Moaning aloud, she pressed his dark head closer, burying her fingers in his hair, desperate for deeper contact. Obligingly, he drew the fullness of one breast further into his mouth, sucking and tugging at the swollen globe.
His teeth grazed the engorged nipple and Vangie sucked in a tremulous breath, gasping, “Yes, Ian, oh yes.”
She was mindless against the onslaught, of the quivers spreading through her body. She ran frantic hands across the muscular ridges and planes of his chest and torso. He shifted away.
“No. . .”
He smiled wickedly at her mew of protest.
Ian shrugged off his jacket, then his waistcoat, before quickly untying his cravat. He unbuttoned his shirt, then yanked the fabric from his waistband, letting it slide off his broad shoulders.
Her hair unpinned, both breasts fully exposed, she lay on the settee watching him. My but he was a finely built man.
Vangie reached out and flattened her palm against the smattering of dark hair covering his chest. The curls tapered to a seductive triangle before disappearing into his unfastened pantaloons. A tell-tale bulge proudly strained against the opening.
He reached for the hem of her gown, scrunched half-way up her thighs, and never breaking eye-contact, edged the material upward, inch by inch. Shimmering with the intensity of dozens of miniature stars, the flecks in his eyes held a promise.
Flicking her tongue out, she moistened her lips. Her small rasping gasps gently jiggled her breasts.
Brushing his calloused fingers over the flesh of her inner thigh, Ian continued to raise her gown, swirling his fingertips over her. At last, with the barest whisper of a touch, he found her woman’s center. She involuntarily clamped her legs against his exploring fingers.
“Ian—”
“Open for me, sweeting.”
He nudged her neck, his tongue twirling deliciously across her skin, before he whispered huskily, “Let me pleasure you.”
After a few more moments of exquisite torture, she groaned in ardent defeat, and let her legs fall apart. In complete abandonment, she arched her hips into his experienced hand, fully yielded to the erotic play of his fingers.
He chuckled, a purely primitive response. His voice was a gravelly purr as he praised her.
“That’s it, darling. You’re so ready.”
Reality fled, as Ian worked his magic, smothering her breasts and lips with adoration, urging her on with words of love and passion. His whiskers scraped her sensitized flesh. Every pore, every nerve ending, awakened in anticipation.
Vangie tossed her head on the settee cushion, striving for what she knew not. What was he doing to her? Her hands clutched his rigid forearms and his muscled shoulders. Overcome, she had no inclination to be self-conscious or ashamed of the passion invoked sounds she breathed.
She gasped, nearly incoherent, “Ian . . . please—”
Sensual fire coursed through her veins, a demanding, aching thrumming at the vortex of her dampened pelvic curls. She groaned, her hips undulating frantically.
“I can bear no more.”
“Yes, you can, love,” Ian whispered against her mouth.
“Let go, sweeting. Let me take you to heaven. Come for me.”
He plunged his tongue into her mouth as he rotated his hand, expertly flicking her woman’s bud.
She felt the first quivers of her release before she yanked her mouth free, and throwing her head back, keened her pleasure. A kaleidoscope of colors erupted behind her eyes as sensation after pulsating, effervescent, sensation rippled through her.
Ian glided into Vangie before she finished climaxing. He remained perfectly still, feeling her muscles constricting rhythmically around his length. He gritted his teeth against the exquisite pull, resisting the urge to pour himself into her.
She raised passion-drugged eyes to his. The muscles in his neck bunched as he struggled for control sheathed in the midst of her hot depths. She would enjoy the full measure of their union this time, though from the stunned look on her lovely face, she’d not as yet realized he possessed her.
Ian rocked ever-so-gently.
Her eyes widened in startled wonder. And now she did.
“You’re inside me?”
Ian growled, “Me and no other, ever.” He flexed his hips again.
She groaned, arching her back, and pushing her hips flush to his.
“It doesn’t hurt,” she gasped.
Sliding his hands beneath her buttocks, he tilted her hips, relishing in her cries of renewed bliss. He bent to claim her lips once more, promising, “You’ve had a mere sampling of passion’s rapture this night, my love.”
He withdrew, his distended tip hovering at her womanhood. “Now, you’ll experience the wholeness of ecstasy.”
Plunging into Vangie, Ian fulfilled his pledge. He wrapped his arms around her, and driving into her with searing, feverish strokes, strove faster and faster. She crested the pinnacle, her euphoric cry mingling with his moan of ecstasy. One stroke later, he toppled into the abyss of consummate bliss.
Several moments passed before he stirred, withdrawing from his satiated wife. She lay sprawled beneath him, making no attempt to put her dress aright or cover herself.
Lifting her hand, she traced the line of his jaw before placing a kiss on his lips. Her voice husky, she whispered, “Thank you.”
Overcome, Ian lifted his head and gazed into her sincere eyes. “It’s I who should be thanking you. I treated you appallingly. . .”
“Shh,” Vangie placed a finger over his lips. “That’s behind us. I much prefer what we just shared.”
She frowned then, the slightest furrowing of her smooth brow and downward tilting of her perfect mouth.
“Except. . .”
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, before they both fell into blissful sleep, was more of 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 dra
wing.”
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 strai
ght 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.
The Viscount's Vow (A Regency Romance) Page 21
