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 her apex. She groaned, her hips frantically undulating. “I can bear no more.”
“Yes, you can, love,” he whispered against her mouth. “Let go, sweeting. Let me take you to heaven.”
She felt the first quivers of her release and yanked her mouth free. Head thrown back, she 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, 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, and 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.
He 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 her, Ian fulfilled his pledge. 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 gown aright or cover herself. Lifting a 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, the slightest furrowing of her smooth brow and downward tilting of her perfect mouth. “Except…”
He 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 again, entirely naked in bed.”
Before she finished speaking, he’d risen and scooped her into his arms.
As Vangie lay fulfilled in the aftermath of their lovemaking, snuggled securely in Ian’s arms, she drowsily smiled. Replete and contented, she suspected the sentiment budding 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.
She had no further doubts about how wondrous the physical union between husband and wife could be. Her happy sigh earned her a gentle squeeze and a caress on her buttock. Her last conscious thought, before she fell into a 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 the next morning, 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. Tenderly plucking the blossom from Ian’s pillow, she buried her face against the cool silk. She inhaled deeply, breathing in his musky scent.
The silky petals to her nostrils, she rolled onto her back. It would seem he had a fondness for roses after all.
Where was he?
She surveyed his chamber, having never been inside it before. Shades of gold and hunter green enhanced the opulent furnishing. A tidy writing desk stood near the window, and above the desk, a familiar sketch, now framed, caught her attention. She climbed from the bed, and after wrapping the sheet around her like a Grecian robe, wandered to the desk. Lifting the bud to her nose, she tilted her head.
“He took my drawing.” The sketch depicted two Romani toddlers and a dog playing beneath a tree. “And had it framed.”
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 slung across one arm, 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 her 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—she, 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 her before turning her attention to arranging her breakfast.
Vangie sat at the table an unfolded the crisp foolscap. Ian’s bold, slanted strokes slashed across it. He’d signed it, Lovingly, Ian.
“Good news, my lady?”
“His lordship wishes to picnic this afternoon.”
Vangie nibbled a crumpet topped with clotted cream as she reached for the fresh sliced strawberries. She hesitated, heat creeping across her cheeks. Last night, Ian had whispered he’d like to take her picnicking. He’d 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, she and the maid crossed the greens, headed for the barn.
“Hurry, I want to reach the stables before Lord Warrick leaves.” After last night, Vangie was feeling emboldened and eager to tell him her feelings.
“I know a shortcut,” Ailsa said. “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 a few yards farther ahead. “Do you ride, my lady?”
Vangie nodded. “I do, but not often and certainly 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 and dumps me on my backside.”
“You ride?” Vangie stopped trudging along and stared at the maid, though not because of her indecorous speech.
Ailsa, nodded in excitement. “Oh, aye, his lordship allows it. He says the horses need to be exercised and gentled.”
Ian permitted the staff to ride? At every turn, his generosity and thoughtfulness continued to amaze her.
Ailsa skipped several paces ahead befo
re 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.”
Having taken a wending dirt path through the woods, they emerged from the trees. 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, covering their mouths to stifle their giggles.
Ian and the stable master circled the paddock examining several horses, each haltered and held steady by a groom. A jet-black stallion followed the stable master like a trained puppy. Attempting to hail his attention, the horse tossed his head, wickered, and nudged the man’s bony backside every few steps.
Exasperated, the stable master pivoted to face 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 more suitable name for that fawning creature 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 grooms snickered.
Other than raising his grizzled eyebrows, Gerard paid them no heed. Thor snorted and pushed his muzzle into the man’s calloused hand, eager for the apple he held. Patting the horse on the neck, Gerard turned his back on the others. “I have me a mare to check on. She’s nigh on ripe to foal.” Obviously affronted at being the object of everyone’s amusement, he stomped across the paddock to the stables, muttering under his breath all the while.
The ever-faithful stallion followed on the stable master’s heels. Thor bumped his large head into Gerard from behind every few steps, earning gap-toothed grins from the grooms and another hoot of mocking laughter from Ian, trailing a foot behind Gerard.
Nearly bent double, one hand over her mouth and the other clutching her stomach, Vangie tried 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 amusement, Ian slapped Gerard on the back.
Laughing so hard he could scarcely speak, Ian entered the stables. “God Almighty…The brute…even licks…like a dog.”
“Leave off with the lickin’, or ye’ll be gelded by nightfall, ye old poger,” Gerard groused, his voice barely audible through the wood.
Upon hearing the muffled threat, Vangie and Ailsa erupted into another round of hushed giggles
It seemed the men were bound for the exit on the other end. With the maid in tow, Vangie reversed her direction, and they headed back in the direction they’d come. Nearing the end of the elongated building, she caught sight of Ian leaving the barn. He must’ve been momentarily blinded by the brilliant morning sunshine, because a few feet beyond the exit, he stopped, shielding 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 pulled up short, and Ailsa plowed into her from behind.
The Dowager Viscountess Warrick stepped from the path the women had used minutes before.
An eerie prickling skirted across Vangie’s flesh. Shivering, she wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders as 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.
He was meeting with her? Why? He’d said he wanted nothing to do with the vile woman and that he intended to send her far away. Actually, Vangie was somewhat surprised he hadn’t done so already.
After throwing a fleeting look behind him into the stables, he faced her. His long legs eating up the distance between them, he strode to where she waited in the oaks’ shade. “Lucinda?”
With his back to Vangie and the increased distance between them, it made hearing him difficult.
“It was wise of you to suggest meeting here, Ian. It’s unlikely your, ah, bride will interrupt us.”
At the coldness in her voice, Vangie shuddered again. There was something oddly disconcerting about Lucinda’s appearance today as well. Trailing her gaze over the dowager, she couldn’t determine precisely what the peculiarity was. Dressed impeccably in mourning weeds, the woman hadn’t a hair out of place. Loosely clasping a fringed jacquard shawl against the persistent breeze, she seemed composed. But…
Vangie flicked her attention to Ailsa, still muttering prayers beneath her breath. Lips pinched tight, she returned her regard to the dotty dowager. An icy shiver washed over her, and her breath caught. Oh, my God. Her ladyship knew she stood there.
The woman stared straight at her, her eyes empty, vacant pools; the eyes of a dead person. No soul remained. Another shudder rippled across Vangie, causing the hairs on her arms and nape to stand on end.
Voice quivering, Ailsa shakily 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 privacy with his stepmother? Another swift glance at the dowager decided the matter for her. She touched Ailsa’s arm to turn her about, but her ladyship’s words rendered her immobile.
“Your diligence in seeking that gypsy’s undoing is truly admirable.”
Ailsa’s horrified gasp didn’t muffle the gloating triumph in the dowager’s voice.
Diligence? Undoing? More 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’ reputation.” Brushing a hand down her arm, she cut another sideways glance to Vangie.
Charlotte? Geoff? Whatever have they to do with me?
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 battered her. No, he couldn’t. Could he? But if he did, that would explain his loutish inferences during their wedding reception. And what came after too. She trembled, though whether from nerves, anger, or cold she couldn’t be certain.
Ailsa laced her fingers with hers. “Your hand is freezing,” she whispered. “That witch could turn the devil’s blood to ice, she could.” She tugged on Vangie’s hand. “Let’s go, my lady.”
Vangie shook her head, shushing the maid with a stern look. She ventured forward several steps. What was Ian saying?
“Bringing her to Somersfield was absolutely brilliant.” Looking past Ian’s shoulder, Lucinda met Vangie’s eyes with her shrewd stare. “When are you going to tell her the marriage is a sham? That the rector was a drunkard? A boosey retained to perform the vows?” She smiled nastily. “I must say, it was a stroke of genius hiring Reverend Tipsyton. He could never resist a bribe or a bottle.”
The blood roared in Vangie’s ears, and her breath left her lungs in a loud, painful hiss. Was Tipsyton the reverend’s name who’d performed the ceremony? Had she even been told his name? She couldn’t remember to save her soul. But Lucinda hadn’t attended the ceremony and had no way of knowing the cleric’s name. Unless they’d conspired together.
She stood horror-struck, unable to draw in even a wisp of air.
The marriage was a sham?
The rector had reeked of spirits. Oh dear, God. The ground wavered, undulating alarmingly. Her pulse slowed to an irregular tempo, and her head began to spin. She shook it fiercely. Not now. She couldn’t—wouldn’t by all that was holy—have a damned episode now.
Her gaze riveted on Ian, she murmured through stiff lips, “Ailsa, have a horse readied for me, not a sidesaddle either.”
“But, my lady.”
“Now, Ailsa!”
The firm resolve in her tone brooked no argument.
“Yes, my lady.” Ailsa spun around to do her bidding, murmuring dire threats and uncouth allegations about the dowager’s character until out of earshot.
“It would be the coup de grâce in our pursuit for vengeance if you knapped her with child before you turned the unworthy didikko out.” A sneer curled the dowager’s thin lips.
Nausea speared Vangie. Ian meant to cast her off? Step-by-step, she slowly retreated, swallowing against another surge of nausea.
The dowager’s gaze flicked to the barn’s shadows. “Mayhap she already carries your seed?”
Ian ran a hand through his hair before shaking his head. “Not yet. Soon I hope.”
That, Vangie heard clearly.
Dear Lord. Devastation ravaged her as something irreplaceable shriveled in her center. Planting a palm against the barn’s rough siding, she fought for composure. She’d allowed herself to love Ian, and he’d used her for selfish gains. No, he’d used her in a premeditated scheme of spiteful revenge.
To what end, her heart cried? Why did he detest her so? What had she done to earn such loathing? She sucked in a bracing breath, nearly gagging at the stench of rotting manure. She withdrew several more unsteady steps, her gaze trained on Ian the whole while.
His rancor had something to do with his brother and sister. Had she ever met either? Closing her eyes, she endeavored to conjure Charlotte’s or Geoff’s face. She’d been introduced to so many people throughout the Season that trying to recall a pair of faces was futile. Surely she’d remember Ian’s sister if something untoward had occurred between them, wouldn’t she have?
And what of his brother? Did he look like Ian? There’d been no portrait of him on the gallery wall. Had she met a Geoff Hamilton? She simply couldn’t remember. A sickening thought slithered into her mind. Mayhap he’d been one of the gentlemen whose advances she’d spurned.
The Viscount’s Vow: Enhanced Second Edition: A Historical Scottish Romance (Castle Brides Book 1) Page 21