Page 9 of The Viscount and the Vixen
Chapter3
It was the very worst mistake he’d made in his life. Worse than the time he’d angered a tribal warlord by flirting with his daughter or gone swimming in the Nile and nearly become a crocodile’s main course or misjudged the weather and gotten caught in a snowstorm in the Himalayas.
He knew he’d made a grave error in judgment, egging her on until she finally opened her mouth to him and welcomed his assault. If he’d thought for one minute that his father held sincere affection for this woman, if he thought he viewed her as anything other than a means to an end, he wouldn’t have indulged, he would have kept his distance, would have been true to his word to remain a gentleman.
But those luscious lips that spouted such tart rejoinders, that tipped up only slightly when she smiled, that promised pleasure would be found within her arms, were simply too tempting for any mortal man to resist. He’d merely wanted a taste, one little taste, and then he could move on to a tavern wench this evening.
Only now he knew that was going to be nigh on impossible. She tasted of peppermint, and he suspected if he riffled through her reticule that he’d find a little stash of the hard sweets. She’d no doubt sucked on one just as she was now sucking on his tongue, driving him to distraction, causing him to clamp his arms around her all the tighter. She was bold, daring, as adventurous as he. His father wanted a woman who knew her way around a man’s body.
He had a feeling that Mrs.Portia Gadstone could turn a man inside out, wring him dry, and have him gratefully asking for more.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he stared down at her. Her eyes were heated, her breaths shallow. Shoving on his shoulders, she stepped back, leaned against the railing, and met his gaze head on as though she’d done nothing of which to be ashamed.
“I hope you enjoyed your taste, my lord. Once I’m wed to your father, there will be no more sampling of the goods.”
So cool, so calm, but the flush in her cheeks gave her away. She had not been as unaffected by the kiss as she was striving to appear. What had caused her to learn to shield her emotions like that? What had transpired to make her so wary of revealing how she truly felt?
She gave nothing away, this one. He doubted he’d learn anything about her by reading the correspondence, at least nothing that went below the surface. Every word she spoke was calculated to reveal only enough to satisfy. But then he, too, was a master at keeping his distance, giving little away. He wanted to know no one well, wanted them to know him even less. The heart was better protected that way. If no one mattered, no one could cause him to sink into despair. Protect his sanity at all costs, that was his mantra. “I assure you, you have nothing to worry over. I’d never cuckold my father. And married women have never been to my taste. I have no respect for those who engage in deceit.”
He thought he caught sight of the barest of flinches. Although perhaps it was simply relief washing through her to know that once the vows were exchanged he would give her a wide berth.
With a sigh, she glanced around. “I believe I’ve seen enough, Lord Locksley. Your father is no doubt beginning to worry. I should return to him.”
“Surely after such an intimacy, we can be a bit less formal. Please call me Locke.” He offered his arm.
“I believe I can make my own way.” As though to prove it, she charged forward, her heels clicking over the stones, then the wood as she crossed the threshold.
While he followed at a discrete distance, he enjoyed this view of her, the rigid set of her spine, the enticing swaying of her narrow hips. He closed the door to the terrace, followed her up the stairs, and began locking the entrance to the grand salon.
“Is that really necessary?” she asked. “With only adults living here, surely it is enough to simply tell them not to open the doors.”
After securing the door, he turned to her. “Apparently my mother’s ghost can’t travel through locked doors, so the more of them that are locked, the more likely it is that she will remain out on the moors.”
She gaped at him, her eyes rounded with surprise.
“Here now, in all the exchanged correspondence, did my father neglect to mention that the estate is haunted?”
“Surely you don’t believe that.”
“Of course I don’t. But he does. I’m sure once he’s visited your bed tonight that he’ll warn you to lock your door after he departs and to never sleep with a window open. Never go out on the moors at night. She’ll snatch you up.”
“Cautions to make young lads behave.”
“But I am no longer a young lad, yet the cautions remain.”
“I suppose I should be relieved then that I don’t believe in ghosts either.” Pivoting on her heel, she headed down the stairs.
He liked this view very much indeed, had to enjoy it while he could. He had told her true. He would not cuckold his father. Once they were married, he was going to avoid her as though she carried the plague.
He caught up to her in the foyer, with only a few inches separating them as she strolled into the parlor. His father was slumped in the chair, eyes closed.
Her hand went to her chest. “My God.” She turned to Locke, panic reflected in her eyes. “Is he dead?”
She seemed genuinely concerned, but then with his untimely death before the vows were exchanged, she would lose the dower house and anything else his sire had promised her. His father released a thundering snore. With a little screech, she hopped back.
Chuckling, Locke moved past her. “For someone who doesn’t believe in ghosts, you’re awfully skittish.”
“I feared he was dead.”
