Eldra sauntered his way, a siren’s smile on her lips. Two children pranced near her skirts, one carrying a fat puppy. Her primrose blouse was positioned low, revealing her creamy shoulders and a generous portion of her ample chest. She frowned when she spied Simone staring at her with her hands full of flowers. Eldra threw back her head and glared at Simone. Was she daring the older woman to chastise her? Was the chit dimwitted?
Eldra greeted Ian with an invitation. “The morning is lovely, my lord. What say you and I enjoy a walk?”
It was perfectly clear no one else was invited.
“I know a secluded grove some distance upriver.”
No surprise there.
“I’m not. . .” Ian began.
“Acting the part of a singorus doesn’t become you, Eldra.” Leveling the brazen beauty with a steady stare, Simone spoke plainly. “Enticing a man from another woman is common and contemptible, and far beneath a Roma.”
Smiling unpleasantly, the girl declared, “Zora’s divorced him. He’s no longer hers.”
Simone slanted a glance in his direction. He raised a brow and smiled. Simone was handling Eldra quite nicely. He finished his breakfast, then set the plate on a nearby stump.
“Lord Warrick’s heart is committed to another. You’d do well to remember that,” Simone admonished.
The grubby-faced cherub holding the puppy said, “Look, your lordthip. I goths me a babbi jakkel. You wanths to hold her?” Grinning at him, exposing her two missing front teeth, the urchin thrust the wiggling pup at Ian.
Ian eyed the brown, pudgy ball. He took the pup into his arms and cradled it. The dog licked his face in excitement. A thought niggled its way into his brain. He discarded it at first, but the notion persisted and wouldn’t leave off.
His gaze accidentally met Simone’s, and he’d have sworn she nodded, before smiling.
She continued descending the sloping path. As she passed Eldra she said, “Your father’s looking for you. He’s none too pleased.”
Eldra glowered at Simone before she hurried off, muttering under her breath.
Ian examined the dog in his arms. “Are there anymore pups in the litter?”
“Aue. Two more but I gots the only chai,” she announced proudly, jumping up and down. “Only chavvi are left.”
It was obvious the imp thought male puppies were far inferior to females. Suddenly feeling the smallest smidgen of hope, Ian smiled. “Show me, will you please?
Chapter 30
Vangie sat cross-legged atop a sloping wildflower-covered hill some distance from the camp. Twelve days had passed since she’d fled Somersfield; days of seeing Ian from afar. She hadn’t spoken more than a half dozen words to him since the morning he’d told her he loved her, though he’d tried to talk to her several times. The man was obstinate and persistent if nothing else.
Being near him was painful and awkward. And heartbreaking.
She’d become adept at avoiding him.
He was too perceptive. If she spent any time in his company he’d uncover her secret. She didn’t hate him, though Lord knows she’d tried to. Hating someone for betraying you was natural. Loving them despite it was excruciating. What would he do with the knowledge? She didn’t trust him not to hurt her further.
She scanned the encampment. Her gaze fell on Eldra posed provocatively on a rock by the corral. Vangie didn’t trust her either. For nearly a fortnight she’d watched Eldra act a shameless wagtail. The girl touched, leaned on, or draped herself all over Ian at every opportunity. Vangie was loath to admit it, but it infuriated her no end.
It was true she’d left Ian, but Eldra needn’t be blatant in her attempts to beguile him. The trull displayed her voluptuous wares so vulgarly, Vangie blushed for her. Today, everything but the tips of Eldra’s monstrous breasts were visible above her blouse. If she sneezed, the nipples would pop over the edge and give her two black eyes.
How could she be so wanton? Why was Yoska allowing it? He’d never permitted such fast behavior in his daughter before. Had he washed his hands of the wanton girl? Then again, mayhap, he hoped to snare Ian as his son-in-law.
Damn and blast.
Vangie’s feelings were a paradox of mixed emotions. While considered divorced according to Romaniya, gypsy law, her Christian upbringing held she remain, inarguably and forever, Ian’s wife. Unless he divorced her—
Drat, the notion didn’t bring the relief it ought. She didn’t know which culture she wanted to honor—to be a part of. She uncrossed her legs, being careful not to wake the pup, a peace offering from Ian, snoring lightly in her lap. She sighed, running a hand over his silky black-and-white speckled coat. She didn’t know what she wanted. Nothing was simple anymore.
She returned her gaze to the corral. Ian ignored Eldra. He seemed totally put off by her evermore ardent efforts. That pleased Vangie enormously.
Only yesterday, from her perch on Puri Daj’s vardo steps, she’d watched him spurn the wench. Eldra threw her arms around his neck, pressing against him so tightly, a malnourished flea couldn’t have squeezed between them. He’d gripped her arms, prying them off his neck as he stepped away from her.
The dark scowl on his face revealed his irritation. He’d said something to Eldra and strode away. She stood pouting and staring after him with her arms folded across her abundant chest.
Vangie’s breath caught as Nicu stormed to Eldra, hauling her aside and berating her. She had been none too pleased. She’d angled her chin, shook her upraised fist at him, then issuing a sharp retort, flounced away. Poor Nicu. He and Eldra were expected to wed. It had been arranged between their families when they were children.
Vangie chewed her lower lip. Nicu hadn’t moved. He glared at Ian across the encampment, one hand on the knife tied at his waist. Drat, Nicu wasn’t blaming Ian was he? Ian wasn’t the first man Eldra had acted like a dinli with. Nicu knew that. Faith, everyone in the encampment knew it. Unlike most Romani women, Eldra was neither chaste nor discreet.
The plump pup in Vangie’s lap stirred in its sleep, interrupting her musings. He rolled onto its back, his fat belly upward. She rubbed his smooth tummy, grinning as his hind leg twitched reflexively.
Vangie had slipped into the vardo late that first morning in camp. Her encounter with Ian left her physically and emotionally overwhelmed. If she had to smile at one more clan member, she feared she’d scream like a dinilo manishi, crazy woman. She wanted nothing more than to climb beneath a quilt, bury her head, and sleep—for a month.
The puppy, a blue ribbon tied round its chubby neck, had been inside when she opened the door. The little darling was in the middle of her bed, along with a telling puddle. She knew full well how the dog came to be in Puri Daj’s wagon. A puppy was by no means sufficient to mend the chasm between her and Ian, but her heart was oddly touched by his boyish gesture. And strangely enough, the pup had helped to ease her grief.
The ancient crone, Dika, was desperate to be rid of the mongrels, begging the members of the Gypsy troupe to take them.
She had winked at Vangie the next afternoon when she’d walked by the old woman’s fire with the pup in her arms.
“His lordship paid five pounds for him,” Dika cackled, quite pleased with herself.
“Five pounds? Dika, that was robbery!”
She nodded her diklos covered head and rubbed her gnarled hands together in glee. “I told him, ‘Ze jakkle is a rum bugher, a blessed dog. He will bring to you kushti bok.’”
She grinned, exposing a missing front tooth.
“For shame, Dika. The pup’s a common mongrel, no more a good luck dog than you’re a duchess.”
Gazing at the pup, Vangie smiled at the memory. Dika was cunning, and apparently, Ian was gullible. The puppy awoke and began chewing on Vangie’s fingers. She glanced up as a shadow fell across her
lap. Ian climbed the hill leading Pericles. She stilled at his approach.
She flicked her gaze to the saddled stallion, then to Ian. Was he leaving her at last? Her stomach sank. Well, it was what she’d told him to do. Truthfully, she was surprised he’d stayed on this long. Why didn’t the knowledge bring her relief, but instead felt as if a millstone had been tied to her already burdened heart?
“Thank you, for the puppy.”
He was leaving, and she was thanking him for the puppy? What was she thinking?
Ian cocked his head. Was he waiting for her to go on? When she didn’t, he sighed.
“Have you named him?”
Vangie nodded, while attempting to save the end of her scarf from the pup’s sharp teeth. “Lancelot.”
She blushed. Drat it all. Ian would recognize the analogy to a knight in shining armor, or worse yet, Lancelot, both the greatest and worst of knights. The puppy growled playfully as he tugged at her scarf. Little beast.
Ian said nothing, though his mouth twitched upward. Mortified, Vangie almost groaned aloud. Why had she told him that? Why hadn’t she named the dratted dog Herbert, or Archibald, or . . . or . . . Zebulon?
“Vangie, I must return to Somersfield.”
“I know,” Vangie interrupted him, her eyes once again downcast and her hands clenched in her lap.
Lancelot chose that moment to defend her from Pericles. Tumbling off her lap, he bounced on his pudgy, short legs around the stallion’s mighty hooves, yipping ferociously.
Pericles’s nostrils flared. His eyes widened and rolled at Ian as if to say, “What an annoying, inferior little rodent. Please do remove him from my noble presence.”
Ian scooped up the pup, then deposited him wriggling and barking in protest, into Vangie’s lap. She smiled at the brave, if somewhat misguided antics of her new charge.
Ian swept a calming hand the length of Pericles’s neck. “You misunderstand me, sweeting.”
She skirted her gaze away from his again. The deep purr of his voice stirred her purposefully buried sentiments. Why couldn’t she be done with him? Why did her optimistic heart yet hold a smidgeon of hope?
“I’ve purchased horseflesh from Tobar and must arrange for their transfer. I also need to update my steward and leave him with my directives for an extensive absence.”
“That seems wise.”
Absence? He’s not staying at Somersfield? Disappointment wrenched her. London then. She hadn’t expected that.
“And truth to tell, Vangie, if I have to wear this clothing one more day, I’ll go mad.”
“You might have borrowed—”
Ian’s raised brow halted the suggestion. No, she couldn’t picture him asking Besnik or any of the others for a change of clothing. Ian was taller and leaner than the Romani men. She suspected pure pride prevented him from asking anything more from them. They’d housed and fed him for nearly two weeks.
Ian tapped his thigh with his hat. He does that when he’s nervous . . . or aggravated.
“Vangie,” Thwap went the hat, “Lucinda’s bizarre behavior has me truly concerned.” Thwap, thwap. “I want to assign someone, a trusted servant or perhaps even an agent, to watch her.”
Vangie tilted her head and frowned. “Why?”
“I don’t trust her in the least. I think she may have slipped into complete madness. She’s always been a bit unhinged.” Thwap.
Ian’s gaze meshed with hers. “I fear she may be dangerous.”
“Oh.”
Oh? That’s it? Ian suspected Lucinda was dicked in the nob, and all she could say was, “Oh.”?
Mayhap because all she really cared about was that he was leaving her.
In fact, Ian wished Ewan McTavish was available right now. He excelled at covert operations and observations. Ian should have returned to Somersfield days ago, but he couldn’t bear to leave Vangie. This was the first time she’d said more than one or two words to him.
“I’ll return sometime this evening.”
She seemed absorbed with the pup in her lap. Her hands were clasped atop the dog, the knuckles white. She yet wore his ring on her finger. Relief swept over him. Her head was bowed, her dejection tangible. If she looked up, she’d see the love he couldn’t hide brimming in his eyes.
Were her lips trembling? He considered her.
She didn’t believe he’d return. She thought he was abandoning her. Squatting, Ian gently cupped her chin and tilted it upward. Her gaze, riddled with suspicion and doubt, reluctantly met his.
Staring into her expressive eyes, the blue flecks in the irises as deep and dark as any ocean, Ian reassured her. “Sweeting, I’m not leaving you. I’ll stay with you here or travel with you wherever you,” his gaze roamed the encampment before returning to her, “or they go.”
Her eyes widened. Was she pleased?
“You’re my wife. We belong together.” He rubbed his finger over her ring. “It matters not to me if it’s at Somersfield, London, or the circuit your family travels. I will not forsake you.”
Vangie’s eyes misted with tears. The tiniest smattering of hope sputtered in Ian’s soul, where it flickered dim but intrepid.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I care not where I live, as long as I’m with you. Even if you’re never able to forgive me—or can never love me in return.”
A tear balancing precariously in the corner of her eye toppled over the edge. It trailed down her cheek where he caught it with his forefinger. A subtle shifting in her eyes gave him courage.
He grazed her lips with a feather-light, butterfly wisp of a kiss, then leaned back, the corners of his mouth slanting upward. Her eyes remained closed, her mouth parted. Pressing a firmer kiss to her forehead, he patted the playful pup—who had been chewing on the buttons of his coat the whole while.
Ian levered to his feet in a swift, fluid motion. “Good-bye, Vangie.”
His boot was already in the stirrup when her soft voice crossed the distance between them.
“Latcho drom. Good-bye, Ian.”
Swinging into the saddle, he brought Pericles around, reining in the prancing horse. The muscles in his thighs bunched as he held the horse with his knees. “I give you my word. I will return.”
Ian sent her a penetrating look. With his gaze he tried to tell her the feelings he knew she wouldn’t believe if he spoke them aloud. He kicked his heels into the stallion’s sides and, with one hand lifted in farewell, they bolted across the meadow.
The time had come to deal with his stepmother.
Chapter 31
Vangie looked to the sun again. Perhaps two minutes had passed since the last time she’d checked. Stop looking. It was late afternoon. Ian hadn’t returned last evening like he’d promised. Sighing in resignation, she lowered her gaze in disappointment. Dash it all. She shouldn’t care. She didn’t care. Liar taunted her heart.
She’d believed him to be a man of his word before they married. She didn’t know what to make of him now. The hoof beats of an approaching horse echoed in the distance. She was afraid to look. Afraid it wasn’t him. Afraid it was.
From beneath her lashes she dared a peek. There he sat, straight and tall and handsome, and looking straight at her. He slowed Pericles from a gallop to a cantor when he reached the periphery of the Romani camp.
Relief swept over her—only because she’d been concerned for his welfare of course. Vangie firmly set her other emotions aside. She remained beside Puri Daj and the young girl, Lala, Pur Daj was treating for a campfire burn.
Ian rode Pericles directly across the clearing, then stopped before her. Something delicious skimmed across her senses before she returned her attention to the child. She handed Puri Daj a soft linen cloth to wrap Lala’s calf in.
Ian had returned.
She truly
hadn’t thought he would. Surely the fluttering in her middle wasn’t gladness?
After what he’d done?
She wasn’t completely addle-witted. No, she’d not eaten anything since morning. She was hungry—that was all.
She watched him from the corner of her eye. Holding the reins in his left hand, he grasped the horse’s mane. He swung his right leg over the stallion’s hindquarters, and giving a powerful shove, dropped to the ground.
With a smart bow, Ian honored Puri Daj by greeting her first. “Droboy tume Romale.”
A pleased look flashed across her face. She inclined her head in welcome. “Thank you, Ian. You learn our language. This is good.”
She smiled her approval.
He was learning Romanese? Vangie squelched the happiness attempting to bubble to the surface. Balderdash and rubbish. It meant nothing. If he thought he could wheedle his way into her affections by learning a bit of Romanese—
Drat, now he was smiling at Lala.
Ian bowed to the child. “Droboy tume tinka.”
Lala giggled and buried her face in Puri Daj’s skirt. Vangie dipped her head and hid a smile. He could charm a stick into throwing itself into a fire, then have it thanking him for the honor.
“Vangie—” His deep voice interrupted her musings. “I’m sorry I didn’t return last evening.”
Ian rubbed Pericles’s forehead before patting his sweaty neck. “I was delayed.”
Vangie placed the stopper on the jar of pungent ointment, then wiped her hands on her apron. “It’s of no importance.”
She searched his face. Lines of fatigue marred his brow and crinkled the corners of his eyes. Faith, had he slept at all? Unease washed over her. Something was wrong. Picking up the ointment, she tucked the jar into the medicine basket.
“Come tinka,” Puri Daj said, taking Lala by the hand. “Let’s see if your mother has finished the pirogo. Mayhap she’ll give us a taste while it’s yet warm. It’s my favorite dessert.”
The Viscount's Vow (A Regency Romance) Page 25
