She gave the Viking a glare as though to say this is your fault. But instead of looking smug or impassive, he merely shook his head slightly.
Oh, good Lord. He hadn’t told her father about their meeting the day before, and now she’d made her own noose. “The danger…of neglecting my…” She had to think of something. The Viking merely raised one brow. How did he do that? Lorrie spun around. “Neglecting my correspondence. I was just about to write to Aunt Agatha. I feel horrible that I haven’t replied to her letter from Christmas.” She curtsied. “Pray, excuse me.”
She started for the door, but her father was having none of it. “I do believe replying to a letter received almost six months ago can wait another few moments. There is someone I want you to meet, although I have the feeling you have already met.”
“Who?” Lorrie looked over her shoulder at the blond man. “The Viking? I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
Her father looked as though he was barely managing to keep a leash on his temper. “His name is Mr. Ewan Mostyn. That is correct,” he said with a nod when her brows rose. “Francis Mostyn’s cousin.”
Lorrie gaped at the Viking with new curiosity. How was it Francis had never mentioned having such a cousin? Of course, now that she looked, she could detect some slight resemblances. Francis, like his cousin, had blond hair, although Francis’s was more gilded. Francis was also handsome, but his face was soft and boyish, whereas the Viking’s was chiseled from an unforgiving stone. The eyes were different. Francis had soft brown eyes—doe eyes, as she thought of them—and the Viking had those piercing light blue eyes.
And their size. Francis was not but an inch or two taller than she, whereas the Viking was one of the taller men she had ever known.
“Mr. Mostyn, my daughter, Lady Lorraine.”
The Viking lowered his arms to his sides and gave her a curt bow.
Finally, remembering her manners, she curtsied. “How lovely to meet you for the first time, Mr. Mostyn.”
He issued her a flat look, but as he didn’t speak, she supposed she could at least count on him not to contradict her.
“You will be seeing Mr. Mostyn often, my dear,” her father was saying. He gestured to a chair near his desk, and Lorrie took it gratefully. Being offered a seat indicated her father did not intend to lecture her. And for some strange reason, her legs had begun to wobble.
“Mr. Mostyn?” The duke pointed to a chair near her. The Viking shook his head and stayed where he was, like some sort of frozen sentinel.
“What do you mean, Father?” Lorrie could think of no reason she should ever see Ewan Mostyn again. She couldn’t imagine her father had any use for a man like that. He looked as though he should be in the gladiator ring, not a duke’s library.
“I have hired Mr. Mostyn to serve as your bodyguard.”
Lorrie would have objected if her voice had not abandoned her.
“He is amply qualified. He served under Lieutenant Colonel Draven in the war. Special Forces. I’ve already introduced him to some of the staff, and he’s had a cursory tour of the town house. I wanted you to meet him before I gave him access to the private family chambers.”
“The private areas? Will he be allowed in my bedchamber?”
“I must be familiar with every room in the house, my lady,” the Viking answered, speaking slowly in that deep voice that seemed to make her skin tingle every time she heard it.
“Why?” She looked from him to her father.
“To keep you safe,” her father answered.
“Safe?” she all but screamed. “This is not about keeping me safe. You want to prevent me from marrying Francis.”
Her father merely looked down his nose at her. “I would like to prevent another elopement attempt, yes.”
“So you do not trust me? You asked me to look over the eligible bachelors this Season, and I agreed.”
“You never agreed,” the duke said evenly. “You said you would take it under advisement.”
“I said serious advisement.” She pointed a finger at him. “I don’t need some brute following me around.”
Behind her she heard a low growl.
“He is not a brute. Mr. Mostyn is the son of the Earl of Pembroke.”
Lorraine felt the blood drain from her face. Francis had told her many times of the abuses he’d suffered at the hands of the sons of the earl. He’d grown up with them and shared a tutor. The boys were always blaming him for their own misdeeds and seemed to enjoy seeing him punished.
Slowly, Lorrie turned and glared at the Viking. So this was one of the boys who had tormented Francis as a child. Did he think to torment his cousin further by keeping him from the woman who loved him?
“As the son of a peer,” her father continued, “Mr. Mostyn may accompany you to various functions where your attendance is required. His role is not to hamper your enjoyment or prevent you from meeting eligible suitors—”
“Only to keep me from seeing Francis.”
“—but to protect you from fortune hunters’ schemes and anyone who might attempt to possess you in order to gain access to my wealth,” her father continued as though she had never interrupted.
“This won’t work, you know,” she said. “In a year I will reach my majority, and I may marry whomever I please. You can surround me with a hundred bodyguards, but true love will overcome all adversity.”
“True love.” Her father gave her a thin smile. “You, dear daughter, do not know the first thing about it.” He walked out of the room, leaving her alone with the Viking.
“Your father is a patient man,” the Viking said.
“He’s a tyrant.”
“Then a benevolent tyrant. If you were my daughter, I would have taken you over my knee and spanked you until your bottom was red.”
Lorrie’s mouth dropped open. It was a scandalous thing to say, and it probably should have scared her. Instead, her face felt hot and flushed as the image of him tossing her skirts up and putting a hand on her bare bottom flashed in her mind. “I…think that is the longest sentence you have ever spoken to me,” she stammered, desperate to say something—anything—that would turn the conversation away from his hand on her bottom.
The corners of his mouth turned up in a slow grin. She caught her breath and fought her reaction by notching her head higher. “I know who you are now. Francis told me all about you.”
The Viking raised one brow. How did he manage to lift only one?
“Isn’t it bad enough that you tormented him as a child? Now you mean to ruin his—and my—chance at happiness?”
“No and yes,” he answered.
Lorrie had to think back to her questions, which she had intended rhetorically, and supply his answers. No, it was not bad enough to torment Francis as a child. Yes, the Viking did intend to ruin their chance at happiness.
“If you think I will merely stand by and allow you to wreck my life—”
“Take me to your bedchamber,” he said.