The Viscount's Vow (A Regency Romance)

by Cameron, Collette

  She speared Jasper with a deadly glower. Had it been a sword, Ian had no doubt the butler would have been skewered.

  “You dared defy me?” she demanded, her face twisted with hatred.

  Jasper met her glare straight on, regarding her with such open revulsion, she might have been dung on his shoe. He pointedly turned his back to her and faced Ian.

  “My wife is locked in the tower?” Each carefully enunciated word dripped with rancor.

  “Indeed, my lord.”

  “Come, Ian, surely you’re not going to listen to a hireling.”

  Waving her hand dismissively at Jasper, Lucinda tittered again. The sound emerged half-strangled, and her skin assumed a grayish pallor which couldn’t be attributed to her black dress.

  Ian glowered at her, too furious to speak.

  She changed tactics. “That uncivilized gypsy was causing all manner of problems.”

  Her black-eyed gaze darted between him and Jasper. “I . . . I had to do something to keep the household in order.”

  “She lies, sir.”

  Ian curled his lips in derision. “I’ve no doubt she does.”

  She shot Jasper another deadly glare. “I was afraid. That uncivilized chit, she . . . threatened me.”

  Lucinda raised a hand to her throat, and contrived to appear frightened.

  “Not bloody-well likely.” My God. What must Vangie be thinking? How could she trust him after this?

  “What else was I to do?” whined the dowager.

  “What else? Are you addled?” Ian banged his fist on the table rattling the china and silverware.

  “Nothing, and I do mean nothing, justifies you imprisoning my wife!”

  Fire blazed in his blood and cold fury in his mind.

  “You have no idea how close I am to doing you harm, Lucinda. You’ve gone too far. I should have charges brought against you,” he gritted between clenched teeth.

  She gasped and clutched at her throat with her spindly fingers. “You . . . you wouldn’t.”

  Satisfaction surged through Ian. Good, now she’s truly frightened. “The only thing preventing me from doing so is my affection for Charlotte. However, since she saw fit to deceive you in order to run off and marry Monroe, I doubt she’ll fret overly much about you.”

  He turned to Jasper. “Have the dowager’s possessions and person moved to the dower house within the hour.”

  “It will be my pleasure, my lord,” said Jasper, a satisfied smile on his face. “Am I to assume her ladyship is no longer welcome in the manor?”

  “You are.”

  “Excellent, my lord.”

  Marching to the room’s entrance, Ian halted beside the butler. Laying a hand on the butler’s shoulder he said, “Thank you.”

  Jasper replied with a slight, regal nod of his head.

  Lucinda jumped to her feet, rapidly shoving her chair backward. It tottered before toppling to the floor with a loud bang. “Wait, Ian. What of Charlotte? She’s wed?”

  At the double French windows, Ian paused, half-turning to glance over his shoulder. Lucinda’s gaze faltered, sinking to her plate. She toyed absently with a piece of bun lying there.

  He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the sideboard. The harsh features of the man reflected were nothing compared to the endless ire in his devilish eyes. He looked like a man possessed.

  He was. Half-crazed with worry and wrath.

  His gaze swooped to Lucinda. “Charlotte is happily married and enjoying a holiday at the shore. You’d do well to bless the union, for she has made her choice and it’s irrevocable.”

  Lucinda’s gasp was muffled by him bellowing for the housekeeper. “Tanny, I need you at once. Tanny!”

  Where was she? Tanny was far more than his housekeeper. She’d taken him under her wing and nurtured him when his mother died. Ian had never ceased calling her Tanny, his childhood name for her, and to this day, she called him Master Ian.

  Tanny bustled into the corridor, eyes widening at the unmistakable sound of china breaking in the dining room. “Whatever is she up to now?”

  “Never mind her.” Ian strode purposefully across the foyer.

  Tanny scurried to meet him at the bottom of the stairs.

  “You’ve a key?”

  “Yes. I have the master key.” She cast a glance toward the dining room, wincing as another ill-fated piece of china shattered. “Though she doesn’t know it.”

  He made for the tower, the housekeeper hastening up the stairs beside him. Breathless from his pace, she fumbled with the chatelaine at her waist. Ian paused one foot on the step above. Tanny was likely to tumble down the staircase if he didn’t give her a moment to remove the key and catch her breath.

  He glanced at her. “How is she?”

  Tanny shook her head as she finally freed the skeleton key.

  “I honestly don’t know. As well as can be expected, I suppose. We’ve been sneaking food and other items to her as we’ve been able. The dowager has an eagle eye, and she threatened to dismiss Jasper and me if we didn’t comply with her demands.”

  They reached the top of the staircase. Turning right, they rushed the length of the portrait gallery paralleling the west wing. “Naturally, we refused to do her bidding, to lock Lady Warrick in the tower.”

  Ian sent Tanny a sidelong look but didn’t slow his pace. “How came she to be in the tower then?”

  Puffing along beside him, Tanny said, “The dowager vowed she’d have the magistrate remove us, forcibly if need be, for trespassing.”

  Sir Doyle, damn frig pig. Ian should have guessed he’d be involved somehow.

  He and Tanny turned a corner, before heading down an extended carpeted corridor ending at another flight of stairs. Scrambling to keep up, her breath coming in harsh little huffs, she continued, “That poor dear went voluntarily so Jasper and I wouldn’t be forced from the manor. It was plain to us, the best way to protect her ladyship was to remain here.”

  “A wise decision, and one I’m most grateful for.” He wasn’t the least surprised Vangie had willingly made the sacrifice to protect Jasper and Tanny. His gut knotted tighter.

  “Ailsa helped too,” Mrs. Tannsen said. “She has gumption, she does. More than once that pigeon diverted the dowager, taking a vicious slapping as a consequence, so Jasper or I wouldn’t get caught returning from the tower.”

  At the bottom of the stairs Ian held out his hand. “I’ll go from here.”

  Tanny placed the key in his palm. He closed his hand around the cool metal and had already ascended the first step when she placed her hand on his forearm.

  “Master Ian—”

  He stopped, peering into her worried eyes.

  “Your stepmother implied you told her to put your bride in the tower. Lady Warrick has reason to believe it was your order that placed her there. We’ve tried to convince her otherwise, but she simply changes the subject.”

  The fury he previously held in check spewed forth. “Hell and damnation!”

  Hands fisted, through clenched teeth he said, “Get my stepmother out of this house. Use force if need be. I want that malevolent crone gone by the time I bring my wife below stairs.”

  “If I may be so bold, nothing would delight me more. For over two-score years the dowager has wreaked unhappiness and havoc within these walls.”

  Her color high, Tanny fairly spat the words. “It is an honor to rid this mansion of that heartless woman.”

  With that pronouncement, his usually refined and impeccably behaved housekeeper hoisted her skirts and dashed down the corridor.

  Ian climbed the last few stairs to the tower. Each one groaned and grumbled as if in pain, protesting his presence. The heartache in his chest mounted with each successive step.

>   Reaching the turret’s vaulted door, he closed his eyes. He was afraid. Afraid to open the door. Afraid of what he would find on the other side.

  Afraid of Vangie hating him.

  Inserting the key, he quietly turned the lock. Holding his breath, he shoved the heavy door. He was surprised when it silently swung open, given it was not maintained and rarely used.

  Vangie sat in a dilapidated chair, her head resting against the torn fabric, her eyes closed. A new wave of fear assailed him. She looked unwell—thinner than he remembered, and pale, the dark line of her lashes a startling contrast against her ashen cheeks.

  Ian crossed to her on soundless feet, then knelt beside the chair. He didn’t want to startle her.

  “Sweeting,” he whispered, gently touching her cheek.

  Her eyelids slowly crept open. She stared at him, her lovely eyes, unfocused and sad. Dark blue-violet shadows beneath them made her eyes appear huge in her wan face. A tremulous smile played round the edges of her mouth.

  “Ian?” She reached to touch his face. “Are you real? Am I dreaming?”

  Ian turned his head into her hand, kissing the palm. “I’m real.”

  He saw her drowsiness flee as reality rudely rushed in. Vangie dropped her hand and jerked away from him, retreating against the chair. Her pupils shrank to fine points, accusation simmering in her eyes.

  “Did you. . .?”

  Ian hushed her with a finger to her lips. “Vangie, I give you my word. I—did—not, nor would I ever, instruct Lucinda to lock you in here. She’s a bitter, vengeful woman, though I never thought her capable of this kind of maliciousness.”

  “But the arrangements. . .?”

  He took her cold hand in his. The veins stood out, vivid blue ribbons, against the thin skin. “Her moving to the dower house was the only arrangement we spoke about.”

  For the first time, Ian surveyed the chamber, which to his knowledge, had been vacant for at least thirty years. The squalor staggered him. Disbelief and anger registered simultaneously. Vangie had lived here the past three weeks? He’d promised she’d not go without again.

  He’d failed her.

  His gaze grazed to her fine-boned face. Wariness lingered in her eyes. Angling to his feet, he extended his hand. “Come, let’s be away from here.”

  She placed her hand in his, and let him draw her upright. She swayed before he put a steadying arm round her shoulders.

  A movement outside caught the corner of his eye. Excellent He smiled in satisfaction. There along the footpath, making their way to the dower house, trudged Lucinda and numerous servants, each encumbered with parcels and baggage. One of the footmen was pushing a hand-cart piled high with possessions.

  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?”