Page 33 of Claiming His Estranged Viscountess (Rogues from War 2)

“To hell with the agreement!” He prowled forward, interrupting her. “I am not leaving you alone while with child.” A stony purpose in his tone.

“I have friends who will be here for me.” As she had had these past years, she inferred.

“I will be right here by your side!” He stopped close enough so she saw the gleam of single-mindedness in his dark eyes.

This became more arduous than she had foreseen. She turned from him and trod to the moonless night by the window. Something contorted in her guts, giving her a sense she was doing the wrong thing.

“I don’t want your nefarious influence over my child.” She obliged herself to admit.

“Our child!” He said behind her, his breathing touching her nape.

She gyrated abruptly to encounter his angry expression.

“True. Our child.” She had to comply.

“I have every intention of being a father to it!” She found an unshakable quality in his words, leading her to be uncertain about her request.

“Intentions are not actions.” She persisted. If she let herself go under his predominance, she would surely come out smashed by disappointment in the end.

“I believe enough time has passed for you to admit I have changed my ways.” He speared her with his intent gaze under his mussed midnight hair.

“I once trusted you would be a husband to me, not anymore.” She delivered with bitter conviction.

“I don't care what you expected formerly; this is pr

esent tense.” He grabbed her shoulders boring his stare in hers. “Stop living in the past!”

They remained battling their wills with their eyes for long seconds.

“Be a man of your word and go to London.” She attempted anew.

He released her, air going in through his nostrils, quick, temper flaring. “No! I will be here, near you, supporting you, whether you like it or not.”

“London is…” She started; to be curtly interrupted.

“By which, I mean,” He emitted as he stooped, clamped his strong arm around her thighs, hoisting her over his muscled shoulder. He strode to his bedchamber, kicking the goddamn door shut. “You will sleep here from now on, so I am close by if you need something.”

His movements so agile and economic, she had nothing else to do rather than watch her upside down chamber left behind with every step. Without giving her time to venture a single kick, he poured her carefully on his fluffy mattress, the covers pulled, ready for the night.

Dumbfounded, her head sunk in the feather-filled pillow, without her finding in her a minimum reaction.

“You rogue!” She hissed after too many seconds. This rogue would be her doom.

This she-wolf was going to be his downfall, Conrad concluded fiery. She unearthed in him so many ragged feelings he did not decide if he wanted to ravish her, hold her or run a thousand miles from her!

Possibly, the second, as he lay by her side on the bed, pulling the covers over them. She stretched beside him stiff, flushed with indignation. The fire on the fireplace threw a yellowish light over them, as both stared the canopy, mute, unmovable.

Upon hearing her saying she wanted him far from her, mercurial anger assailed him; but also made him chagrined. Would she not allow herself a tiny bit of trust? Not only in him, in herself, their life. The future. He did not accept he had overturned her confidence this much. Alright, so she had witnessed his unruly behaviour for three years, certainly conceiving he continued it in India. Albeit he had told her he did not comport like this while in service. Clearly, his telling her otherwise had not been enough. What about his actions after coming back? Did they not signalise anything to her? Perhaps not. Well, one of these days he would have to inculcate it in her hard-headed person.

He turned to her, to witness her fulminating the poor canopy. Her nearness produced the expected effect on him. Now it hit him he was lost! With child, she would probably not be able to receive his… attentions. Malediction! If he had to spend nine months without… Oh, hell! In no time, he would be at exploding point. He would… manage. Or die trying! His throat constricted with the prospect. Her womanly scent emanated to him, arousing. He remembered the past nights’ delights, unable to stop his body from reacting. He would be extremely… embarrassed if she…

To hide his very unmistakable state, he turned to the other side. At his spine, her warmth assailed him. Images of them in the height of passion incited his memory. His breath ragged, he made himself go still. Only, by now, his arousal hurt.

He turned on his back again. On the corner of his eye, he glimpsed her. Her indignation had abated, by the looks of it. The covers marked her full breasts rising and falling with her respiration. He should snuggle, should he not? This would not hurt her. Or the young life she sheltered. No! Touching her would come solely to calamity. Do not move! He ordered himself. For one thing, he did not move, but his flesh swelled. To busting point lot.

Ok, so he might turn to her, check on her, right? Yes, fine, no harm. He angled to her. Disaster. He extended his arm to cover her better at the same instant she turned to him, her fingers brushing his… Goddamn it!

His lungs took a deep breath. “Don’t mind me.” He said huskily.

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