The Viscount and the Vixen

by Lorraine Heath

  “You have nothing to prove to them,” he said quietly, and she snapped her head around to stare at him. He disliked the moments when she appeared so young, so vulnerable. “They didn’t ask me to approve their selection in wives. I’m not going to ask them to approve mine.”

  “Do they know how our marriage came about?”

  “I’m not sure what my father may have told them. I merely wrote that I’d taken a wife—just a bit of information in case they visited. Show them the backbone you showed me that first day and you’ll do fine.”

  “It was easier then as I didn’t care whether or not you liked me.”

  He laughed. “I didn’t care if you liked me either.”

  “I didn’t. I thought you a pompous ass.”

  He grinned. “Imagine them the same way then.”

  “I’d prefer they fancy me a bit.”

  They were going to adore her. He stiffened with the thought that had sprung forth so easily, with such surety. If they felt that way toward her, how could he not? Except he refused to allow anything other than his head to rule him and his emotions. It was merely practical to like her, as it made things between them more pleasant and enjoyable. He wasn’t going to confuse practicality with love. Thank goodness the coaches finally drew to a halt. He needed to turn his attention to matters other than striving to explain his ludicrous thoughts. Before he even realized what he was doing, his hand was on Portia’s waist, giving a gentle squeeze. “Let’s introduce them to Lady Locksley.”

  Portia was determined to be a good hostess. Her parents had entertained frequently enough that she’d learned early on how to make someone feel comfortable. On occasion they’d even welcomed nobility into their home.

  But none of their guests had been as important on a personal level as those who were pouring out of the coaches were to Locksley. She not only wanted to make him proud, she wanted him to be pleased with her efforts. Remaining where she was, she watched as servants and children spilled out of the last two coaches while her husband greeted with a handshake and a clap on a shoulder the man who agilely leaped out of the first coach bearing a ducal crest. The Duke of Ashebury. They were of equal height, the duke’s hair not quite as black as Locksley’s. Beside Ashebury, her husband appeared darker, more dangerous, more forbidden. He looked to be the sort her mother would have warned her against.

  Yet he was the one who’d saved her.

  She shook off that thought as the duke turned back and assisted from the coach a woman with hair that appeared at once both dark and red, depending on how the sun played over it. The former Miss Minerva Dodger, now the Duchess of Ashebury. Her smile was bright as she gave Locksley a hug. Portia was taken aback by the sharp stab of jealousy that pierced her chest. The woman was married to a dashing duke. She wasn’t going to seek a dalliance with the viscount, although her easy manner told Portia that she would be as comfortable greeting a prince or a king. But then according to the gossip sheets, Minerva’s dowry had equaled the treasury of some small countries. Portia assumed when one was graced with so much money, one was relaxed around a good many people.

  A wheat-haired gentleman and dark-haired lady had exited the earl’s coach and now approached Locksley. He hugged the woman, pressed a kiss to her cheek. The Countess of Greyling, who had won the hearts of two earls. Then Locksley was shaking hands with Greyling. They exchanged a few words, a grin, a chuckle.

  Watching the camaraderie shared between the group, Portia had never felt so isolated or alone. Instinctually, she knew they’d never abandon each other, regardless of foolish mistakes or errors in judgment. She’d have traded her soul for such loyalty in friends or family.

  Locksley turned to her and held out his hand. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she walked to him, placed her palm against his, and welcomed his fingers closing firmly around hers. “Allow me the honor of introducing my wife, Portia.”

  “According to your letter I expected her to be a toad,” Ashebury said. “Pleasantly surprised to discover she’s not.”

  “I didn’t describe her in my letter.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Don’t speak of her in the third person as though she’s not here,” Minerva said, slapping her husband playfully on the arm, before turning to Portia. “Ashe is a photographer. He spends a great deal of time noticing how things appear and trying to capture the truth about them through the lens of his camera.”

  Then Portia was determined to never sit for him, because she didn’t need him uncovering her truth. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Graces.”

  “Oh, please, let’s not be quite so formal. I’m Minerva. This is Julia.” She indicated the dark-haired woman. “And Grey.”

  “I prefer Edward,” Greyling said, taking Portia’s hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

  “He’s not yet quite comfortable with the title,” Julia said, moving in and bussing a light kiss over Portia’s cheek. “Welcome to the family.”

  “Thank you. I hope you’ll find the accommodations to your liking, but if there is anything—”

  “What are you up to, sweetheart?” Edward asked, and Portia looked over to see him reaching down to a small girl less than three who was holding on to his trouser leg and peering around it. He hefted her up into his arms. “Say hello, Lady Allie.”

  She buried her face against his shoulder. “My brother’s daughter is a bit shy among strangers.”

  “A hellion, though, once she gets used to you,” Ashe assured Portia.

  She received only a quick introduction to the Ashebury and Greyling heirs, held by their nannies, before Locksley was whisking them all to the terrace where the marquess was waiting for them.

  The affection that both couples and their children felt for Marsden was obvious and heartwarming. It was also apparent that he adored the children, no doubt part of the reason that he’d taken matters into his own hands to acquire an heir. Tears threatened to well up as she imagined the love he would shower upon her child. All of London might think him mad but she thought when it came to love he could very well prove to be the sanest person she’d ever met.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Locksley asked near her ear, standing slightly behind her.

  She shook her head. “I rather like them. Your father is wonderful with the children.” She watched as the marquess took Lady Allie’s hand and began walking with her through the weeds. Portia sighed. “I need to get to work on the garden.”

  “Not today,” he groused.

  She laughed. “Not today.” But soon. If Marsden didn’t object. Perhaps she’d plant his wife’s favorite flowers. Watching him, watching his wards and their wives, watching the children, all made her long for the warmth of family she’d never had, for the love she knew her husband would never shower upon her.

  “So how did you meet her?” Edward asked. “She’s not familiar.”

  He, Ashe, and Locke were sitting in chairs near the fireplace in the library, glasses of scotch in hand. Portia had taken the women to the morning room for a spot of tea. His father had claimed to be in need of a nap, although Locke suspected he was playing with the children in the nursery. He would not feel guilty because his father seemed to take such delight in the little ones and Locke had yet to provide him with an heir. “Know every woman in London, do you?”

  “Quite a few, yes.”

  As a bachelor, Edward had been the most promiscuous among them, but as the second in line to the title, he’d never expected to marry. Then he’d fallen in love with his brother’s widow and that was that.

  “So she’s from London?” Ashe asked.

  “She traveled from London. Her family lives in Yorkshire.” He gave Edward a pointed look. “Gadstone?”

  “Not familiar with the name.”

  Locke grimaced. “Actually Gadstone is her married name. I don’t know her family name.”

  “Bit odd that,” Ashe mused.

  “My father arranged to marry her. Until she arrived for the wedding I’d never m
et her.”

  Ashe and Edward exchanged glances before Ashe said, “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s a long story, but my father took out an advert for a wife. She answered it. Except I didn’t trust her.”

  “So you married her?” Edward asked incredulously.

  “Better me than my father.” The whole thing sounded ludicrous and made him come across as a fool. “He signed a damned contract stating that the girl would marry when she arrived. It was either him or me.”

  Edward burst out laughing. “The clever bugger. I’d wager that all along he planned for it to be you.”

  “You’d win that wager. I figured it out a bit late. Not that I have any complaints. She’s comely enough and quite talented in areas where I appreciate talent.”

  “Good in bed then?” Ashe asked boldly.

  “Marvelous in bed.”

  “Your father had been after you to take a wife,” Edward pointed out.

  “He never much liked us not obeying him, did he?”

  “He seems . . .” Ashe’s voice trailed off as he studied his scotch. “Happier I suppose is the word I’m looking for. More at ease.”

  “Portia has changed things around here a bit. They’re not quite so gloomy.” Understatement. Not all the changes she’d made were visible. He expected at any minute for the clocks to simply start ticking on their own. “It’s been a while since my father was out chasing wraiths over the moors.”

  “You don’t suppose he’s upstairs filling the children’s heads with tales of ghosts snatching them in the night, do you?” Edward asked, clear concern in his voice.

  “They’re too young to fully comprehend what he may be spouting,” Ashe assured him.

  “Allie’s not. She’s sharp as a whip, that one. Took after her father. If I don’t finish with a bedtime story, she’ll remind me the next night exactly where I left off. Uncanny the things she comprehends and recalls.”

  “Is it difficult raising your brother’s daughter?” Locke asked.

  Edward shook his head. “Not a day goes by that I don’t wish Albert were still here, but having Allie in my life is no hardship, even if I’m not the one who sired her. I see a good deal of Albert in her.”

  Which meant he saw a good deal of himself. Although Locke had never had difficulty telling the twins apart, some people had.

  “Do you suppose we have time before dinner for a quick ride over the moors?” Ashe asked.

  “Thought you’d never ask,” Locke said.

  “I could stay in this room all day,” Minerva mused on a soft sigh.

  Portia had brought them to the morning room to enjoy their tea and biscuits. They were sitting in the area near the windows that would be jutting out into a garden if they possessed one. It would no doubt be next year before she had flowers blooming.

  “Whenever we visited,” Julia began, “I was curious about the rooms hidden behind closed doors, but was always afraid I’d find a ghost lurking about.”

  “No, only spiders,” Portia assured her.

  Julia visibly shuddered. “You are courageous.”

  “Hardly. It just made me sad to think of everything being left to ruin.”

  “This house has needed a woman’s touch for a good many years,” Julia said. “I’m glad you’re here. It feels different already, more welcoming, less frightening. And the marquess seems quite content.”

  “He’s anticipating an heir.”

  “Are you with child?” Minerva asked.

  Portia quickly shook her head. “It’s too soon.”

  Minerva smiled. “Not really. It can happen the first time as easily as any other time. Of course I am assuming that Locksley has exercised his husbandly rights.”

  Portia wondered if she’d suddenly landed in the middle of summer. Her skin was clammy and warm. “Fervently and rather often,” she said, her voice low. She’d discussed men quite frankly and openly with a couple of other women when she lived in London. She didn’t know why she was uncomfortable with these two. Perhaps because they were ladies, and she’d always assumed the upper-crust females never carried on conversations about what went on behind closed doors.

  “Honestly, Minerva, leave off,” Julia said, making Portia grateful for the rebuke. “Poor Portia is turning as red as an apple. Not everyone is as comfortable as you discussing such intimate topics.”

  “But we should be. There should be no shame in our bodies or the way they function. It’s part of life, to be celebrated really.”

  “Would you care for more tea?” Portia asked, ready to move on to something less personal.

  “I hope I didn’t offend,” Minerva offered.

  “No, not at all.”

  “Oh, there they go,” Julia said.

  Portia looked to the window where her guest was gazing out. She saw Locksley and the others galloping off over the moors. “You say that as though you expected it.”

  Turning back to her, Julia smiled softly. “They usually ride out shortly after we arrive. I think it reminds them of when they were young and wild, although I suspect back then they were hoping to sight a ghost.”

  “Julia knows them better than anyone,” Minerva said. “Well, I know my husband better than she does, of course, but she’s known them longer.”

  “I’ve been in the family longer,” Julia conceded. “Although they may not be related by blood, they are a family. Albert and Edward were only seven when their parents died. Ashe was eight. Locke was six when they moved here.”

  Portia eased up to the edge of her chair. “It must have been strange for him. He told me that he was alone before they arrived, had no other children with whom to play, not even from the village.”

  “As I understand it, yes, he was quite isolated here. The marquess was still in the depths of his despair over the loss of his wife, even though it had been years since her death. He never abused them, though. You won’t hear a one of them say a bad word about him.”

  Still, she tried to imagine what it had been like for Locksley. Perhaps he climbed walls to gain his father’s attention. “What was he like when you met him?”

  Julia laughed. “Younger than he is now. I suppose it’s been eight years or so since I met him. He was always more contemplative than the others. Quieter. Not one to engage in idle conversation. Not that the ladies seemed to mind. As long as he danced with them, they didn’t care if he didn’t speak at all. Although actually he seldom attended a ball.” She shook her head. “To be quite honest, he hardly ever spent any time in London. I think he prefers the solitude and barrenness of this place.”

  “Although I daresay there probably isn’t quite as much solitude now that you’re here,” Minerva said. “By the by, how did you manage to capture his attention and lure him into marriage?”

  Portia released a deep sigh. She didn’t really want to go into the details. “The marquess arranged it. I required security; he required an heir. Locksley obliged. I don’t think you’ll find a marriage in all of Britain that is based on more convenience than ours.”

  “But you love him,” Minerva said.

  Portia felt as though Minerva had slammed her balled fist into the soft area just below her sternum. She was no longer a young, naïve girl foolish enough to fall in love with a man who would never truly love her. “No.”

  She did wish the word rang truer, sounded more firm.

  “You do realize he cares for you,” Julia offered.

  Once again, Portia was feeling warm, almost dizzy. She forced out the words. “I assure you that he holds no deep affection for me.”

  Julia and Minerva exchanged a knowing glance.

  “My dear, I believe you’re wrong there,” Minerva said. “Based on the way Locksley looks at you, I’d say he was besotted.”

  She shook her head. He couldn’t love her. It would make things more difficult if he did. She’d married him because she’d known he’d never love her. It was so much easier when he wanted from her only one thing, when he viewed her as merely a b
edmate, a body to be used. That her silly heart might long for his love was merely wishful thinking. It wasn’t practical, and her head knew it to be a terrible notion.

  “You’re wrong,” Portia insisted. “He has sworn to never love.”

  “She has a point, Minerva,” Julia said. “It is his favorite mantra to repeat.”

  “He can repeat it all he likes. The heart hardly ever listens to what we tell it. It has a tendency to go its own way. He might not be madly in love but I’d wager my entire fortune that his heart is not locked up as tightly as he might wish.”

  Contrary to what Minerva might believe, Portia knew that did not bode well for her future.

  Locke couldn’t remember ever being with a woman who made his chest swell with pride. He’d certainly not expected it of Portia when he’d married her, but then nothing about his marriage to her was as he’d predicted. Well, except for what passed in the bedchamber. He’d judged her abilities correctly there.

  But he hadn’t anticipated that she’d be an outstanding hostess. During dinner, the fare had been splendid, the wine excellent, the conversation pleasant. It didn’t matter who was discussed, Portia was familiar with them—not personally but based on their exploits captured in the gossip sheets. She’d mentioned before that she read them, but now he was beginning to think the woman devoured them. He made a mental note to begin having some delivered to Havisham Hall from London.

  He also needed to order some more recent music sheets. The ones his wife now used to entertain them in the music room were remnants from his mother. Portia seemed perfectly content with them, but he did wonder what sort of music she would prefer to play. He found himself pondering a good deal about her, even as he cautioned himself against the curiosity.

  Ashe and Edward seemed to like her. The women obviously did. Although she was a commoner, she fit in nicely with the aristocracy, could hold her own. A chameleon. Which gave him pause. Where had she learned to be comfortable around all walks of life?