Page 58 of The Viscount and the Vixen
The lad clenched his jaw, shook his head. “No, m’lady.”
“I shall hope not, but bear in mind that I shan’t tolerate any behavior that is not to my liking, nor shall I keep in our employ anyone who vexes me or his Lordship.”
“Yes, m’lady, but Ididsee her.”
“It might be best to keep that to yourself.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
She faced Locke. “Did you wish to add anything?”
He slowly shook his head. The woman was mercurial. One moment she was acting as though she were the servants’ equal and the next she reasserted herself as mistress of the household. A chameleon of sorts. During his travels, he’d seen enough creatures with the ability to blend into their surroundings that he knew they could be quite dangerous, had the sense that the same could be said of her. “No, I believe you handled it well enough.”
“Right.” She clapped her hands again to gain everyone’s attention. “As it’s nearly nightfall, I shall begin my preparation for dinner. Cullie, come with me. Sylvie and Marta, assist Mrs.Dorset in the kitchen. Thomas and George, report to Mr.Gilbert once you’ve seen to my bath. Will you be waiting for me in the library, my lord?”
As though there was anyplace else for him to wait. “Yes, I will.”
It would take her a while, though, so he decided to visit with his father. He went to the library first to secure them each a glass of scotch before making his way to the master bedchamber. He knocked on the door, waited for his father to invite him in. Once inside, he handed his father a glass, leaned a shoulder against the window near where his father sat, and watched the sky turning a darker gray and shadows spreading over the land.
“I wanted you to know that we’ve hired a few servants,” he told his father.
“I’m aware. Portia introduced them to me earlier. That George is going to be a handful, I think. Bears watching.”
“She can keep him in his place.”
“Is that respect I hear in your voice?” his father asked.
He sipped his scotch, kept his gaze on the land. “Merely an observation.”
“Careful, Locke, you’re going to start liking the girl.”
“I don’t dislike her.” He placed his back against the wall, studied the amber liquid in his glass. The rich hue reminded him of her eyes. “She’s comfortable ordering people about. She’s equally comfortable doing the work. One moment she gives the impression she’s a country lass, the next she takes on the airs of the nobility. What is her background exactly?”
His father remained silent. Locke glowered at him. “No harm in telling me.”
“Commoner, as she said.”
“What of her husband?”
“Well off enough that she managed a household. At least she claimed to manage one.”
“Yet he left her with nothing.”
“Men are not always the best that they can be. Nor, unfortunately, do they always appreciate the women in their lives. Or he was young enough to think there was plenty of time to make arrangements for her in the event of his death. That’s probably it. You never expect to go young. Always time to see to business later.”
Locke glanced back to the moors. Almost dark now. “I should like to read the letters that she wrote to you.”
His father chuckled low. “That would be too easy. If you want to know something more about her, ask her. Talk with her, have a discourse. Flirt.”
He glared at his sire. “A man doesn’t flirt with his wife.”
His father looked at him as though he’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t. “Don’t be a fool, boy. Of course he does.”
“He’s obtained her. What’s the point?”
“The point is to make her eyes sparkle like the rarest of jewels, to bring color to her cheeks, to cause the corners of her mouth to turn up ever so slightly. To let her know she is appreciated, still regarded as special, worth the effort. To give her cause to fall a little bit more in love. I flirted with your mother until the day she died.” He lifted a slender shoulder, rounded with age. “Still do from time to time.”
It took everything within Locke not to roll his eyes. “Trust me, she felt bloody well special last night in my bed.”
