Page 54 of The Viscount and the Vixen
She caught the sight of Locksley’s mouth curling up as he turned away from her. She didn’t know why it always pleased her to make him smile, or why her comment to Wortham made her feel so wifely. Coming to know her husband filled her with a sense of satisfaction as well as a measure of dread, because she feared he had the power to shatter what remained of her fragile heart.
So she thought she knew him, did she? Well enough to speak of him to a laborer as though they were friends. He didn’t like that she might actually be figuring him out, liked even less the things that he was coming to anticipate about her. He’d known her eyes would widen in surprise and pleasure when he asked about the blasted tuner for the piano. He’d known she wouldn’t be entirely comfortable taking the dressing table. But it was ridiculous to spend coin to have another made when his father had already purchased one that had gone unused for more than a quarter of a century.
He didn’t take any satisfaction in his ability to predict her reactions. Took far less in her ability to predict his. Therefore, he had decided to do something entirely unpredictable and bring her to Lydia’s Teas and Cakes before they returned to Havisham. As they’d entered, those whiskey-shaded eyes of hers had glowed with absolute delight. And he’d cursed his stupidity. He was being far too accommodating. It didn’t help matters that it always caused this odd sense of swelling in his chest that made it difficult to breathe for a few seconds whenever she flashed him a quick smile.
He did not want her smiles. He did not want her eyes sparkling. He did not want her to express gratitude to him.
As they sat at a table by the window, she began slowly peeling off her gloves. He’d not objected when she’d worn them for the journey. It was proper after all, and he needed his wife to be proper. But did she have to remove them in such a salacious manner that made him want to carry her to an upper room in the tavern across the street and strip away every piece of clothing she wore?
Clearing his throat, he turned his attention to the activity beyond the window, to the people wandering by, carrying on with their business. He spent very little time in the village, something that should no doubt be remedied now that he had a wife. They should have more presence in the future, ensure they were respected rather than feared for being mad.
“It was very kind of you to double the amount you’ll be paying for the delivery,” she said.
“Practical, Portia. It’ll make it easier for Wortham to find someone willing to cart the dressing table out there and haul it inside.” He could feel her gaze boring into him. He shifted his attention back to her. “Just as we’ll be paying your servants double the going rate. No one likes to spend time at haunted Havisham Hall.”
“With whom did you play?” she asked. “Before your father’s wards arrived?”
“No one.”
Her expression reflected sorrow. “Don’t look so sad, Portia. I knew no different so it wasn’t as though I were lonely.”
Her brow knitted, and he refrained from reaching across to smooth out the delicate folds with his thumb. “You can’t recall climbing to the ceiling in your father’s library but you recall that you weren’t lonely?”
“I should think had I been lonely that it would have made an impression and I would remember it. I don’t. Just as I wasn’t lonely before your arrival. I’m content with my own company.” Not entirely true. He’d begun to have a sense of something missing, of a need for something more, but he wasn’t going to share that with her and give her any sort of power. She was a pleasant-enough distraction, but he didn’tneedher in his life.
A young woman brought over a teapot and a plate of cakes. After she left, Portia poured tea into Locke’s cup and then her own. “Your father doesn’t enjoy tea, does he?”
“He detests it. What gave him away?”
Her lips curled up into the barest hint of a smile. “The abundance of sugar he requested, followed by the fact that he failed to take so much as a sip.”
“You’re keenly observant.”
“I try to be. Leads to less heartache.”
Watching as she nibbled delicately on a cake, he told himself that her heartache was none of his concern. He certainly wouldn’t be causing her any, as that would require she care for him, and he wasn’t going to give her cause to follow that route. Still, it nagged at him. “Did you learn that the hard way?”
She took a sip of her tea, seemed to be contemplating her answer. “In my youth I tended to view things as I wanted them to be, rather than as they were. I was apt to misjudge people and their intentions.”
He leaned forward. “What did he do to lose your love, Portia? Your husband? Have an affair?”
She looked down at her cup, circled her finger along the rim. “He did have a penchant for unmarried ladies,” she said so softly that he almost didn’t hear her.
“You need never worry that I shall be unfaithful. I take the vows we made quite seriously.”
She peered up at him through lowered lashes. “And if you fall in love with someone else?”
“I’ve told you. Love is not for me, so that shan’t happen.”
“I have found that love is not quite so easily controlled.”
“In my thirty years upon this earth, I’ve not even felt the spark of it.”
“Not true. You love your father. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be as protective of him as you are.”
“I’m merely exhibiting a son’s duty.”
Biting her lower lip, she shook her head, rolled her eyes. “You’re delusional if you believe that.”
