The Viscount's Vow (A Regency Romance) (23 page)

Ian stiffened, uncertainty adding a sharp edge of fear to what she was about to say.

Lifting wanton eyes to his, a siren’s invitation curving her lips, she suggested throatily, “I should like to try coupling entirely naked in bed again.”

Ian was on his feet before she finished speaking.

Chapter 25

As Vangie lay fulfilled in the aftermath of their lovemaking, snuggled securely in Ian’s arms, she smiled drowsily. She felt replete, content, and more than a bit suspicious the budding sentiment within her was indeed love.

She smiled against his chest. He’d wasted no time in escorting her upstairs where he demonstrated to her not once, but three times, in as many positions, how delightful lovemaking could be in a magnificent, oversized bed.

Completely unclothed, of course.

She had doubted how wondrous the physical union between husband and wife could be. Releasing a happy sigh, she earned a gentle squeeze and a caress on her buttock from Ian. Her last conscious thought, befo
re
they both fell into blissful sleep, was more o
f
Puri Daj’s
wisdom.

Manuš paťal, hoj džanel, aľe oda, ko džanel, hin ča o Del. Man thinks he knows what’s best, but really only God knows.

Upon awakening in the unfamiliar bed, Vangie forgot for a moment where she was. A single yellow rose bud lying in the indentation of the pillow next to hers brought a smile to her lips. She tenderly plucked the rose from the pillow, then buried her face against the cool silk. She inhaled deeply, breathing in Ian’s musky scent.

Rolling onto her back, Vangie held the rose to her nose. It would seem he had a fondness for roses after all.

Where was he?

She surveyed his chamber. Shades of gold and hunter green enhanced the opulent furnishing. A tidy writing desk stood near the window. Above the desk, a familiar sketch, now framed, caught her attention. She climbed from the bed, then wrapped the sheet around her like a Grecian gown. Wandering to the desk, still holding the rose to her nose, she tilted her head.

“He took my drawing.”

The sketch was of two Romani toddlers and a dog playing under a tree.

“And he framed it.”

Did Ian have a penchant for children too? She curled her lips upward at the notion.

The door burst open and Ailsa bounded into the room, looking entirely too satisfied. Vangie’s robe was slung across one arm, and she carried a breakfast tray.

“My lady, I’m sorry to be late with your breakfast. I went to your usual chamber—” She placed the tray on a table and turned to eye Vangie from toe to top.

“Imagine my surprise to find your bed undisturbed,” Ailsa said with a cheeky grin and a bold wink while handing Vangie her robe.

Gracious, the girl was an impudent minx.

Smiling despite herself—the maid’s gaiety was truly contagious—Vangie, slipped into the familiar green folds.

“Did Lord Warrick leave word for me?”

Nodding pertly, Ailsa withdrew a folded piece of paper from her apron pocket. She passed it to Vangie before turning her attention to arranging breakfast.

Vangie sat at the table, then unfolded the crisp paper. Ian’s bold, slanted strokes lay upon it. She smiled. He’d signed it,
Lovingly, Ian.

“Good news, my lady?”

“His lordship wishes to picnic this afternoon.”

Vangie ate a crumpet, then reached for the fresh sliced strawberries topped with Devonshire cream. She hesitated as heat crept across her cheeks. Last night, Ian had whispered he’d like to take her picnicking. He’d then gone on to suggest several creative things he’d do with their meal, one of which involved something deliciously naughty with strawberries.

“It’s good to see your appetite has returned, my lady.”

Vangie was somewhat surprised how hungry she was, and her stomach didn’t twitch in the least this morning. She jumped to her feet. She didn’t want to wait for Ian to return to the manor.  

“I’d like to surprise his lordship. After I’ve dressed, will you show me the way to the stables?”

Grinning, Ailsa nodded her head. “Of course.”

Less than an hour later, Vangie and the maid crossed the greens, headed for the barn.

“Hurry, I want to reach the stables before Lord Warrick leaves,” Vangie said. After last night, she was feeling emboldened and eager to tell him her feelings. 

“I know a shortcut,” said Ailsa. “It’s a trail the stable hands use. Come, it’s this way.”

She cut through the ankle-high grass intent on an outcrop of trees standing at attention like army sentinels a few yards farther ahead.   “Do you ride, my lady?”

Vangie nodded. “I do, but not often and not well. And not sidesaddle. I didn’t have much opportunity to ride in Brunswick. Truthfully, horses make me a bit nervous.”

“Gads, your ladyship, his lordship’s stalls are crammed full as dairy teats of the sweetest mares. My favorite is Marigold. She’s docile as a puppy, and she never kicks up her heels dumping me on my backside.”

Incredulous, Vangie stopped to stare at the maid, though not because of her offensive speech.  

“You ride?”

Ailsa, nodded in excitement. “Oh, aye, his lordship allows it. He says the horses needs be exercised and gentled.”

Ian permitted the staff to ride? His generosity and thoughtfulness continued to amaze Vangie at every turn.

Ailsa skipped several paces ahead, before whirling about, her arms wide. “Isn’t he grand, letting us ride? I adore the beasties, especially the foals.”

Waiting for Vangie to catch-up, she said, “Yesterday, Ben told me a mare is due to foal any day now.”

They emerged from the trees, having taken a wending dirt path through the woods. The trail opened into a clearing a hundred feet from the rear side of the barn. Skirting around a pile of horse manure and used straw, Vangie and Ailsa paralleled the building. At the corner, they both stopped short, each covering their mouth with a hand to stifle their giggles.

Ian, with the stable master by his side, was circling the paddock examining several horses, each one haltered and held steady by a groom. A jet-black stallion followed the groom around like a trained puppy. He nudged the man’s bony backside every few steps in an effort to get his attention.

Exasperated, the stable master turned to the stallion. “Cease, ye blasted brute.”

The horse nickered in his ear, then probed the groom’s coat pocket for a treat.

“Gerard, couldn’t you come up with a better name for that beast than Thor?” Ian goaded in a syrupy voice, grinning ear to ear. “Mayhap Muffy or Pookie? Does he do any parlor tricks? Beg? Roll-over?”

The other stable hands snickered.

Gerard ignored them. Thor snorted and nudged his muzzle into the man’s calloused hand, eager for the apple he held. Patting the horse on the neck, Gerard turned his back muttering, “I have me a mare to check on. She’s nigh on ripe to foal.”

He crossed the paddock to the stables.

The ever-faithful stallion followed on the stable master’s heels. Thor’s large head bumped into Gerard from behind every few steps, earning huge gap-toothed grins from the grooms and another hoot of mocking laughter from Ian.

Vangie was nearly bent double, one hand over her mouth and the other clutching her stomach, trying to suppress her laughter.

Evidently, the stallion decided he didn’t appreciate being ignored. He blew a long, horsey breath on Gerard’s neck before extending his large tongue and licking the groom’s cheek. Howling with laughter, Ian slapped Gerard on the back.

Walking into the stables, Ian was laughing so hard, he could scarcely speak.   “God Almighty . . . the brute . . . even licks . . . like a dog.”

“Leave off with the lickin’ or ye’ll be gelded by nightfall, ye old poger,” groused Gerard.

Vangie and Ailsa erupted into another round of hushed giggles upon hearing the muffled threat.

It seemed the men were crossing the full length of the barn. Ian would no doubt exit the other end. Vangie, with Ailsa in tow, reversed her direction, and they headed back the direction they’d come.

Nearing the end of the elongated building, Vangie saw Ian leave the barn. He must have been momentarily blinded by the brilliant morning sunshine, because he stopped a few feet beyond the exit and shielded his eyes.

Obscured by the trees and the barn’s shadow, she carefully picked her way around the putrid pile once more. Glancing up, she came to a hasty stop. Ailsa plowed into her from behind.

The Dowager Viscountess Warrick stepped from the path the women had used minutes before.

Chapter 26

An eerie prickling skirted across Vangie’s flesh. She shivered and wrapped the shawl tighter round her shoulders. Ailsa muttered a prayer under her breath.

“Ian, there you are. I apologize for keeping you waiting.” The dowager’s chilly voice floated across the clearing.

Ian was meeting her? Why? He’d said he wanted nothing to do with her.

After throwing a fleeting look into the stables behind him, he faced her. With quick strides, he crossed to where she waited in the oak’s shade. With his back to Vangie, and the increased distance between them, his voice was an indistinct muffle.

“Lucinda—”

“It was wise of you to suggest meeting here. It’s unlikely your, ah,
bride
will interrupt us.”

At the coldness in her voice, Vangie shuddered again. There was something oddly disconcerting with her appearance as well. Trailing her gaze over the dowager, Vangie was at a loss to determine what it was. Dressed impeccably in mourning weeds, the woman hadn’t a hair out of place. She stood composed before Ian, loosely clasping a fringed jacquard shawl against the persistent breeze.

Vangie flicked her gaze to Ailsa, then back to the dowager. She stared straight at Vangie. An icy shiver washed over her. Her ladyship knew she was standing there. Vangie met her eyes. The Dowager Viscountess Warrick’s were empty, vacant pools. It was like staring into the eyes of a dead person.

No soul remained.

Another shudder rippled across Vangie causing the hairs on her arms and the nape of her neck to stand on end.

Ailsa whispered, “Lawks. That addled fly-by-night witch is off her broom and abroad in daylight. Gawd save us all!”

“Hush, Ailsa.”

Vangie scrunched the shawl in her hands. Should she make her presence known to Ian or retreat and allow him some privacy? Another swift glance at his stepmother, and the matter was decided. Vangie touched Ailsa’s arm to turn her about, but the dowager’s words rendered her immobile.

“It’s truly admirable, your diligence in seeking that gypsy’s undoing.”

Vangie heard Ailsa’s horrified gasp and the gloating triumph in the dowager’s voice.

Quest? Undoing?
More of her lies?

“When we plotted your trip to London, after what that slattern did to my poor, dear Charlotte, oh, and Geoff of course, I thought you only sought to tarnish Miss Caruthers’s reputation.”

Charlotte? Geoff? Whatever had they to do with her?

Ian answered his stepmother, though it was difficult to hear him clearly. Vangie strained to understand his indistinct words.

“Liar . . . vulgar . . . Vangie . . . immoral light skirt.”

He didn’t believe that of her, did he? Dizziness swept her. No, he couldn’t . . .
could he
? But that explained his loutish inferences during their wedding reception. And what came after. She trembled, though whether from nerves, anger, or cold she couldn’t be certain.

Ailsa laced her fingers with hers. “Your hand is freezing,” she whispered. “That witch could turn the devil’s blood to ice, she could.”

She tugged on Vangie’s hand. “Let’s go, my lady.”

Vangie shook her head, shushing the maid with a stern look. She ventured forward several steps. What was Ian saying?

“Bringing her to Somersfield was brilliant,” her ladyship said. Looking past Ian’s shoulder, she met Vangie’s eyes with her shrewd stare.

“When are you going to tell her the marriage is a sham? That the rector was a drunkard, a boosey hired to perform the vows?”

She smiled nastily. “I must say, it was a stroke of genius hiring Reverend Tipsyton. He could never resist a bribe or a bottle.”

Vangie missed his reply as the breath left her lungs in a loud, painful hiss. Was that the Reverend’s name? Had she even been told his name? Blast her difficulty with names. She couldn’t remember.

How would the dowager know his name unless Ian told her?

Vangie stood horror-struck, unable to draw in even a wisp of air. The marriage was a sham? The rector—

He had reeked of spirits
.

Oh dear, God.

The ground wavered, undulating alarmingly. Vangie’s pulse slowed to an irregular tempo, and her head began to spin. She shook it fiercely.
Not now
. She couldn’t, wouldn’t have an episode now.

Her gaze riveted on Ian, she said through stiff lips,   “Ailsa, have a horse readied for me, not a sidesaddle either.”

“But, my lady. . .”

“Now, Ailsa!”   The firm resolve in Vangie’s tone brooked no argument.

“Yes, my lady.”

Ailsa spun around to do Vangie’s bidding, murmuring dire threats and uncouth allegations about the dowager’s character until she was out of earshot.

“It would be the
coup de
grâce
in our pursuit for vengeance
if you knapped her with child before you turned the unworthy
didikko
out.” A sneer curled the dowager’s thin lips.

Nausea speared Vangie. Ian meant to cast her off?

Step-by-step, she began to retreat. She swallowed against another surge of nausea.

The dowager’s gaze flicked to the barn’s shadows. “Mayhap she already carries your seed?”

Ian ran a hand through his hair, then shook his head. “Not yet; soon I hope.”

Dear Lord.

Devastation ravaged Vangie. Something irreplaceable shriveled in her center.   She reached to steady herself against the barn’s rough siding. She’d allowed herself to love Ian. And he’d used her for his selfish gains. No, he’d used her in a premeditated scheme of spiteful revenge.

To what end, her heart cried?

Why did he detest her so? What had she done to earn such loathing? She sucked in a bracing breath, nearly gagging at the stench of rotting manure. She withdrew several more steps, her gaze trained on Ian the whole while.

His rancor had something to do with his brother and sister. Had she ever met them? Closing her eyes, Vangie attempted to conjure Charlotte or Geoff’s face. She’d been introduced to so many people throughout the Season. Trying to recall a pair of faces was futile. Surely she’d remember Ian’s sister if something untoward occurred between them, wouldn’t she?

And his brother? Did he look like Ian? There’d been no portrait on the gallery wall of him. Had she met a Geoff Hamilton? Blast and damn. She simply couldn’t remember. A sickening thought slithered into her mind. Mayhap he’d been one of the gentlemen whose advances she’d spurned.

The familiar queasiness welled up again, its nauseating waves clawing at her throat. A child? Was that why Ian had been intimate with her last night? He wanted to get her with child before he abandoned her? Sucking in a tremulous breath, her eyes filled with tears, and her heart broke, sharp fragment by sharp fragment.

She cupped her belly. Even now, did a poor, innocent babe lie there? How could God allow this?

Vangie hardened her heart. From the moment she’d met him, Ian had been scheming for her ruination. Every caress and kind word, all part of his perverse ploy. He was no better than the dowager. No—he was worse. Pretending anger at being forced to marry her. Making her feel guilty. Feigning affection in order to seduce her . . . all with the intent of destroying her.

Unconscionable, despicable knave.

“You’ll hurt me no more, Ian Warrick.”

With resolve, she turned away and barricaded her crushed heart, as well as her newfound love, from the man she once called husband. One could only forgive so much.

“
No matter what trials life brings, do not harden your heart
,
Nukkidai
.”

Vangie shook her head, purposefully turning deaf ears to the voice of wisdom whispering in her mind.
Not this time
,
Puri Daj
. One doesn’t cast pearls before swine, then complain when they are trampled upon.

Ian stared at Lucinda. Why did her gaze keep traveling beyond him?

Vangie
.

He knew before he half-turned and looked over his shoulder he’d see her there. He sucked in a great gulp of air. His gut burned when he saw her face before she darted around the other side of the barn.

Bloody hell.

How long had she been standing there? How much had she heard?
What
exactly had she heard? Her beautiful face was ravaged with desolation, and her eyes . . . God help him, her haunted, devastated eyes.

“She believed me, Ian, every calculated lie. Yes, even that you asked me to meet you here.” Lucinda laughed then, an insane cackle reverberating amongst the early summer greenery.

“I could see it in her eyes,” she gasped. 

Ian rounded on her, snarling, “Damn you, you evil, possessed bitch.”

He lunged at her, itching to shake some sense into her.

Stumbling backward a pace, she threw one hand to her throat, the other palm out to ward him off.

He stopped, breathing heavily, his fists clenched. “You’re not worth it. Confine yourself to the dower house and grounds, or I’ll banish you.”

Ian swiveled around, intent on pursuing Vangie. Lucinda grabbed his arm. He tried to shake her off, but her grip was surprisingly strong. Even through the fabric of his coat, her long nails bit into his flesh.

“I want what’s mine,” she hissed, madness reflected in her glassy eyes.

“You don’t deserve the settlement I brought to my marriage with Roger. Charlotte must have it.” Spittle gathered at the corner of Lucinda’s mouth as she clawed his arm. “She’s from my loins, not you. My monies, my lands, my holdings must go to my offspring, not Roger’s spawn.”

She scratched frantically at his coat. “They’re mine, not yours.”

Her last words ended on a shriek as Ian roughly shook her off. He stepped away from her.

“You’re mad. Father long since sold the properties you brought to the marriage, and he wasted your settlement away. Every last guinea of it.”

“No, you lie!” She shook her head vehemently, causing several pins to come loose. Her graying hair hanging haphazardly around her head and shoulders made her appear even more demented.

“He couldn’t have. It’s not possible. I’ve planned for so long. . .” She peered at him, her eyes glazed.

She muttered, to herself. “No one else would have me after. . . my father paid Roger a fortune to marry me. The settlement terms were enormous.”

“Lucinda, I cannot change what’s been done.”

Wringing her hands, she didn’t seem to hear him. “It can’t be gone. Charlotte must have it.”

“Charlotte is married. . .”

A glimpse of lucidity shone through. “To a penniless cork-brain!” she snapped. “No, she must have position, wealth—a title.”

Lucinda glanced at Ian. An eerie light glimmered in her eye. “Men always get everything.”

Damn and blast. He didn’t have time for this. “Lucinda, go to the dower house, and stay there, or I swear to you, I’ll have you arrested today for imprisoning my wife.”

With a final hate-filled glare, she shuffled away, grumbling beneath her breath.

Watching her, he ran a hand through his hair and drew in a calming breath. The woman was unhinged. She needed to be kept under constant surveillance. He’d banish her to his cottage in the northernmost part of Scotland. She’d either live out the remainder of her days there . . . or in Bedlam.

A more urgent matter consumed him. He must find Vangie.

Was she yet nearby? Had she returned to the house? He ran to the stables. One of the stable hands, the new lad, stood at the entrance, staring at Lucinda’s retreating form. He spit on the ground, then turned to go inside the barn.

“You there. . .” Ian called.

The young man flushed and paused. “Ben, sir.”

“Have you seen, Lady—”

Two riders exploded from the paddock. Their stockinged legs were exposed as they galloped their horses across the pasture.

Sprinting to the paddock’s fence, Ian jumped onto the lower rail and yelled, “Vangie, stop! Let me explain.”