Page 88 of The Viscount and the Vixen
“I discovered other aspects of the city weren’t to my taste.”
She really wished they hadn’t come to town, that he hadn’t faced her squarely, hadn’t begun to slowly run his gaze over her as though he sought out the flawed facets of her existence.
His eyes narrowed. “You were running from something.”
“Poverty,” she answered, twirling toward the center of the room. “I should probably check on Cullie, make certain—”
“It was more than that,” he said quietly. “You’re beautiful enough, clever enough, resourceful enough that you could have enticed any man with means into marrying you if you set your mind to it. You could have stayed in London.”
“All that required work and effort. Answering your father’s advert was the simplest solution.”
“You’re not one to take the uncomplicated route. I also suspect there was nothing at all easy in deciding to marry an aged man rumored to be mad.”
She swung back around. She should deny it or, better yet, press her body against his and distract him from this line of reasoning. But she was so weary of constantly raising her guard. “Not all my memories here are pleasant. Even now I’m struggling to keep at bay my reasons for leaving.”
He set aside his glass, approached her, and cradled her face between his strong hands. Hands that wielded pick and shovel. Hands that caressed to command pleasure. “Why did you leave, Portia? Why did you come to Havisham?”
She should tell him now, not risk his finding out through some accidental or careless word. Yet she’d come so far, worked so hard to put everything behind her. “We agreed to leave the past in the past.”
“I don’t think it was the power, the money, or the prestige. I’ve seen you on your hands and knees, cleaning. You don’t shower yourself with gifts or clothing. You don’t flaunt your position. You speak to people as though they are your equals. All the things you gained by marrying a peer, you haven’t embraced. So why marry a peer?”
“Security. I told you that.”
“Why marry an aging one?”
“It was expedient. Honestly, Locksley, I don’t know why we’re discussing this.”
“I want to understand you, Portia.”
“There is nothing to understand.” She considered breaking away, pulling back, but he held her with such insistence, not so much with his hands as with his eyes.
“When I married you, I cared about only knowing you in bed. Now much to my consternation, I want to know everything about you.”
No, you don’t. Not really.
Finally, he released his hold on her, turned away. She balled up her fists to stop herself from reaching for him, apologizing, begging him to forgive her.
“I thought about going to the club tonight,” he said as he perched himself on the corner of his desk. “But that’s not exactly the place where I want to introduce my wife to Society.”
If he was thinking of taking her with him, then he was referring to the Twin Dragons, an exclusive club for men and women. She’d never been inside although she’d once seen it from the outside. Montie had never been one for taking her places, but she knew he frequented the establishment. She had no desire to run into him there. “I agree that a gambling den won’t make the best impression. You should go without me.”
“Leaving you alone our first night in London hardly seems gentlemanly.”
“To be quite honest, I’m rather weary from the journey and was considering retiring early.” Stepping forward, she trailed her hands up his chest, over his shoulders. “Perhaps you’d be willing to undress me before you go.”
Grinning, he drew her in close. “Delighted to do so, but you know I won’t stop there.”
She nipped playfully at his chin. “I’m counting on it.”
Locke had always enjoyed spending time at the Twin Dragons, especially after the owner, Drake Darling, opened the place up to women. The establishment offered gambling, a ballroom, a dining room, a gathering room for all members, and an assortment of areas designated for only men or only women. So one could mix with the fairer sex if one was of a mind or seek less exciting company. He’d opted for the less exciting company. More than that, he’d opted for a less exciting activity: sitting in the gentlemen’s room and indulging in scotch. He could have done the same in his library.
He’d given a game of cards a go, but had quickly become bored with the task. Generally he relished pitting his skills against others’ talents, but he found himself constantly wishing that Portia were sitting beside him. With her ability not to give anything away, he suspected she’d come away with a good portion of the winnings.
It was the fact that she was so good at not revealing herself that made him know something was amiss in London. He’d felt the tension begin radiating off her as they’d neared the city. It had been so prevalent that he’d have not been surprised if she’d suddenly leaped out of the coach and begun a mad dash back to Havisham.
London made her anxious. Because her husband had died here? Because he’d broken her heart? He could not help but believe there was more to it than that. The woman who had boldly come to Havisham, not backed out of marriage when offered an alternative spouse, was not one to get unsettled, and yet—
“Evening, Locksley.”
