The Viscount’s Vow: Enhanced Second Edition: A Historical Scottish Romance (Castle Brides Book 1)

by Collette Cameron

  Even as he uttered the words, Ian recognized them as truth. He should be furious that she’d threatened him. Instead, she intrigued him all the more. Confound it all, when had she crept beneath his skin? How had she managed to in such a short period of time?

  He forgives me? Is he serious? For what?

  Like a dimwit, Vangie gawked at Ian dumbfounded.

  He who covers and forgives an offense seeks love.

  This was not the time for Puri Daj’s misplaced wisdom. Vangie was quite sure she was about to be ravished by her husband, and she was equally as certain, that while she feared the unknown, she was also very curious and not a little tantalized.

  His caressing voice brought her hurtling back to the present. “We’ll consummate this marriage tonight. I promise to be gentle.” Eyeing her tenderly, Ian asked, his concern apparent, “Were your other lovers rough and selfish? Is that why you’re so skittish?”

  Did he think he was being noble, voicing concern over her past unpleasant experiences— nonexistent experiences. Incapable of speech, she gaped. This was outside of enough. It was simply too much to bear. He was mad. Cork-brained. He truly was. She was married to a man who believed her a sexually-frustrated wanton.

  In a move so swift, she’d no time to protest, Ian set her on her feet then adroitly tugged her nightclothes off over her head. Mortified, eyes squeezed shut, she stood before him naked, desperately trying to cover her womanly places. Any thought of reprieve flitted away. Her protests had been for naught. He would have his way with her, as was his husbandly right. She could only pray he’d be as gentle as he’d promised.

  Her body had responded to him since their first encounter, and she was honest enough to admit she wanted to explore the sensations he aroused further. She’d just hoped for more time.

  He swept her into his arms, laying her on the bed’s silky sheets. Lying nude on the turned-down, rose-scented bed, Vangie’s thoughts tripped over one another. Shouldn’t she be screaming for all she was worth, doing everything within her power to escape?

  Wasn’t that what she’d vowed? Wasn’t that what she wanted?

  But resisting was futile. As futile as the tide resisting the draw of the moon. There was no help for it; the end was inevitable. She was Ian’s wife, and he set her pulse to pattering in a way only he was capable of.

  There was no sin in this, no shame, except the degradation she felt at having been called a strumpet by her new husband. That hurt intolerably. The stinging words coiled around her heart, opening a deep, painful wound that wouldn’t soon heal. A flush of humiliation stole over her. She’d no doubt she was as pink as the rose petals that had recently lain upon these same sheets.

  Hearing a slight rustle, she popped her eyes open only to squeeze them shut again. Another blush warmed her entire body. He’d untied his banyan, letting it slip to the floor. Faith, she was no authority on the male form, but she was certain, the lean, well-muscled, naked man standing beside the bed was near perfection, except for…it.

  The large member boldly protruding from his crisp dark loin hairs was what would join with her. Vangie knew it beyond a doubt. She opened her eyes a slit, peeping between her eyelashes. Surely his great size was an abnormality. She didn’t want to stare at his disfigurement, but Lord Almighty—

  The breath slowly hissed from between Ian’s clenched teeth as he stood transfixed, unable to tear his gaze from the beauty of Vangie’s form. If eternity stood still, he’d not have time enough, nor have words eloquent enough, to describe what God had fashioned in such wondrous perfection. Was there anything as marvelous, as splendidly exquisite as the female body?

  Her hair, a silky raven curtain, spilled across her sloping ivory shoulders to gently rounded hips. The blushing tips of her firm, round breasts peeked between the silky obsidian strands. Eyes pinched shut, she attempted to shield the tempting curly triangle cradled between silky thighs which tapered to delicate calves, well-turned ankles, and finally, to shapely feet.

  He slid his gaze over the turn of her derrière, her narrow waist and flat stomach before traveling back and lingering on the luscious mounds flirting behind her hair. Unable to help himself, he parted the sheltering locks, sucking in another great gulp of air, as her perfect breasts lay exposed. He trailed a finger across one satiny breast, watching in fascinated wonder as the rosy nipple puckered.

  Vangie shivered, though whether from trepidation or passion, Ian couldn’t be certain. He did know, he didn’t want her afraid. It had suddenly become very important that she want him as much as he desired her.

  She opened her eyes, the merest trace of cautious curiosity in their beautiful depths. Delicate color lined her cheekbones, but she didn’t look away. She would experience pleasure with him like she had with no other. He’d brand her as his for all time. Sweeping his gaze over the length of his wife, an unfamiliar, fierce possessiveness seized his vitals.

  She was his. No others—ever again.

  Easing onto the bed, he drew her into his arms, letting her become accustomed to his touch. “Relax, sweeting,” he urged, his voice a husky rasp. He stroked her smooth skin with skilled fingers. A smile of smug satisfaction curved his mouth as he heard her sigh and the tension eased from her. “That’s it, love. Just enjoy this. I promise, I’ll stop whenever you say so.”

  And he meant it. This was no longer about obedience or submission, but about pleasuring his new wife. Every woman should be cherished and adored on her wedding night.

  He nibbled her neck and shoulders, his hands cupping and soothing a sensuous path over her full curves. Watching Vangie’s face, he trailed a finger across her cheek, then over her slender neck to the fullness of one breast. She arched into his hand. Though timid, she enjoyed his touch. Male pride surged through him. Leaning over her, he kissed her, running his tongue along the sweet seam of her lips.

  She sighed again, unconsciously turning her head to allow him better access to her honeyed mouth. Ian wasted no time. He angled his head and deepened the kiss, until at his insistence her mouth opened to receive his tongue. He plunged into her inviting depths, reveling in her hesitant response.

  Her tongue tentatively dueled with his.

  Had no man taken the time to introduce her to the art of kissing? A growl rumbled deep in his chest. Selfish bastards. He’d remedy that tonight.

  What in the world was Ian doing to her? Vangie felt as if the world tilted, and the oddest sensations centered in her most secret place. She ached to push her swollen breasts into his rough palm. When his tongue nudged its way inside her mouth, she thought she’d died and gone to heaven so exquisite was the sensation.

  His fingers caressing her body ignited desire she’d not known she possessed. She felt alive in a sensuous, urgent way she didn’t understand. His experienced hands demanded a response, she realized with a start, she was only too eager to give.

  She might’ve been reluctant initially, but she wanted this. Wanted to experience passion with Ian. Wanted to be his wife in every way.

  Turning to her side, she slipped an arm around Ian’s torso, needing him closer, rejoicing in the bunching of his muscles at her inexperienced touch. She ran her fingertips across his firm flesh, delighting in the ridges beneath her tentative, exploring fingers. Nuzzling her nose into his neck, she inhaled his masculine scent.

  “You smell good.”

  Ian’s ministrations became bolder, and he lowered his head, teasing one nipple, encircling it with his tongue. Moaning, Vangie arched into him, hungry for his touch. The sensation of his lips and tongue on her breast created a frenzy of pulsating need only he could satisfy.

  “More,” she groaned.

  He chuckled, apparently happy to oblige her. He sucked the swollen flesh deep into his hot mouth.

  Gripping his arms, she moaned her pleasure aloud, too far gone to be shocked at the noises she made. Her cries of pleasure seemed to fuel his desire.

  Angling himself so he lay across her, his elbows bearing his weight, Ian sought h
er mouth once more. His fingers played across her ripe, ravenous body. She wriggled her hips beneath him, unmindfully asking him to complete the act. He groaned, deep and ragged, low in his throat. The primitive sound accelerated her pulse, and she opened her eyes.

  He rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Yes, oh, yes, Ian.”

  A smile of pure male dominance crept across his angular face. She shifted restlessly beneath him, and her bent knee brushed his engorged manhood. A strangled gasp escaped him. Gritting his teeth, the corded muscles of his neck straining, he buried his face against her shoulder.

  “I had no idea it could be like this,” she whispered shyly.

  He lifted his head, and his molten, passion-filled gaze ensnared her. Laughing in self-depreciation, he apologized. “I’m afraid I’ve been without a woman far too long to take this as slowly as I intended, sweeting. You’re such a temptress, I cannot wait any longer.” He slid a hand between her legs, fondling her most private place, and unexpected bliss engulfed her. He gave a satisfied grunt. “You’re ready, sweeting.”

  She was? Is that what the pulsating ache meant?

  He captured her mouth in a plundering kiss, and cupping her buttocks, parted her legs. Plunging his tongue into her mouth, he surged into her with one fierce thrust.

  A cry caught in Vangie’s throat. She went rigid beneath him, wrenching her mouth from his. Dear God. He was buried deep within her. Scrunching her face against the pain, she fisted her hands in the sheets, as hot, salty tears slipped from the corners of her eyes.

  “Shh, love. I’m so sorry, sweeting.” Deep regret laced Ian’s voice. “I didn’t know. I thought…” He remained perfectly still, allowing her to become accustomed to him. The pain gradually ebbed, replaced by a vague, fluttery tingle that spread slowly outward. She arched her hips tentatively, and he smiled. “Better?”

  She managed a nod, as he moved in and out of her with growing intensity. A new feeling blossomed deep inside of her, undefinable and elusive. She wanted more…just more.

  A few moments later, Ian stiffened, a low guttural moan issuing from the depths of his throat. He collapsed atop her, his heavy breathing rasping against her shoulder. Something sticky trickled onto her thighs as she lay beneath.

  Where was the pleasure Aunt Adélaid spoke of—that Ian had promised?

  Ian withdrew from Vangie and cursing silently rolled to his side, facing her. She promptly turned away, presenting her back and wept

  In that moment, he hated himself. He traced a visual path from her shoulders to her thighs. A butterfly-shaped birthmark adorned her right buttock. He reached to touch it, but hesitated. He didn’t have the right to caress her—not now.

  Not after the cruel things he’d said to her. He’d made a grave miscalculation. She was, had been, an innocent. God’s blood, what had he done?

  When he’d felt her tight barrier tearing away, her strangled cry stabbed him to his core. Even then, he couldn’t stop. In her innocence, she’d taken him past the point of no return; a first for him. Never in his life had Ian felt as helpless or as much self-condemnation and self-loathing as he did at this moment. His actions had been untenable.

  He could still hear her pleas to wait to consummate their vows. She wasn’t being coy or denying him her bed. She was an innocent maid, frightened to bed a man she didn’t know. She sobbed silently, each shuddering sigh of her slender form, tore into his gut like a knife twisting his vitals. He needed to console her every bit as much as she needed consoling.

  Tenderly wrapping his arms around her, he tucked Vangie against his chest. She didn’t resist even though he’d treated her poorly. She hadn’t deserved the appalling things he’d said to her. Guilt shafted through him once more.

  She should’ve been introduced to passion with care and tenderness, not untamed lust while his cruel, hateful words echoed in her ears. He was a blind fool, a rogue of the worst sort. Yes, an arrogant, ignorant ass. He should be rejoicing over Vangie’s innocence. Instead, he felt like a man who had stolen someone’s sole, most treasured possession.

  In truth, he had.

  Running a soothing hand along her neck and arm, then over her delicate shoulder, Ian attempted to comfort her. “I’m sorry, sweeting. I was told you—”

  She went rigid against him.

  Yielding to the scant degree of wisdom and good sense he yet possessed, he changed tactics. Brushing aside the tendrils of hair enveloping her shoulder, he kissed the delicate flesh. “Sleep now, love. All will be better in the morn.”

  How, he didn’t know.

  He nuzzled Vangie’s neck. “Forgive me.”

  One thing was for certain, they’d leave for Somersfield first thing. He’d a need to sift fallacy from fact. Something was too smoky by far.

  Clamoring and banging woke Vangie. Through half-open eyes, she saw Emmy—no, the maid was named Irma—attempting to light the coals in the grate. She rolled onto her side, and resting her cheek on one hand, stared at the pillow beside hers. Though the indentation from Ian’s head remained, he was gone. She’d known he would be.

  Her gaze shifted to the canopied top. A smile tempted the corners of her mouth. Garlands of pink roses hung from bedpost to bedpost. How could she have missed them last night?

  Because I was otherwise engaged.

  She’d heard his plea for forgiveness. She lay awake long after he’d fallen asleep, still cradling her in his arms. He’d not heard her whispered, “Te aves yertime mander tai te yertil tut o Del. I forgive you, and may God forgive you as I do.”

  She was no weak-willed, milk and water miss. Roma made the best of whatever lot was cast their way. They found happiness where they could. She sat upright and scooted against the fluffy pillows, tugging the bedcovering higher to hide her nakedness. Yawning behind her hand, she froze.

  The mess on the floor.

  Her gaze flew to the other side of the room. No trace of last night’s debacle remained. Had Ian cleaned it up to prevent gossip? From the corner of her eye, she searched the dressing table. The ill-fated brush and comb sat neatly atop it. Everything else had disappeared.

  Irma handed Vangie her faded green robe, behaving like it was the most ordinary thing in the world to wake a naked woman in the morn. Mayhap it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. The notion settled sickeningly in her belly.

  “Your bath water is heating, my lady, and I’ve brought you breakfast.” Irma drew the linen and lace curtains open, permitting the morning light to spill unheeded into the room.

  Vangie blinked against the sudden brilliance.

  “You’re to leave for Somersfield as soon as you’ve dressed, and I’ve packed your belongings.” She indicated the trunk near the door with a slight bobble of her head.

  Vangie slipped off the bed, uncomfortably self-conscious about her nudity. She wrapped the robe more firmly about as she padded to the table where Irma had arranged her breakfast. Securing the garment’s tie at her waist, she gingerly took a seat. “Somersfield?” She took a sip of savory tea before nibbling a hot, buttered muffin.

  “His lordship’s country estate in Northumberland.”

  “Irma, mightn’t I bathe straightaway?”

  “It’s Emma, my lady.”

  Oh bother, of course it was.

  Intent on the rumpled bed, she sent Vangie a quizzical glance. “Before you eat, your ladyship?”

  Was that so preposterous? Ducking her head, she nodded, her hair swirling around her hips. Please, don’t ask why.

  Emma tossed back the bedding. “Of course, my—” She stopped short, unsuccessfully stifling a gasp. She spun around and scurried to the door. “I’ll see to it at once.”

  Teacup raised to her lips, Vangie’s attention strayed to the bed. A crimson stain marred the surface. Her maidenhead. Was that much blood normal? Ian was very well-endowed, and his great size had torn her.

  What would the servants think? For she was certain, even now, Emma filled their ears.

  Tea s
loshed over the cup’s rim, and the china rattled noisily when Vangie clanked the cup onto the saucer with more force than intended. She shoved to her feet then crossed to stare at the indisputable proof of her virginity. To her immense mortification, she’d not completely ceased bleeding. Snatching the bedcoverings over the stain, a hot flush stole across her face.

  A few minutes later, a knock rattled the chamber door. “My lady, it’s Mrs. Parker and the staff with your bath water,” came the housekeeper’s muffled voice through the thick wood.

  Vangie wrapped the robe tighter around her, clutching the neckline together with one hand. Hurrying to stand near the window, as far from the door as she could, she called, “Come in.”

  Mrs. Parker and Emma, carrying an armful of towels, bustled into the room. They were followed by three under-footmen, all toting large pails of water. The housekeeper directed the men to fill the copper tub in the corner, watching their every move with a practiced eye. Shooing the footman from the room the moment they’d completed their task, her gaze settled on the nearly untouched breakfast tray. “Have you finished with your meal, my lady?”

  “Yes, thank you. I’m afraid I’ve not much of an appetite this morning.”

  “Humph, it’s no wonder,” harrumphed the housekeeper, her gaze meeting Emma’s across the room.

  Did they know about her quarrel with Ian? Vangie wanted to melt into the floor such was her mortification.

  Mrs. Parker accepted the towels from the maid. “Emma, please remove her ladyship’s tray, and retrieve the items I prepared below.”

  Dipping a curtsy, the freckled-face servant hastily gathered the remnants of Vangie’s breakfast before exiting the room. Not, however, before she cast her a pity-filled glance.

  Beside the tub, Mrs. Parker removed a bottle from her starched apron pocket an after removing the cap, poured a liquid into the water. She recapped the bottle and slipped it into the pocket from whence it had come. She bent and swished the water with her fingers. Drying her hand on her pristine apron she said, “My lady, your bath awaits.”