The Viscount's Vow (A Regency Romance) (10 page)

Her breath caught and hitched in her lungs.

“I think it’s time we made our excuses and made for
home
, sweeting.” His voice was a husky, suggestive rumble.

Oh dear.

Shaken from the unnerving exchange, Vangie allowed him to lead her from the floor, though the dance had not yet ended. With her on his arm, he circled the room, accepting congratulations and thanking the guests for attending.

Faith, were they truly to leave? She sent a panicked look at Uncle Gideon. He was frowning again, his eyes trained on Ian.

His aunt offered her cheek for a compulsory kiss, then chided him. “Leaving so soon, Ian?”

Turning to Vangie, the dame embraced her. “I’m most pleased you deemed to marry this pup, my dear.”

The sincerity and playfulness of her tone did wonders to ease Vangie’s brittle nerves. “Thank you, Lady Fitz . . .”

“Pshaw, none of that. Please call me Aunt Edith, Evangeline.”

Vangie smiled with sincere warmth. “And you must call me Vangie.”

More farewells and good wishes were exchanged before she was finally whisked into Ian’s waiting carriage. Her trunk wasn’t anywhere to be seen, not that she had too terribly much to take with her. All the clothes she’d worn while in London had been borrowed from Yvette.

The carriage started to pull away from the mansion. She blurted, “My trunk?”

“Was sent over during the ceremony.”

“Oh.” How thoughtful of him. “Thank you.”

He flicked his fingers dismissively. “Don’t thank me. I didn’t do it; your aunt did.”

Chapter 11

After Ian’s clipped retort, Vangie fell silent. With those few words he’d made his feelings all too clear.

He sat across from her, his sheer male essence permeating the coach. The sun had bid the day
adieu
, but dusk lent a faint glow to the plush interior of the comfortable conveyance. She knew without looking, he was staring at her with a steady, assessing gaze. He did indeed remind her of a large cat, and she was his quarry.

A shiver stole through her, despite the mild evening and the light shawl she wore. She daren’t look at him but kept her gaze firmly riveted on the dim, unimpressive view beyond the carriage window. He seemed as disinclined to converse as her. Considering his last rude remark, she was most grateful for that.

Clasping her hands in her lap, Vangie nibbled her lower lip. She was determined to ask Lord Warrick to wait to claim his conjugal rights. At least until they grew to know one another a mite more. Or better yet, a great deal more. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask, was it? She’d every intention of consummating the marriage, just not quite yet.

Wouldn’t his lordship be uncomfortable with such extreme intimacies with a stranger? Uncomfortable didn’t begin to express her feelings on the matter. It was preposterous. People simply didn’t engage in
that
with someone they didn’t know—

She fidgeted with her reticule strings, twisting the crocheted strands round, and round her fingers. Aunt Adélaid hadn’t been altogether specific about what
that
was, and Vangie tried very hard not to listen by reciting Romani phrases in her head the whole while her aunt was speaking.

“I must be honest. It is a smidgen embarrassing the first time.”

The droppings of the flying bird never fall twice on the same spot.

“Or he might prefer you completely unclothed.”

It is easier to milk a cow that stands still.

“
Don’t be alarmed. A spot of blood is quite normal.”

You cannot walk straight when the road is bent
.

“
Joining
can be wondrous.
”

Beauty cannot be eaten with a spoon.

Vangie still heard more than she wanted to. It had something to do with being naked and joining.
She wasn’t completely ignorant for pity’s sake. She’d seen the chickens and geese mating in the enclosure behind her cottage, and once as a child, she’d seen a mare being bred while in the Romani encampment.

She shuddered. What was the pecking and biting about? And the noises? The squawking and grunting? It appeared rather violent, and it seemed to her, the females found the whole of it rather trying. Faith, she couldn’t imagine people engaged in that sort of
behavior. She furrowed her brow. Truth to tell, she expected it must be wholly different for men and women when they coupled.

She cast a surreptitious glance at her husband. As if alerted, he turned his gaze from perusing the passing scenery and caught her peeking at him. His firm lips quirked at both corners. Sensual. Mocking.

Heat swept up her cheeks. Dash it all, she was blushing again. His smile widened. He knew it too, wretched man. Lawks, did he wink? Fresh warmth skimmed to the roots of her hair. She’d blushed more in the past week than in her entire life. It was most annoying.
And revealing.

Clenching her hands once more, she squeezed the ring Lord Warrick slipped onto her finger during the ceremony. The band felt foreign. Everything was strange now. This man who was her husband. Where she’d live. The people she’d share a home with. The company she’d now keep.

Exhausted as she was, the gentle rocking of the carriage lulled Vangie into drowsiness. She rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes. A sudden disturbing thought trickled into her mind. Would Ian allow visits with her Romani relatives? Would he be among those who treated the Roma shabbily, as if they were an inferior people?

Did he know her heritage? Would he care?

The carriage rumbled to a stop. Her eyes flew open, and her stomach cavorted as a thousand dragonflies zipped around her ribs. The carriage door was opened, revealing a royal blue liveried footman and a modish townhouse in an opulent section of town.

Ian descended first. “Thank you, Lowell.”

He swiveled back to the carriage, then reached into the darkened vehicle. He grasped Vangie’s hand, assisting her to the ground.

Could he feel her trembling?

Propelling her along by the elbow, he escorted her into the brightly lit townhouse. In the foyer, the staff stood in a straight line, ready to greet their new mistress.

Vangie smiled and nodded, at least she thought she did, though she couldn’t remember any of their names except perhaps the butler, Flinch, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Porker.

Oh dear, that can’t be right. Mayhap it was Mrs. Perky.

The heat from Ian’s hand scorched her through the light fabric of her shawl. It was difficult to concentrate on anything except for his disturbing touch.

“Mrs. Parker will show you to your chamber, Lady Warrick.”

She glanced at him, surprised. It was the first time he’d addressed her thus. She risked sending him a hesitant smile. It quickly faded when he turned away from her. She watched him escape through a carved door across the entry.

“Yes, indeed, everything’s been made ready for your arrival,” the vivacious housekeeper declared, a smile on her jovial face.

“Wait ‘till you see—” Her smile widened until her plump cheeks resembled miniature candied apples. “We’ve quite outdone ourselves, we have.”

Appreciation surged through Vangie at the friendly welcome. Mrs. Parker’s chatelaine tinkled as she bustled across the entry. “If you’ll please follow me, my lady.”

Lady Warrick? Faith, she was a lady now. Vangie lifted her gown and followed the housekeeper up the stairs. She paused on the landing. Turning, she stared at the door Ian had disappeared through. A dim light glowed through the crack beneath it.

Would he come to her tonight?

Dash it all, she hoped not.

Two hours later, she sat at the dressing table in the sumptuous chamber appointed to her. The room was overwhelming. Everything was pink roses, from the silk rose-laced wallpaper to the draperies and bed curtains—even the rugs on the floor. Numerous vases of roses were placed throughout the room, their bold scent perfuming the air.

There had even been rose petals floating in her bathwater, and more petals were sprinkled atop the silken sheets. Why would anyone put rose petals on the bed? She’d scooped the petals from the copper tub before picking the others off the sheets. Standing in the middle of the chamber, she’d bitten her lip.

Where to put them? A chamber pot peeked from beneath the bed. She’d pulled it out and grinned. Pink roses smiled back at her.

Now brushing her hair with long, slow strokes, her emotions were in a whirl. Ian hadn’t made an appearance. Her relief was profound. Then why the queer, uncomfortable feeling inside? She mentally shook her head. Tosh, that other sentiment was
not
disappointment. It was embarrassment at being rejected on one’s wedding night—that was all. Her gaze stole to the connecting door once more.

Vangie dismissed, Irma, the girl assigned to act as her lady’s maid, after the girl helped Vangie from her gown. It was awkward having a stranger undress her. She’d refused the offer of assistance with her bath as well. She’d no personal servants in Brunswick and was accustomed to seeing to her own needs.

She wore a diaphanous nightgown and robe. They too, were tinted pink, and embroidered blue roses graced the neckline and sleeves. Thank goodness for something other than pink. She hoped Ian wasn’t the one overly fond of the color. She didn’t much care for it herself.

The set had been lying across the gargantuan bed dominating the room when she entered the bedchamber. She’d no doubt they were meant for her to wear tonight, and so, she dutifully donned them. She had nothing half as lovely of her own.

A smile tugged the corners of her mouth. She would like to see his lordship’s reaction if he ever saw her in her plain, serviceable nightdress. The gown was patched in numerous places. The hem and sleeves were ragged and frayed, and it boasted several tea and paints stains. She loved its well-used comfort.

Tilting her head, Vangie caught sight of the bed in the mirror. The sheer size of it gave her pause. How many people were meant to sleep in that monstrosity? Her hand froze mid-stroke.

Leaning forward, she peered into the mirror, seeing the shock on her face, before sinking her gaze to gape at her chest. The material of her night rail was much too fine, revealing far more than it concealed. One could see the dark tips of her breasts.

“Faith, this will never do.”

Dropping the brush on the table, she jumped from the bench. Her mouth fell open. The dark shadow of her womanhood was visible through the frail fabric as well.

“What could the
modiste
have been thinking, fashioning a gown of such transparent material? Why, it’s positively wicked.”

She darted to the wardrobe intent on donning her thick, well-worn night robe. Lord Warrick mightn’t make an appearance tonight, but should he, Vangie wanted to be prepared. Standing before him in an embroidered, lace covered ensemble, that left
nothing
to the imagination, wouldn’t lend itself to the purpose she’d set her mind to.

Yanking the wardrobe open, she removed the familiar garment. She lifted her arm to slip it into the comfortable, woolen arm. Lord Warrick’s deep voice halted her.

“Nay, sweeting, lay it aside.”

She stood transfixed, one hand clutching the robe, the other her throat. Her pulse beat a rapid cadence beneath her fingertips. She’d not heard him enter through the adjoining door.
Panther feet
.

Draping the garment across a nearby armchair, Vangie gazed longingly at the robe’s modest folds before she faced Lord Warrick. His mahogany hair was damp, though neatly combed. He wore a dark blue banyan, open to the waist. What she could see of his chest was matted in fine, curling hair. Silk frogs secured the remainder of the banyan, which fell to the middle of his calves. The lower part of his muscled legs was covered in crisp, dark hair.

She stared. Gads, even his toes have hair on them.

Of course they do. Black hair probably covers his entire body.

Oh dear.

She forced herself to meet his disconcerting eyes. She daren’t look anywhere else on his form. Was he naked beneath the Banyan? She gulped against an absurd desire to giggle. Clearing her throat, she swallowed against a bothersome lump lodged there.

She plastered a fake smile on her face. “My lord. . .?”

He shook his head and waved a finger at her. “Not ‘my lord’ sweeting. I prefer, Ian, or darling, or dearest, or my love.”

There was a bantering tone to his voice, or was it mockery? Puzzled, Vangie’s smile faded. “My, uh, Ian, I thought perhaps we could wait to. . .”

“Wait?”

He crooked a winged chestnut brow, a bland smile on his lips, though the humor failed to reach his eyes. His gaze shifted to her breasts. Her nipples puckered against the gossamer fabric. Curse it. She reached to pull the filmy cloth away from her traitorous breasts.

A slow smile tilted the corners of his mouth.

Rotten knave.

Instead she angled her chin, straightened her shoulders, and folding her arms across her chest, plowed onward. “Well, yes, to get to know one another better before we—”

She swallowed again as he purposefully spanned the distance separating them with measured steps. She stood her ground, though every instinct screamed for her to run.

Drawing a thick lock of hair across her shoulder, he idly toyed with it. With his other hand, he tilted her chin upward until her eyes grudgingly met his.

His were endless pools, and Vangie struggled to find a nuance of mercy or compassion within their fathomless depths. The look simmering there wasn’t reassuring or comforting in the least. He looked about to pounce and gobble her up.

Panther
.

Sliding the hand cupping her chin to the back of her head, Ian held her immobile. His gaze sank to her parted mouth. Lowering his head, he brushed her lips, a feather-light wisp of a touch, with his. She stiffened but didn’t pull away.

He played with her mouth, gently caressing her lips with his warm, velvety ones. It was unlike anything she’d dreamed of. She relaxed, pressing against his solid chest and cautiously moved her lips against his. He tasted of brandy and mint. She breathed in his subtle scent.

“You’d deny your husband what you’ve freely given others,
wife
?” He whispered against her mouth. Though softly spoken, the bitterness in his tone belied any true tenderness.

Jolted back to awareness, Vangie stood mute. He hadn’t just said . . . No, she must be mistaken. She angled away from him, searching his cold eyes.

“Pardon?”

“Come now, no need to be coy, to pretend false chastity.” He cupped her buttocks, pressing her against his solid length and grinding his hips suggestively against hers. “We both know you’ve none.”

Making an inarticulate sound in her throat, Vangie went rigid, as rage unlike any she’d ever experienced engulfed her.

Incredulous, horror streaking through her, Vangie shoved him away. She took a faltering step backward, her arms extended as if to ward off a demonic spirit. Stunned, voice shaking, she said, “Are you implying I’ve been intimate with another?”

“No, sweeting, no such thing,” he taunted. “You’ve not limited yourself to one man. I’m not pleased, but as long as you’re as generous with me—”

The injustice of it infuriated her. She’d been forced into marriage with a man who thought her a harlot. Hands fisted, Vangie ground between clenched teeth, “
You bostaris
! How dare you?”

The loud smack of her fist connecting with Ian’s injured cheek echoed ominously in the room.