Page 84 of The Viscount and the Vixen
“You shouldn’t be here, m’lady, not in your condition.”
“I’m not doing anything other than standing around. At the residence I’d merely pace and wear a hole in the carpeting.” And worry all the more. She didn’t know why she felt that being here would somehow alter the outcome. Perhaps that was the reason Locksley worked in the mines. It was much easier to be present and involved than merely waiting at a distance for word of success.
A commotion at the mouth of the tunnel caught her attention. A group of men, covered in filth and grime, barely identifiable, staggered out. Yet she recognized one of them by the breadth of his shoulders, the way he held himself. He might be shoveling dirt with the best of them, but every pore of his body screamed noble birth.
Before she’d given it any thought, she was racing to him. He turned and those green eyes landed on her. Then he grinned, his smile white and bright in that dirt-covered face. He held out his arms and she leaped at him. He caught her and spun her around.
“You’re alive! You’re safe,” she cried.
“We found more tin, Portia. More tin.” Then his mouth was on hers, hungry and greedy, passionate and so full of life. He smelled of the earth, rich and dark.
When he pulled back, she plowed her hands through his hair, watching as dirt scattered on the wind. “I thought there was an accident.”
“There was, but we found the vein just before the collapse. We know it’s there now. We’ll know where to go after it.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“We’ll buttress it better.” Then he was kissing her again.
Locke sank down into the hot water. Trapped inside the mine, surrounded by darkness, thoughts of Portia had provided a light for his soul as he’d encouraged the other five men entombed with him to work to dig themselves out. He’d never contemplated not finding freedom, never considered death as an avenue for escape, because it would have kept him from her. When he’d come out of the mine and seen her rushing toward him, the joy that had spiraled through him had been unsettling. She was coming to mean too much, and yet he couldn’t quite push back the emotions, no matter how dangerous or risky to his sanity they might be.
Now hearing the door open, he glanced back over his shoulder. He shouldn’t be so grateful for Portia’s arrival, but damn if he wasn’t.
“I thought you could use a drink,” she said as she handed him a glass filled with amber liquid.
“Indeed I could.” He swallowed a good portion of it, welcomed the burning in his chest.
Kneeling beside him, she took a cloth, dipped it in the water, rubbed soap over it.
“Are you going to wash me?” he asked.
She gave him a saucy smile. “I thought I might. Were you scared?”
“Terrified.”
Her eyes widened, and all he wanted was to drink them in. “Were you really?” she asked.
Sighing, he wasn’t certain how to explain it. “I wasn’t afraid. To be honest, I was more disappointed in myself because I realized that if I didn’t make it out, I’d be leaving a great deal undone.”
“I would have been so frightened.”
“No, you wouldn’t have.” He trailed his finger around her face. “You would have been encouraging the others, leading them toward digging you out.”
“You give me too much credit.” She began wiping the cloth over his chest.
“I want to take you to London.”
Her hand stilled, near his heart, and he wondered if she could hear it pounding. “Why?”
“To introduce you into Society.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“You’re my wife. Surely you understood that we would go to London for the Season.”
“You haven’t gone in years.”
“Which is the reason we need to go. To reestablish ourselves, especially now that a child is on the way.”
