Ian pointed at them. “See, sweeting.”
Vangie turned her head to peer out the window, then raised her curious, yet relieved gaze to his. “She’s gone?”
He smiled tenderly, kissing her on the nose. “Yes, and she’ll not be back. She’s not welcome in this house.”
Guiding her to the door, Ian said, “I think a substantial breakfast is in order, my lady, and a lengthy soak as well.”
With one arm around her waist, he led her down the narrow, curving flight of stairs. His hand skimmed her ribs. Already slender, she’d lost weight she could ill afford to lose. Damn Lucinda. What maggot had gotten into her head?
What maggot had gotten into his, leaving Vangie at her mercy? He of all people knew his stepmother’s penchant for cruelty. Hadn’t he endured it while trying to protect Geoff from her their entire childhood?
He should never have listened to her lies about Vangie. He typically wouldn’t have except Charlotte, for her own selfish reasons, had validated her mother’s fabrications. Good God, in all likelihood the entire tale Lucinda told of Vangie’s role in Geoff’s death was an exaggerated falsehood too.
Tanny and Jasper hovered at the bottom of the stairs. Both appeared immensely relieved upon seeing him and Vangie.
She offered them a reassuring smile, quipping, “My handsome prince has rescued me from my tower.”
She turned a grateful smile on him.
In that moment, she captured Ian’s heart forever.
Chapter 23
Soaking in the deliciously lilac scented water, frothy bubbles to her neck, Vangie sighed contentedly. The remnants of a delicious meal sat on a table by the window. Never had hot rolls dripping with butter or strawberries smothered in clotted cream tasted so wonderful. The eggs had been light and fluffy, the bacon exactly the right crispiness, and the tea steaming hot. Her shrunken stomach couldn’t hold much, but she’d sampled everything on the tray at least twice.
Vangie’s thoughts turned once more to Ian. He appeared to be genuinely contrite. Her gaze roved the stately room, taking in the blue, peach, and white rose themed wallpaper, the damask royal blue silken draperies, and the ornate cherrywood furnishings.
Cabbage rose hand-hooked rugs in the same hues as the walls adorned the floors, and a dozen matching embroidered pillows were strewn in the window seat. It was a lovely room, but it brought her no peace. Her mind whirled with confused emotions that tumbled chaotically over and around one another.
Every instinct told her Ian was truly an honorable man. The twin demons of doubt and confusion, however, had a way of raising their grotesque heads, causing her no small amount of consternation. She supposed the most practical course was to get acquainted with the man who was now her husband.
Toward that end, she dressed with care, donning her only decent gown. The vibrant green poplin dress trimmed with black lace boasted a filmy translucent overskirt with brilliantly colored floral embroidery. The dress, a birthday gift from Puri Daj, was a unique blend of Romani coloration and English fashion.
Aunt Eugenia hadn’t confiscated and sold the gown claiming no decent English woman would wear anything so appallingly gauche. Vangie liked the dress. The bold colors complimented her coloring. She’d had no opportunity to wear the gown, but today, she refused to put on her threadbare rags to celebrate her husband’s homecoming.
Making her way below, she ran her damp palms over the gown, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle. Would Ian find her attractive in the unusual gown? Or would he be repulsed by the obvious Romani influence? She tilted her chin fractionally. If he truly accepted her as his wife, then he would have to embrace her heritage as well.
She stood uncertainly at the base of the grand staircase and furrowed her brow. Should she seek him out? His study was that door, to her right, wasn’t it? She hadn’t been below stairs since the day she arrived. She bit her lip. What if he wasn’t in the study? Dash it all, where was the drawing room?
As if sensing her presence, Ian exited the study. He stopped short. His eyes surveyed her from her hair to her slippers. The masculine smile of approval tilting his mouth caused Vangie’s toes to curl deliciously in her worn slippers.
He lifted her hand to his mouth, his warm lips caressing her knuckles. “You are a vision, sweeting.”
When had he moved across the room?
His smoldering gaze traveled her form again, pausing momentarily at the fullness of her bosom. Her nipples puckered under his visual caress. That he was aware was obvious. His nostrils flared and his pupils enlarged before his gaze returned to her eyes. Could he see how flustered she was? Her pulse was beating neck or nothing, and her stomach was churning from nerves.
“Did Tanny take your measurements? I’m sending a courier to London this afternoon and would like your shopping order to be sent along.”
“Yes, she did.”
Vangie searched his face. Gone were the scratches and bruises he’d come to their marriage with. “I truly don’t require an entirely new wardrobe—”
“I want to provide you with one.” He turned his lips up into that wholly disarming smile of his. “Would you deny me my pleasure?”
At the carnal glint in her husband’s eyes, Vangie swallowed and shook her head, though precisely what pleasure he referred to was a bit obscure.
“Good, it’s settled then.”
He drew her hand through the curve of his elbow. Tucking it near his side, he covered her fingers possessively with his. “Do you feel strong enough to take a stroll in the garden? They’re untidy, but still quite charming.”
“Oh, yes. I’ve admired the grounds from the tower window—”
She changed the subject abruptly. “I’d love to go outdoors. It’s a beautiful day.”
He guided her onto the rear terrace. Vangie stood gazing at the beauty before her. Weathered, whimsical stone statuary speckled the gardens and pathways, though several were chipped or missing limbs.
Apparently, at one time, one of the gardeners was adept with sheers. Several evergreens had been sculpted into fanciful topiaries, though it was difficult now to determine precisely what some of the shapes were.
“Ian, is that a horse?” She pointed to the four-legged bush.
“Indeed. And over there is what used to be a bear.” He indicated a large humped shrub with blobs for ears. “And that one is. . .”
“Don’t tell me. A pig?”
“Madam, you insult me. Pig indeed. That, my dear lady is a noble hunting hound.”
She giggled. “It has no nose or tail, and it is short and fat.”
He cocked his head and studied the shrub. A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest.
“A pig-hound, then.”
“Can we walk the gardens?” Three weeks of staring at them from the tower window made Vangie eager to explore the gardens in person.
Ian flashed a charming smile. “What and leave these zoological masterpieces?”
Vangie laughed. She’d not felt this carefree in ages. His good humor was contagious. And the sun felt marvelous. Closing her eyes, she turned her face upward, savoring its warm rays. A soft kiss brushed her mouth. Her eyes flew open.
She stared at his finely sculpted lips. They had been warm and soft on hers. Her tongue trailed the seam of her mouth trying to capture the sensation of his lips on hers again.
His knowing chuckle drew her from her reverie. “I thought you wanted to see the estate?”
Vangie forced her gaze from his gorgeous mouth, then met his humor-filled eyes. “I do.”
Lord, but she sounded like a breathless goosecap.
He grinned at her. “Very well, come along then.”
His boot heels clicked on the flagstone path as he led the way. “Watch your step. Some of the stones are cracked or broken.”
She and Ian wandered the formal gardens all afternoon, strolling among the various floral rooms. An abundance of ornamental trees, complete with arbor covered stone benches, were strategically placed throughout the terraced gar
dens. The buzzing of fat honey-burdened bees and the lilting strains of birds filled the air with nature’s song.
Vangie was enthralled. She craned her neck to peer at the heavily laden dogwood trees drooping overhead. Several fragrant shrubs lent their sweet essence to drift on the warm breeze.
“Is that a yellowhammer?” She pointed to a yellow and brown streaked bird perched on a branch.
Ian’s gaze followed her finger, and he nodded. “I believe so.”
She stopped, bending to smell a peach-etched rose, its petals just beginning to open. Straightening, she gazed around the unkempt rose garden. It was too early in the season for the roses to be fully in bloom, but hundreds of plump rosebuds dotted the greenery with a profusion of pastel and vivid hues. The garden’s neglect was not long-standing. These lands had been well-cared for in recent years.
“What happened?” Vangie swept her hand to indicate the roses.
Ian reached behind her and pinched off a bud. He handed the rose to her, then stood with his hands on his narrow hips, scanning his estate. Raising the coral rose to her nose, Vangie inhaled deeply. She only detected a hint of fragrance.
“In recent years, my father deemed it unnecessary to spend monies on Somersfield.” A shadow darkened his features when he spoke of his father.
“That will change now that I have assumed the viscountcy.”
She gently caressed the fragile petals. “He died recently?”
“Just over six weeks ago.”
“And your brother?”
Ian turned to stare at her. Grief and something else, regret perhaps, was tangible in his pewter eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it.
An unpleasant sensation tingled along her spine. Dash it all, had she offended him? He didn’t want to speak of it. She understood his pain. The loss of her parents had left her numb for months.
“I’m sorry. I ought not to have mentioned them. Please forgive me.”
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Had he a headache? Or he was struggling to suppress tears? He opened his eyes and peered into hers for a long, unnerving moment. Vangie couldn’t tear her gaze away.
Voice husky, he said, “You’ve done no wrong.”
She had the oddest feeling he wasn’t referring to her insensitive questions.
Nonsense. What else could it be?
Ian rubbed his forehead. Mayhap he did have a headache.
“Geoff died two months ago. He was five years younger than me. We had different mothers.”
Ian crossed the short distance separating them. Again he started to speak and stopped. She searched his tormented eyes. Yes, regret lingered there—and guilt. Did he feel responsible for his brother’s death? How awful.
“How did he die?” The words rolled from her mouth before she could corral them. Drat, her blasted tongue.
A pained expression flicked across Ian’s face. He smoothed it into indifference. No, not indifference. There was a harsh edge to his lips, and he was clenching his jaw. His chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath. His jaw relaxed.
“A duel with a lord.”
“Dear God!” Vangie wished she hadn’t asked.
He gazed over her head, as if seeing the scene on stage. “He was defending the honor of a woman he didn’t know but came upon being accosted. Both he and the duke were wounded. The duke died two days afterward.”
Tears pricked behind her eyelids. She would not cry. She would not.
“Geoff was shot high in the chest, near his shoulder. I was stationed in Portsmouth. Father sent word, insisting I return home even though Geoff’s wound was not fatal. In fact, the leech thought he’d make a full recovery.”
Ian sucked in a ragged breath. “The day I arrived, he took a sudden turn for the worse. Most likely an infection or undetected internal injury the surgeon said.”
Oh, God, why had she asked? Ian was reliving the horrid event. Blister it all. Tears trickled from the corner of one eye. She blinked several times. They wouldn’t stop. She wanted to throw herself into Ian’s arms and wail for everything she was worth.
Blasted female histrionics.
“He died that night. For once, I was grateful my father was such a controlling sot. I was able to say good-by to my brother.”
A sob caught in her throat. “Oh, Ian.”
He wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs, then caressed her jaw with the back of his hand. “You would have liked him, I think.”
If he was anything like you, she’d have adored him.
“Enough of this morose talk. We can’t undo what’s already done.”
He smiled, a sad half-smile. “Come, I want to show you the pond.”
He wrapped his hand around hers. It fit neatly within his. The calluses on his palms rubbed against her fingers. He was a man accustomed to hard work, unlike the majority of the dandies she’d met in London. Their hands had been softer and whiter than hers.
Walking beside Ian, Vangie considered him. He was a man who loved intensely. The knowledge sparked and simmered deep in her breast. Would he, could he, ever love her that much? A queer flutter disturbed her stomach.
They crossed a large lawn, more of a meadow really, and came to a tree-shaded footbridge. Hundreds of lily of the valleys blanketed the ground beneath the trees. She started to lean on the rail, watching several swans below the bridge.
“Vangie, don’t!” Ian drew her away. “Take care, sweeting. The bridge is in need of repair.”
He guided her to the other side. “This side is safer.”
Shaking the rail, he said, “See, this barrier is sturdy. The other is rotted along the planks and won’t support any weight. I really should set Olson to repairing it.”
Bending over the support, Vangie exclaimed in delight. “Look.”
A female swan passed under the bridge, four cygnets gliding in her wake. Swimming in a circle, the pen waited for her mate. She arched her neck in a caress as he passed by and replaced her at the front of the line.
Ian slipped his arm around Vangie’s waist and tugged her into the circle of his powerful arms, whispering, “Swans mate for life, sweeting.”
His breath tickled her ear, sending errant flickers of sensation across the sensitive flesh. She forced her attention back to the swans.
“They are magnificent, especially the black swans. I’ve never seen any before. Do they stay here year round?”
“Yes. The pond is really more of a smallish lake. It extends clear into those trees, yonder.” He inclined his head in the direction of some evergreens.
“It’s deep too. As boys, Geoff and I often swam in it.”
Pointing to the far side of the pond, he asked, “Do you see where the cattails and bull rushes are—that boggish area just this side of the tall vegetation? Two nests are over there, and each pair of black swans has hatched four eggs. The hatchlings are light though, nearly white.”
Grasping his muscled forearm, Vangie cried, “Look, there are some of the little ones, near the middle of the pond.”
She turned to look at him and smiled. “God’s creation is exquisite, is it not?”
Ian’s eyes darkened as they roamed her face. He was going to kiss her. Her gaze fell to his mouth, and she parted hers in invitation.
Dipping his head he murmured, “It is indeed.”
The softest touch of his lips, the whisper of her sigh, and an onslaught bubbled from within her, breaking down each of her reservations. This was right. It was meant to be.
Every doubt fled on the wings of wonder when the velvet softness of his lips met hers. She rejoiced in his firm mouth on hers, invoking tantalizing sensations in the most interesting of places. Tilting her head, she allowed him better access. She parted her mouth, welcoming him, inviting him to explore its depths.
Faith, but the man knew how to kiss.
Groaning, Ian trapped Vangie within his arms. Her tentative response vanquished him, shook him, igniting his passion until he was consumed with
her. When her slender arms clasped behind his neck, he was overcome. This kind-hearted, generous woman held no ill will, but forgave freely, giving of herself unreservedly. She felt something too. It was apparent in her fervent, if somewhat untried responses.
Holding her tight, chest-to-chest, hip-to-hip, he yielded to the pent-up emotion he’d buried deep inside. He conveyed his adoration with his mouth.
A distant sound intruded. With one final kiss, he lifted his head, then surveyed the perimeter. Two forms lurked under the trees, one on either end of the pond. The first, a swarthy complexioned man turned swiftly, and in one deft move, leapt onto his horse. He vanished into the trees bordering Somersfield.
Who was he?
The other, a darkly clad form hovering in the shade was a woman. Icy fingers of unease clawed the length of Ian’s spine.
Lucinda. Even at this distance, he sensed her rage.
Chapter 24
Vangie awoke the next morning to her Ailsa warbling a ribald ballad. She lay watching the maid blundering around the chamber. She seemed determined to wake her. She kept slicing covert glances at the bed, as she flung the draperies open, banged about in the fire grate, and sang much too loudly for Vangie to possibly sleep.
Peeking at the servant through half-closed lids, and squinting at the torrent of sunshine now permeating the chamber, Vangie considered feigning sleep just to see her response.
“You’re awake at last.”
Oh dear, she was caught. Vangie sat up, smiling good naturedly. “It was somewhat difficult to continue sleeping with you. . .”
“Oh, I know,” Ailsa interrupted, oblivious to her breach of decorum, “but I couldn’t wait to wake you.”
Clearly.
She pointed to a mound of garments piled atop a nearby chair. “Look.”
“Lord Warrick said I was to select some of Miss Charlotte’s dresses for you to wear until your new wardrobe arrives.”
Ailsa snatched a gauzy champagne colored gown and held it before her. “Isn’t it lovely?”
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