Page 28 of The Seduction of Viscount Vice

It was time to fight for her future, once and for all.

…

“Vice! Open this bloody door, or we are going to break it down.”

Taking another comforting swallow of whisky, Vice glared at the talking door. Or at least he hoped he was glaring at it. Everything had become rather blurry in the last few hours. It could just as well be a tree trunk or a docile bear. “Can’t. I ate the key, and it was deli…delish…very fucking good.”

The handle rattled ominously. “We have more whisky. And food. Wouldn’t you like some nice hot food to eat? Damn it, open up…of course I’m bloody well calm. Yes, this is my calm voice…I assure you it is, madam…Vice!”

Christ Almighty, the door was not only a nag, it fought with itself. And sounded far too much like Sin when it would be infinitely more agreeable if it sounded like a beautiful, curvaceous Prussian. “I’m quite fine. I brought scones in with me last night. I’m not a complete fool.”

The door muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “debatable.”

Fucking English doors—nags, oddballs, and judgmental to boot.

Without warning there was an ear-shattering crash, and what had once been his bedchamber door was now two jagged bits of wood, one on the floor and the other hanging drunkenly from a hinge.

“Oh, hello,” Vice said unevenly as a row of blurry figures marched into the room. It took several blinks and head shakes, but eventually Devil, Eliza, Sin, Grace, and his mother came into focus.

Fuck.

“What are you all doing here?” Christ, couldn’t a man wallow in angry misery for a few hours without being harassed?

“You’ve been in here twelve hours and missed two meetings,” said Sin.

Two meetings? Impossible. He’d never missed a meeting in his life, let alone two. No woman was worth that, not even Mairi MacNair. Well, once upon a time she might have been. But certainly not now.

“I am quite well. Not thinking for a moment about the woman of whom we shall not speak. You know, if you lads did have a care for me, you’d have brought a dozen beautiful and talented lightskirts. Not your wives and my mother.”

Lady Parkton smiled grimly. “My darling boy, I love you more than life itself, so know that this is done with all care and concern.”

He started to smile back, only to be engulfed in a bucket’s worth of freezing cold water.

“Mama!” he spluttered as, remarkably, his head began to clear. “What the bloody hell was that for?”

“To remove the layer of dust, whisky, and sweat on your skin.” Devil wrinkled his nose. “We have hot water to attend to the rest.”

“By the by, Cook is serving roast lamb and potatoes downstairs,” added Grace brightly. “Your favorite.”

“With parsley butter sauce?” he asked, trying to talk over the sudden embarrassingly loud growling of his stomach. Perhaps he hadn’t eaten in a wee while.

Eliza nodded. “On the side, so you can pour and make sure each potato has the right amount.”

A lump settled in his throat, one so huge he could hardly breathe. Said like that, his annoying compulsion sounded positively normal. “That sounds adequate. You’re all here. Apart from Helena.”

“Thanks to the generosity and goodwill of Lady Eliza,” his mother said, “your sister has this morning been packed off…er, accepted into the Brimley Finishing Academy. There is no way she can get into trouble there, praise the good Lord.”

“And of course we’re all here,” said Sin. “We’re your family.”

“Have there been any notes? Any callers?” he said casually, not making eye contact with anyone while rubbing his prickly jaw. Hell. As well as hungry, it seemed he might be a little rough around the edges.

Devil sighed. “No, Lady Mairi hasn’t written any letters.”

Damnation, how did they know?

“Why would you think for a moment I referred to her? I meant…Prinny, of course.”

“Of course,” said Sin gravely. “And yes, he did send a note. It’s waiting downstairs. For some utterly unknown reason the future king likes you.”