Page 34 of The Viscount and the Vixen
“Cardinal spiders, no doubt. They say Wolsey had an aversion to them.”
“Smart man.”
Approaching her, he wondered why it was that he found himself drawn to her more than ever. She more closely resembled a street sweeper than the wife of a lord. Yet drawn to her he was. “You have a spider web in your hair—”
“What? No!” She began slapping at her head.
He grabbed her wrists. “Hold still.”
Although she looked fairly petrified, she moved not at all. He wasn’t even certain she was breathing. Those whiskey eyes held a measure of trust that he didn’t want to disappoint. Somehow she seemed more vulnerable with the trail of dust along her cheek. He didn’t like her appearing in such a state. He preferred her strong and tough. He brushed the back of his hand across the silken strands that rested against her hair and scarf, drawing them away. “There. All gone.”
“I hate spiders.”
“Then you’d despise going into the mines.”
Her brow furrowed. “Do you go into them?”
He hadn’t meant to disclose how he spent his day. “Occasionally. After all, we own them; therefore, it behooves me to give them a look.” A change in topic was in order. “What are you doing in here?”
“I would think that answer is obvious.”
With the danger of the spiders gone, she was back to her tart self. Much easier to deal with. “Then I suppose the better question is why are you doing it when I’ve already stated that change upsets my father?”
“Surely this room is far enough away from him that he’ll never know what I’ve done.” She stepped away, swept her arms wide as though to encompass everything surrounding them. “It’s such a glorious room. How could I leave it in disarray?”
She rushed over to the piano. The fading light cast her in silhouette, and yet still he could see her brilliant smile. “Isn’t this gorgeous? Or it will be once I’ve polished it. I could play for you in the evenings.”
“I had a different sort ofplayin mind.”
Her shoulders slumped, and all the exuberance seemed to leak out of her as air did from a balloon. “Yes, of course. Silly of me to think we might have more.” She trailed a finger along a curved edge, inhaled deeply. Disappointment radiated from her.
He hated that he’d killed her smile. “Do you play?”
She glanced over at him. “I do. Not since I left home, so I’m terribly out of practice, and the pianoforte needs tuning, so it would no doubt not be a pleasurable experience for you. But this room... it must have been so magnificent once.”
He fought to convince himself that she wanted that magnificence for herself. That she wanted the grandness of this room to enhance her own majesty, and yet he couldn’t quite persuade himself of the truth of that. There was an honesty in her voice when she spoke of the room that made him think she was being more candid with him at that moment than she’d been since he opened the door to her yesterday afternoon. It had nothing to do with baubles, coin, title, or gain. She saw this room as it might have once been. All his life he’d strived not to see any of the chambers as they’d appeared in the past, hadn’t wanted to see the potential in them, had never wanted to envision laughter echoing between the walls, joy spreading to the ceilings, gladness sweeping along the floor. These rooms merely served as evidence that no good could come from love, that it was best to avoid—
“Is that your mother?” she asked tenderly, cutting into his thoughts.
He didn’t want her to be tender or soft. He wanted her to be as cold as the coins she craved. Still he followed her gaze toward the portrait hanging over the fireplace. His father possessed a miniature of the same woman that he always carried with him and sometimes showed to Locke. Her eyes, her smile always drew him in. As a lad, he’d resented her for dying, for leaving him. It was many years before he understood she’d had no choice.
Staring at her behind a film of grime, he could understand why his father had loved her. Even though she existed now only in oils, her image seemed vibrant. She possessed the ability to warm his heart, to make him feel guilty that he hadn’t accepted Portia’s offer to play the pianoforte for him. “Yes.”
“I didn’t think so at first, but the more I’ve gazed at her from different angles, I’ve decided she was very beautiful.”
“Beautiful enough to drive a man insane.”
“Losing her drove him insane, not her. There is a difference.”
He looked over at her. A corner of her mouth and one brow tilted up ever so slightly.
“You would go mad if I were to die,” she said teasingly.
Slowly he shook his head, unwilling to take this matter lightly. “I’ll not give you my heart, Portia. I was clear on that aspect of our relationship. We can have the marriage annulled tomorrow if you went into this arrangement believing you could somehow acquire it.”
She paled, no doubt at the mention of an annulled marriage that would deny her all she sought to gain. “I have no illusions regarding what you want of me, my lord. I suppose we should make haste toward the consummation of this marriage.”
Why was it that her haughty tone could make him feel like such an ass, when it should merely confirm why she’d sought the marriage with his father to begin with? He touched the dirt on her cheek, and she went still, so very still. With his gaze following, he trailed his finger along the smudge that journeyed past her mouth to her chin. “You’re in need of a bath. I’ll cart the tub up to the bedchamber.”
