Tucker grinned at the images racing through his mind and pushed Vivi’s door open. Her bedclothes were rumpled and tossed about, and a pillow lay on the floor near a chintz armchair, but Vivi was not in the room. The door leading out to her portico was cracked open. Perhaps she had stepped outside for a bit of air. Well, that gave him yet another interesting manner in which he could surprise her.

Tiptoeing across the floor so as not to alert her to his presence, Tucker carefully made his way to the cracked doorway.

Then he stopped cold. His pulse roared to life, pounding through his veins faster than he had ever experienced before.

The unmistakable sounds of a couple in the midst of a passionate encounter came into the room. He’d be damned if anyone was going to make a cuckold of him. But who here would, other than perhaps Holbrook? He’d left the earl down in the undercroft.

Whoever the bastard was, Tucker would rip him limb from limb.

Tucker peeked through the crack in the doorway, searching for Vivian. Finally, he found her, tucked neatly behind a potted fern. His jaw dropped open when he saw her though-she had one hand on her breast while the other had her nightrail lifted to her waist as she desperately frigged away at her mound. Her cheeks looked flushed in the moonlight and her breaths came heavy and shallow, but there was no one with her.

Instantly, Tucker’s rod was hard as granite from the view before him. He adjusted his breeches. Then he adjusted his positioning so he could determine where the couple in heat might be. There were most decidedly male grunts mixed in with the feminine sounds.

Finally, he spotted them. Lipscombe and his wife were out on their portico, naked as jaybirds, straight in the line of Vivi’s eyes. Tucker stood there for several long moments, thunderstruck. His sweet, little wife, still so very innocent and shy in their lovemaking, was covertly spying on a peer as he did an upright with his lady.