Free The Viscount's Addiction by Scottie Barrett

lightly then quickly replaced it when she gave him an admonishing look. She had an oddly moral attitude for a thief. Suddenly, he was struck by a flaw in his logic. If she were a thief and had his money at her fingertips, why did she need to sell her horse for a gravestone? Was he already trying to make excuses for her in hopes that she truly was an unwitting accomplice? Or had all his fortune already been squandered? It was time to discover the truth.
    He headed into his father’s study to look at the estate’s account books. A brave thing, he thought, to pore over the ledgers while being nearly sober. He sat in the brown leather chair and ran his finger over the black singe mark left by one of his father’s cigars. The suddenness of his father’s death still pained him. He’d been told that his father, an expert shooter, had had a hunting accident. Even as a youth he’d known it to be a manufactured tale.
    His gaze flicked around, taking inventory. There was a discolored rectangle on the wall where a priceless painting had once hung. The ormolu clock on the mantel was gone, along with the silver cigar box. His venal cousin had plundered the room of valuables.
    With a sigh of disgust, he turned his attention to the ledgers. They were stacked neatly atop the massive walnut desk. He plucked a book from the top of the pile. As he flipped through the pages, the reality he’d feared materialized. His uncle had ruined him. Then he noticed something he hadn’t predicted. He yanked open the curtains to let in more daylight before returning to his seat. His pulse beat erratically as he drew his finger

    down the column. The numbers were suspiciously neat as though written with a feminine hand. His heart sank. Henry was on the verge of lunacy and Lewis was not clever enough, which left only one culprit. His little temptress was not only a thief but the actual brains behind embezzling his estate.
    His frustration grew as he labored over the books. He should be riding to fetch the constable to have her arrested. Instead he found himself thinking, as Lewis must, of what could still be looted from the house to fulfill his desires. He supposed that once a man’s world had narrowed to a dank cell his priorities changed. Suddenly wealth seemed of little matter compared to the sexual satisfaction he derived from touching his wife. Thrusting into her tight cunt was the most delicious sensation he’d ever experienced. Thief or not, there wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to give her up so soon. The pleasure she gave him was too great. It seemed he had two habits to feed now.
    He leaned back in his chair and jerked the bellpull. Impatient, he rang without pause until it brought her scurrying to the study.
    “Your majesty rang?” she said with an adorable frown. She stole his breath with her brightness, her beauty. Her simple pale green dress clung to her curves so enticingly he wanted to take her right there on his father’s desk. He had to remind himself that beneath the surface there was nothing sweet about her.
    “Lord Blackwood, you look ashen. Perhaps you’d like me to open some windows and let some morning coolness in,” she said, her tone gentling.
    “Leave the windows alone.” Because he hadn’t indulged his habit, he was feeling miserable. His limbs felt weak, sweat trickled down his back and his head was starting to pound. He feared the chill air would only intensify the pain.
    He tossed the book away. “I see you’ve been keeping the accounts.” With an angry flourish of his hand he pointed out the empty walls of the room. “The question that remains is what the holy hell did you do with all the money?”
    “The money?” she asked with an innocent blink of her eyes. “The fortune you’ve stolen from me.”
    “I’ve stolen nothing,” she insisted. Her thighs were now pressed lightly against the front of the desk. A pale gold tendril of hair had escaped the loose chignon. She brushed it off her face, a