Viola’s perhaps?
“What are you doing?” he muttered, thinking of her again and not in any polite way.
He closed his eyes to imagine her removing her gown and running a damp cloth over her delicate skin as she washed up for the evening. He imagined her taking off her chemise, her hair unpinned and her body naked in that moment before she put on her nightgown. It had to be a cotton nightgown because young ladies as prim as Viola did not wear silk.
It was of no matter since the goal of any hound was to get the lady in question naked.
He groaned, imagining Viola in this way on his bed, her long, dark hair fanned out in waves against his pillow, her breasts full and waiting to be cupped in his hands.
Those lush mounds would taste so sweet on his tongue.
His body responded, blood pumping hot through his veins. What he truly wanted was to pump himself into Viola. It was a terrible thought to have about her, and a terrible ache he dared not ever fulfill.
The fault was his entirely.
Was he thinking of her simply because she had been with him today?
He blamed this inexplicable lust on his prolonged celibacy, for he had not been with a woman since Jillian’s passing. In truth, his celibacy had begun years earlier, after Jillian had given birth to Molly. The experience of childbirth had frightened his wife so badly, she never wanted to undergo it again.
The arrangement had not pleased him, but he accepted it because Jillian had not denied him intimate pleasures in other ways. He had not reached the point of seeking another woman to satisfy him fully.
But not to have more children?
Perhaps never to have a son?
This had crushed him.
Yet, he and Jillian had been friends since childhood. He could not see himself abandoning her for someone else. What was the point? He would never have divorced her, so any children sired outside of marriage would have been illegitimate. Even if he supported them, which he would have done without question, they would never have been rightful heirs.
Besides, he had pledged to love and honor Jillian.
He had never broken that vow.
Perhaps because he was moving forward to seek a wife, those sexual urges were now flooding back with breathtaking force. Still, he could have conjured any woman in his bed, so why Viola? He’d certainly bedded more than his share in his university days. Lush, robust young women with big breasts and hearty appetites for sex.
But no, his thoughts were on the vicar’s daughter.
He did not think the girl had ever been kissed.
He would have seen a knowing look in her eyes when mentioning George Haworth. But no, the poor, besotted man had gotten nowhere with her.
He did not know why this gave him so much satisfaction.
George was no milksop and had to be aching over his unfulfilled desires.
That was another thing…how many of thosetondiamonds were still virgins? It would not be hard to tell. A woman’s eyes always gave her away.
Viola was achingly clueless.
He set aside the towel and climbed into his empty bed, feeling particularly tense and tortured tonight.
He awoke at his usual early hour, washed and dressed, and then spent the rest of the morning pacing and grumbling, so that his staff ducked under the furniture or behind doors to avoid him whenever he strode their way. “Greaves! I see you hiding behind that door.”
His put-upon butler sighed and stepped forward. “Yes, my lord.”
“Do you see her walking up the drive yet?” It was two minutes to noon and he had been fiddling with his watch fob, pulling it out to check on the time and then sticking it back in his vest pocket, since ten o’clock this morning.
“My lord, is there a reason you are pacing like a jungle cat? You will frighten Miss Viola if you greet her with that glower on your face.”
