was rather sure you didn’t want to discuss the matter with him.”
“I didn’t.” He took a step nearer to her. “My father loves his mines. Get him started on them, and he can go on for hours. I have little patience for it tonight.”
He lifted her up into his arms and began striding toward his bedchamber.
“Seems you haven’t any patience at all,” she said.
“Be grateful for it.”
So brusque, and yet he wasn’t a hard man, a man she should fear. A hard man would have seen his father placed in a mental asylum. A hard man wouldn’t make allowances for idiosyncratic servants. A hard man would have taken her already.
He crossed the threshold, kicking the door closed in his wake. This time he set her down nearer to the bed, within tossing distance of the mattress. “Turn around,” he ordered.
Shoving back any trepidation, any desire to know him better before he had his way with her, she spun around, her gaze falling on the thick comforter, wondering if she should move it aside, but she suspected nothing about what was to follow would be very tidy.
Seven seconds was all it took for him to have the lacings of her gown undone. His callused finger skimmed the lower edge of her corset, just below the small of her back, over the curve of her buttocks. Then his mouth, hot and damp, was following the same path, causing heated dew to gather between her legs. The sweet torture was almost more than she could stand. Finally, he straightened and began working on the laces of her corset. Thank God, because she could barely breathe as anticipation coursed through her.
She’d wanted to tease him with what she wasn’t wearing, but the thought had flittered at the edge of her mind that he would be able to claim her so easily. So little separated her skin, her womanhood from him.
Six seconds on the corset. She pressed her hand against her stomach to keep her clothes from falling. He was definitely moving faster tonight. In less than a minute she was going to be on her back. He trailed his finger along her spine, down, up. He flattened his palms against her shoulder blades and slowly moved his hands around her shoulders, easing her gown aside until it fell to the floor. The corset followed it down.
“Who would have thought that someone with such a delicate back would have such backbone?” he asked, and she could have sworn she heard admiration in his voice. “Step out of the clothes.”
She did as he bade, then swung around. “Are you just—”Going to command me all night?died on her lips. She didn’t know if anyone had ever looked at her with such hunger, a starving beast willing to do anything to satiate his desires.
“Christ, you’re beautiful.” He cupped his hands beneath her breasts, his thumb and forefinger pinching her nipples, not too hard, not too softly, as though he knew exactly what she required.
Swallowing hard, she resisted the urge to snatch up her gown and cover herself. His perusal, so heated, so intense, made her feel exposed. Hell, she was exposed, at a disadvantage. “Remove your jacket.”
He grinned darkly. “Only my jacket?”
