Page 76 of The Viscount and the Vixen
“It’s been a long day.”
His father studied her as though searching for something before finally nodding. “I suppose it has. I’ll see you both in the morning.” He wandered into his room. Locke turned the key in the door.
“I do wish you didn’t have to do that,” she said.
He wished it as well. “A lot of memories stirred up today. He’ll be wandering the moors if I don’t.”
“He seemed so content tonight.”
Locke almost turned the key the other way. “Because he believes my mother was gazing in through the window. Don’t make me feel guilty about my desire to keep him safe.”
“You’re right, of course. I’m sorry.”
He offered his arm, led her into their bedchamber, fighting to ignore the stirrings he heard in the chambers they passed. It seemed his friends were a randy lot. Not that he blamed them. Something about the isolation out here called to one’s baser instincts. In London, during any of his travels, he’d never been as desperate to possess a woman as he was to have Portia. If he wasn’t striving to maintain a bit of decorum and distance, he’d have taken her hand and dashed to their room.
Closing the door behind them, he pivoted around to find her waiting in the center of the room, her back to him. His unlacing her gown had become a nightly ritual. After shrugging out of his jacket, he tossed it onto a nearby chair. His waistcoat and neck cloth joined it before he approached her. He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck. On a soft sigh, she dropped back her head.
“Father was correct. You are an exceptional hostess.”
“The additional servants helped.”
Why was she always so reluctant to take credit for her achievements? That first day, modesty was not something he’d expected of her. He went to work unlacing her gown. “You’ll have to hire more as you continue cleaning out the residence.”
“I thought I would cease with those efforts until the mines are paying off again.”
His fingers stilled at the small of her back. He wished she didn’t know the truth of the mines. “No need. We’re not beggars, Portia.” Not yet, anyway.
He eased her gown down to floor. After she stepped out of it, she faced him. “Will you discuss the mining situation with Ashebury and Greyling?” she asked.
“No. They know naught about mining.” He cradled her cheek. “You are an incredible lady of the manor. Let me pamper you.”
Once he had all her clothes removed and her hair unpinned, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Another ritual. He didn’t know why he enjoyed it so much when she could just as easily walk those remaining few feet. But he liked that he dictated the pace, that he determined if they went slowly or quickly.
“Roll over onto your stomach,” he ordered. She didn’t object. She never did, and for the first time, he wondered if she would tell him if there was something she didn’t like. Ashe and Edward were more in tune with their wives. It had been evident all night. They would have no doubt known if their wife was exhausted long before they retired to the bedchamber. It wasn’t that he didn’t pay attention. He simply didn’t know Portia as well as his friends knew their wives.
But then they’d known their wives a good deal longer than he’d known his. However, even as he sought the excuse, he knew the truth was that he’d had no desire to truly know her.
Opening a drawer in the table beside the bed, he reached in and removed a vial.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“A musk-scented oil I purchased during one of my travels. The seller assured me it would bring heightened pleasure. I thought to test it on you.”
“If the pleasure you bring me is heightened any further, I’m likely to expire on the spot.”
It was a good thing he’d removed his waistcoat. The buttons might have popped off with the swelling of his pride. He’d never doubted that he brought her pleasure. He couldn’t explain why he wanted to bring her so much more. Nor did he know why a shiver of foreboding went through him at the thought of her dying. “Let’s give it a try, shall we?” he asked, brushing her hair aside until it all pooled on her pillow.
She came up on her elbows. “With company about? I don’t need to be screaming tonight.”
“Bite down on the sheet.” He rolled up the sleeves on his shirt, loosened the buttons at his throat. He removed the stopper from the vial, poured some cool oil into his palm, and rubbed his hands briskly together to warm the liquid. He pressed his hands to the small of her back. With a moan, she flattened herself against the mattress and closed her eyes.
He took long leisurely strokes up and down either side of her spine, well aware of her going limpid beneath his touch. “What is your father’s name?”
The tightness instantaneously returned. “Why are you asking?”
“When I was talking with Ashe and Edward earlier, in the library, they had questions to which I had no answers. It made me curious.”
“He’s no longer in my life so his name is of no concern.”
