Page 4 of The Seduction of Viscount Vice

Mairi laughed, yet her gaze was wary. “I did. Each time I saw you. Perhaps you don’t remember that. But I bet you do remember how loudly I screamed it when you made me come over and over in that clearing by the creek.”

Of course he remembered. It had been the most incredibly pleasurable and satisfying day of his life. But it was so typical of a coldhearted trickster like Mairi that she spoke of that rather than expressing any kind of sorrow or remorse about the shocking aftermath.

Then again, only a damned fool would even hope for such a thing.

Vice scowled. “Stop bloody talking. Unless you are going to tell me what you are doing at Fallen dressed as a footman in our livery.”

It was as if he hadn’t said a word.

“We were such fast learners together.” She reached up to tuck a lock of his shoulder-length auburn hair behind his ear. “Mouths…fingers…tongues. Oh, that tongue of yours. I was so wet. So very ready when you took me.”

His cock surged, straining against his breeches. Christ. He was a damned Bedlamite when it came to her. After everything that had happened, the long, empty years that had passed, how the hell could he still want her so much? Mairi was nothing but pure fucking poison.

“I don’t remember,” he snapped.

“Oh, I’d wager you do, my lord of detail. Now, I can’t quite recall how many times you had me…was it three or four?”

Four. Each time more exquisite, more wildly uninhibited than the last. “If you are quite finished—”

“And these days you co-own the most notorious and exclusive pleasure club in England, and the continent, for that matter. Quite a step for a lad from Perthshire. I’m sure it’s a remarkable story, so why don’t you tell me all about it?”

Vice glared at Mairi. This would be so much easier if she’d changed in the last ten years. But even wearing slightly ill-fitting breeches and a white wig covering her ebony curls, she was perfection. It was those eyes. Huge blue pools, like the deepest loch, framed by thick dark eyelashes. Or perhaps it was her plump rose-pink lips. Or those long, long legs. But any which way, none of that mattered when she was a fucking spy, trying to seduce him into spilling all his secrets, and he hated her for it.

“I’d rather,” he said lightly, picking up her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles, “hear about this livery of yours.”

Her forehead creased in confusion. “Livery?”

“Darling. I admire your distraction techniques, I really do. But spying is just not on.”

“Spying?” said Mairi with a brittle laugh. “What a thing to say.”

“Forgive me, but I’m struggling to think of an alternative explanation.”

“Perhaps I merely wanted to see Fallen for myself.”

“You could have made an appointment to see me,” he said easily, relieved to the core that her armor was cracking. Perhaps now he could get some answers.

“I didn’t bloody well know you were Vice!”

“And you’re wearing our livery and breeches.”

“I happen to like breeches,” she snapped. “Gowns are beastly things, designed for discomfort. Stays are worse.”

Unbidden, his gaze dropped to her chest, then her hips and lower. God knew what she had stuffed in the front of her breeches to resemble a flaccid cock, but her backside was just as perfect as it ever was. A ripe peach, high and firm. He couldn’t stop his hand from sliding over the slight curve of her hip and behind to caress it.

Mairi inhaled shakily, and he glanced up to see pure lustful yearning on her face.

Smiling to himself, he let his other hand drop so he grasped her hips. His thumbs rubbed light circles across the tops of her thighs, making her quiver.

“So,” he said, “tell me more about the breeches. I’m 100 percent in favor; legs and a backside like yours should never be hidden by a gown.”

“I’m…” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Wh—”

Pain exploded in his groin, and he dropped like a stone onto the floor to curl up in a gasping ball of agony. She’d fucking kneed him in the balls!

“Mairi,” he croaked, fighting the urge to vomit. His hand flailed to grab her foot as she nimbly leaped over his prone body toward the door. “You—”