Page 2 of The Viscount and the Minx (The Unlikely Betrothal: Prequel)

Chapter 2

Evan

E van rocked in the nursery chair, his deep voice a soothing murmur as he read to his son. Arthur, barely four months old, had long since surrendered to sleep, his tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Still, Evan continued, as he intended to for years to come. His own father had been distant and somewhat cold—a legacy he refused to pass on.

“… and the prince returned to his kingdom, having learned the value of honesty,” he finished, his gaze lingering on the perfect bow of his son’s lips, the delicate flutter of dark lashes against plump cheeks.

Carefully, he set the book aside, shifting Arthur slightly in his arms. His thoughts drifted to Marina, to the shadow that had crossed her expression in the field. Their afternoon had been… delightful. More than that, in fact. It was exhilarating, as it always was with her. His lips curved at the memory.

Since the doctor’s clearance over a month ago, their physical relationship had rekindled with fervor. He could never get enough of his wife, and she had never been shy about wanting him just as fiercely.

Evan rose, cradling his son for a moment longer before laying him gently in the cradle. “Sleep well, little one,” he whispered, lingering just long enough to marvel at the perfect miracle they had created. With a quiet knock on Nanny’s door, he left Arthur in her care and slipped from the nursery.

As he navigated through the corridor, unease coiled in his chest. Marina had always been forthright, unafraid to voice her thoughts. An understatement, in truth. And yet, something had unsettled her—and worse, she didn’t tell him. Was she truly content at Oxcrest? The doubt was absurd, unwelcome, yet impossible to ignore.

Descending the grand staircase, he forced himself to set the notion aside. And once he reached the study, he paused at the doorway, watching her.

Marina sat at their large shared oak desk, focused on penning a missive. Her quill moved swiftly across the parchment, her brow furrowed in concentration. She was stunning, no matter what she was doing. He would happily watch her at work for hours if he could.

She had redressed her chestnut hair after he’d mussed it earlier, and the sight of her graceful neck gave Evan a familiar tightening in his chest as he longed to kiss and mark her smooth alabaster skin.

His wife was breathtaking, and it still struck him in much the same way he felt the first time he’d seen her. But it was more than beauty that undid him—it was her mind, her fire, the way she looked at him as though he were the only man in existence.

And yet, something was troubling her.

Evan’s jaw tightened. Whatever it was, she would not keep it from him for long. He wouldn’t be able to stand it.

“Are you going to enter or is your plan to lurk in the doorway, my love?” Marina asked without looking up, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

Evan stepped inside, his gaze lingering on her as he made his way to her side. “Can I be blamed for admiring my wife? Perhaps it’s your fault for being so damn tempting.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing in the soft, familiar scent of her.

She glanced up, love shining in her caramel eyes—and just like that, his breath was gone again.

“You already know, darling, that in any situation, the fault is always yours.” She pointed her quill at him before winking, that wicked glint in her eyes making his blood run hot. The minx.

“Then by all means, love, punish me.” He grazed his fingers across her collarbone, stopping just shy of the globe of her breast.

Desire flickered in her gaze, but she only smirked. “Later. Consider it part of your punishment.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Her grin was pure mischief. “I shan’t require a reminder.”

Evan stole a quick kiss before settling into the chair across from her, picking up the day’s paper. He told himself there was nothing to worry about. Marina had never been one for secrets. He was likely making something out of nothing in his head.

Evan read while Marina focused on her correspondence, settling into a comfortable silence.

“Juliana thinks she might be with child,” she said after several minutes.

Evan lowered his paper. “That’s wonderful news.” His closest friend, Jude, had married Juliana recently—thanks to the meddling minx before him. Only a fool would doubt Marina’s ability to orchestrate exactly what she wanted. And heaven help anyone who would oppose her.

She beamed. “But she hasn’t told him yet—she wants the doctor to confirm first. So you mustn’t say a word.” Marina rifled through the letters. “Speaking of the devil, you have a missive from Jude.”

Evan took the letter, broke the seal, and read. As he reached the end, a slow grin spread across his face.

Then he laughed. Too perfect.

Marina’s brow lifted. “What is it?”

“Jude already suspects she’s with child.”

Marina stifled a laugh behind her hand. “Those two are hopeless.”

“You aren’t wrong,” Evan said, setting the letter aside. “But you women underestimate how much we men actually notice.”

“Do we now?” She scoffed. “And what, pray, have you observed?”

Evan studied her. There—just beneath her teasing tone, a flicker of something else. “You’re keeping something from me.”

Her eyes grew wide. “I… I…”

“Just tell me, Marina. You know you can tell me anything. Whatever troubled you back in the clearing—it wasn’t nothing.”

“Oh, that,” she said quickly, glancing down at the desk. “I just wish we hadn’t missed the season. That’s all. So much happened without us.”

She sounded sincere, but his instincts indicated otherwise. But he wouldn’t press her further. At least not at that moment.

Evan reached for her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “There’s always next year.”

She nodded. “You’re right.”

“I usually am.”

Marina scoffed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

She opened her beautiful mouth to speak and then closed it again.

“What is it, love?” Perhaps he’d finally get to the heart of the matter.

“I thought perhaps we might host a house party soon. I was thinking about next month. What do you think?”

Evan’s first instinct was caution. A house party meant disruption—especially for Arthur. “We just had Graham and Diana here, and we were in London for Hannah and Matt’s wedding not that long ago. Perhaps a small gathering instead?”

Marina clasped his hand across the desk, eyes shining with excitement. “I want a grand event. After reading about all we missed in Town, wouldn’t it be wonderful to have the house brimming with guests and festivities?” She caught his gaze. “Please.”

They both knew he wouldn’t deny her. He released a long sigh, resolved to his fate. “Next month, then?”

She nodded, slipping from her chair and making her way onto his lap. If he played his cards right, his ‘punishment’ might come sooner rather than later. Pun very much intended.

“Nothing too extravagant,” she said, running her fingers along his collar. “I’m thinking of a fortnight-long party with a selective list of guests.”

“And who exactly do you have in mind?” he asked, his arms circling her waist.

She beamed at him. “All our friends, though I doubt everyone will attend. I thought we could decide on the list together.”

“Hmmm,” Evan murmured, his fingers tracing idle patterns along the silk of Marina’s gown. “And I suppose this has nothing to do with the letter from Lady Eliza that arrived last week? The one that had you pacing the study for an hour.”

Marina stiffened slightly, color rising in her cheeks—stoking his desire. Either from how prettily she blushed or her position on his lap. Either way, desire stirred.

“You noticed that?” she asked, shifting slightly, and further threatened his restraint.

“I notice everything about you,” he whispered, brushing his lips against her ear. A satisfied smirk touched his mouth as she shivered. “Including when you’re avoiding my question.”

She sighed, resting her forehead against his. “I see so much of myself in Lady Eliza. She’s angry. Bitter. Over what, I don’t know, but… I feel like she needs someone.”

Evan arched his brow. “You’re angry and bitter?”

She sat back, rolling her eyes at him. “Not anymore. But when you were a dolt… Well, I needn’t remind you of my ire.”

A loose curl had slipped from behind her ear. He tucked it back into place, fingers lingering. “I recall your ire being… intriguing.” His lips brushed her temple. “Remember that when you punish me later.”

Marina shook her head at him, stifling her laughter. “Perhaps someone was just as idiotic as you were, which would explain Lady Eliza’s disposition.”

Realization washed over Evan. He should have known. “So you aim to invite Lady Eliza and a few select suitors hoping to make a match?”

“That’s not the only reason for the party,” she admitted, lips curving into a knowing smile. “But it may have inspired the idea. Besides, I miss the excitement of social events. And if we can help friends and acquaintances find love—true love, the kind we’ve found—shouldn’t we do so?”

Evan traced lazy circles along her spine, his focus wavering between the conversation and the far more immediate pleasure of having her in his lap. He could just haul her upstairs, or better yet, push everything off their desk to the floor.

She must have sensed his distraction because she stared him down.

“Have you forgotten how your last matchmaking scheme turned out?”

“Jude and Juliana are blissfully happy,” Marina protested, a triumphant smile playing at her lips. “And soon to announce a new babe, it would appear.”

“After considerable drama,” Evan reminded her teasingly. “But Lady Eliza is a different matter entirely. If the scandal sheets are to be believed, Lady Eliza has turned down half of London’s bachelors.”

Marina laughed and playfully swatted his shoulder. “You read the scandal sheets?”

“Of course. Who doesn’t?”

She rolled her eyes at him again. “Well, I believe I have a good measure of what she might be looking for.”

“Should we bet on that?”

Mischief twinkled in his wife’s eyes. “Help me make the guest list and then I shall see about taking you up on your little bet.”

She rose from his lap with a victorious grin. He might’ve been disappointed at the loss—if he weren’t so damn enchanted by his wife. She had already given him everything he wanted in life. And everything he hadn’t even realized he needed.

If a house party made her happy, then so be it.

Even if he had the nagging suspicion that there was more to it than she was letting on.