Darius: Lord of Pleasures

flowing—while William expounded on soap taxes. “What is there to debate about a soap tax, for pity’s sake?”

“If soap were more affordable, the general populace might put it to more frequent use and avoid some of the pestilence plaguing them. We’d then have a healthier work force and could tax what they create, rather than the soap they can’t buy now. Similarly with the tax on windows and fresh air in tenements and factories.”

She looked lonely over there by the window. Remote, though she was only a few feet away. “And we’d all smell better. This is what you and William discuss over dinner?”

“William and I rarely dine together privately. We entertain a great deal, or we did until this fall. Losing two sons has taken a toll on William.”

“It would take a toll on any man.” Darius rose and crossed the room to stand behind her. “Except possibly my father.”

“I don’t know the man.”

“Count yourself fortunate.”

She cocked her head in a manner Darius was learning meant serious study, so he distracted her by scooping her up and settling with her in his lap.

“You said you’d wait until tonight.” She sounded wonderfully tart in her disapproval, even as she cuddled into his embrace.

“I’m not under your skirts, Vivvie.” He nuzzled her breast, closing his eyes. To his consternation, she threaded her fingers through his hair and cradled him against her, as if he were a tired boy.

“Tell me about your father.”

“He’s awful.” Darius resisted the temptation to tell her they weren’t going to speak of this either. The topic was harmless enough—though distasteful. “If I learned to tolerate a beating anywhere, it was at his hands. My brother, Trent, was his particular project, which was no privilege, believe me, and my mother staked me as her personal favorite.”

“I gather your parents were not congenial.”

“They were at daggers drawn. Part of the reason I can countenance this scheme of William’s is because there is reason to doubt the paternity of at least one of my siblings. My mother was that angry with Wilton, that desperate.”

She stroked his hair absently. “One shudders to think of it, years and years of battle, and all within the one place that’s supposed to be a haven from strife.”

He fell silent, because her caresses were mesmerizing, which made no sense. “Shall we take a nap, my lady?”

“You gave me until tonight,” she chided, her hand pausing. “Is your father’s example why you’re so careful with John?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” And he didn’t want to pursue it, so he nuzzled her breast again, rubbing his cheek deliberately over her nipple.

“You’re trying to distract me. Let’s take a walk, and you can show me some of your land.”

“There’s nothing to see.” He did it again. “It’s all under snow.”

“So we’ll kidnap John from his studies.” She pulled away, but only a little. “We can make a snowman.”

“He’d like that.” Darius frowned while she traced his eyebrow with a finger. He’d like it too. He’d made snowmen before, for his sisters’ entertainment, mostly. Emily was more than a decade his junior, and she’d been in need of playmates. There was no point to a snowman, but a man could do only so much paperwork.

Vivian rose off his lap. “Then we can have a toddy before dinner.”

“You like my toddies?”

She smiled at him, not only with a curving of her lips but also with her lovely brown eyes. “The entire household likes your toddies. But yes, I do. I never knew this about myself, but I could become overindulgent in them.”

Darius rose, feeling bemused. “And I won’t be on hand to see the effects of my bad influence.” Neither would he see her great with child, and that… bothered him. “Come, and do not think of wearing a bonnet when the wind could kick up at any moment.”

“Imperious.” She took his arm. “It’s fortunate you’re competent with a toddy.”

“Among other things.”

He got the last, leering word, pleased to have restored the tenor of their dealings to harmless flirting. Talk of his father, making money, and commending Vivian back into her husband’s keeping was not… comfortable, and at least in his own home, a man should be comfortable.

* * *

Vivian had eaten as slowly as she could, though she’d known all the while Darius was watching her with a speculative, assessing eye. Had she gotten tipsy? Oh, likely. Would she regret it? Invariably.

He’d treated her to a game of chess after dinner, beating her eventually, but she’d at least made him work for it. The difficulty was, lingering over the chessboard made the effect of the spirits wear off, and here she was, bathed, nightgowned, and tucked up in her bed, awaiting her fate.

When the clock struck ten and still Darius hadn’t joined her, Vivian had had enough.

She yanked open her door, intent on searching him out and demanding he be about his intended purpose, only to find him lounging across the hall in the chair she assumed was reserved for a footman.

“Good evening, Lady Longstreet.”

“What are you doing, sitting there?”

He rose and prowled toward her, giving Vivian the sense he’d been gathering his nerve, of all things. “Are you sure you want this, Vivian?”

She nodded and tucked her lawn tent closer. It was colder than Hades in the hallway, and God knew how long Darius had been sitting there.

“Because to want this baby, you’re going to have to want me.”

“Come.” She tugged him by the wrist down the hall.

“Where are we going?”

“Your bedroom, which I’ve yet to see. I want my bed to be for me, your bed for other things.”

“What if I don’t care to share my bed?”

She shot a peevish look over her shoulder and towed him along. Of course he’d want his privacy. He probably needed it desperately, in fact. “Then we’ll go to a guest bedroom.”

“One isn’t made up, much less warm.”

“Darius.” She stopped and peered up at him. “Do you want William’s coin? Because if you do, you’re going to have to want me, and I intend to be in your bed.”

“I want William’s coin,” he said, gathering her braid at her shoulder and staring past her head. “I do want that.”

“So, where will we do this?”

Well, everlasting, merciful God, so what if he heard the tremor in her voice? But when he looked at her, some of his characteristic amusement was evident in his eyes.

“Wherever you please, Vivvie.” He slipped his fingers through hers. “I’m yours to command.”

“Of course, you are.” She hated the detachment behind his humor. “Where is your room?”

“Come.” He slid his arm over her shoulders. “It’s nice and cozy. I’ve languished in there at my bath for most of the evening.”

Interesting. Vivian had drawn hers out until the water was cold too.

“I don’t get to keep my lawn tent tonight, do I?”

“We can worry about that later.”

“I want to worry about it now.”

He opened the door to his bedroom and let her pass through before him. Vivian put aside their argument to take in his most personal surroundings. She was relieved to see the bedroom wasn’t a monk’s cell, which she could have easily seen him inflicting on himself. The room was comfortably masculine, with odd little touches.

“Flowers?”

“They’re made of silk and paper,” he said. “A curiosity, but pretty enough to fool the eye for the months when