Ian nodded. “What you say is true.”
Vangie’s heart sank, and a sickening sensation crept into her vitals. She gazed around the encampment. How could they possibly depart within the hour? They’d have to leave possessions behind, and they’d so little to begin with.
“But, these travelers are not trespassers.”
What? Vangie’s gaze flew to Ian’s.
He took her elbow, lowering his head. “Trust me, sweeting.” His warm breath caressed her ear.
Trust him? She wanted to. Did she dare? He’d just defended her and the Roma. She nodded, cautiously.
“What say you, Lord Warrick?” Sir Doyle exclaimed. “Of course they’re trespassers.”
Ian shook his head, making no attempt to conceal his glee. Vangie was thoroughly confused. What was he up too?
“‘Fraid not, Doyle, old chap.”
A grin curled Ian’s mouth, and there was a merry glint in his eyes. She suppressed a smile. He was thoroughly enjoying the magistrate’s agitation.
“The property on this side of the river is part of Sheffleton Cottage Estate. Though the manor house is some distance away, these grounds are privately owned,” he said.
Sir Doyle shrugged his massive shoulders. “What do I care? Gypsies can’t camp on private property either.”
Ian scratched his nose. “True, but they can be deeded portions of estates.”
He lifted the papers in his hand. “I’ve the paperwork allowing such an act.”
Sir Doyle was clearly annoyed by the turn of events. He rubbed his chin with a ham-like fist. “If you’ve acquired Sheffleton, I’ve not heard of it. I make it my business to be abreast of everything in my jurisdiction.”
He folded his arms across his massive chest. “You wouldn’t be lying to an officer of the Crown now, would you?”
A nasty smile skewed his mouth. “Are you certain you own Sheffleton Cottage, my lord?”
“No, I don’t,” Ian offered wholly unperturbed, “but . . . my wife does.”
Vangie’s stunned gaze flew to meet his. “Pardon? What do you mean I own it?”
His tone hushed, he swiftly explained. “It was part of the terms of the marriage settlement. I had the entire settlement transferred to you before we married.”
He brushed a stray lock of hair off her face. “You can deed a portion of the estate to the Roma.”
“Oh, Ian,” she breathed overcome with emotion. He’d done this wonderful thing, even before they were married. The glint in his gaze caused Vangie’s heart to skip. It left a giddy pattering in its wake. She stared into his eyes, momentarily forgetting the world around her.
“Shit.”
Sir Doyle’s crude curse yanked her back to the present.
He spit again, before threatening, “I best not hear another complaint, or I’ll arrest the lot of ‘em.”
He jerked a thumb at a group of women and children.
Ian crooked his brow. “All of them, truly? There are at least two score Roma, not including infants and children.”
Sir Doyle ignored Ian. Fury contorted his face. “I intend to investigate the legality of deeding gypsy tramps good English soil. I ain’t accepting your word for it.”
“You do that, Doyle,” Ian said grinning
Tugging on his unfortunate horse’s reins, the magistrate spewed foul oaths at the solemn-faced Roma as he thundered from the encampment.
“Good riddance, oversized windbag.” Jasper’s declaration earned him an appreciative smile from Simone.
“Mr. Jasper-Faulkenbury may I offer you some refreshment?” she asked.
“Please, call me Jasper. Everyone else does.” He sent a tolerant glance in Ian’s direction. “I would be delighted to accept your gracious offer, madam. First, however, I have an issue of importance to impart to his lordship.”
Chapter 32
Ian faced Jasper. “What is it, Jasper?”
“The dowager has disappeared.”
Disappeared? Blast and damn.
Lancelot came bounding across the camp. “There you are.”
Vangie bent to scoop him into her arms, but before she could, the pup introduced himself to Jasper by wetting on his stockinged foot.
The butler’s nostrils flared the tiniest bit. He bowed to Lancelot. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, too, sir.”
“Naughty dog,” she chastised, gathering the pup in her arms, then burying her face in his coat. Her shoulders shook with laughter.
Jasper lifted his dripping foot, eyeing the offensive appendage as if he’d like to sever it from his body. “I fear, my lord, I am in need of a new pair of stockings—”
He crinkled his nose while casting a sidelong glance at his stuck shoe. “And shoes.”
Ian struggled to keep a straight face. He glanced at the overflowing dogcart. “I presume there are both in the cart?”
“Indeed, my lord.”
Grinning, Ian watched Jasper hobble to the cart. Gerard held the horse’s harness.
“Gerard, please assist Jasper with the unloading.”
“Aye, my lord.” Gerard motioned to a pair of stable hands.
“George, Finney, ye untie the cords. Ye others, pull off the tarps and start unpacking the goods.”
His gaze swept Jasper’s soggy foot. “And find somethin’ fer his feet.”
The men scurried to do Gerard’s bidding.
Nuzzling Lancelot, Vangie sent Ian a curious glance. “What’s in the cart?”
“I told Jasper to collect goods for the Roma.” Ian surveyed the crowd gathered round the cart. “There’s foodstuffs, clothing, sewing goods, blankets. . .” He grinned at her sheepishly. “Honestly, I don’t know everything he brought.”
“Thank you.” Vangie’s eyes shone.
Was it merely gratitude in their depths or dare he hope it was something more?
“Please excuse, me. Puri Daj beckons, and I need to find my dagger.”
His gaze trailed Vangie, lingering on the gentle sway of her hips, as she sauntered to her grandmother. A smile played along the edges of his mouth. Simone smiled and began a rapid monologue in Romanese. Vangie nodded and squatted. She lowered Lancelot to the ground, then patted his head, before straightening. Arm in arm, the women crossed to a group of chatting women.
Ian’s smile faded. Was Doyle’s appearance in the Romani camp mere coincidence? Especially in light of Jasper’s unwelcome news regarding Lucinda vanishing?
Not bloody-well likely.
He’d ask his men to wait until morning to return to Somersfield. Having a few extra armed men here this evening was prudent.
He glanced around the encampment. The Roma were ecstatic. From this point onward, when their travels brought them to this part of Northumberland, they had a safe haven. A place they could call their own. A place safe from persecution.
Yoska’s voice boomed across the encampment. “Patshiv tonight my friends. To celebrate our good fortune and,” he extended a hand to Ian, “thank our new phral.”
The Roma cheered their approval. When their cries faded, Yoska said, “See my friends, so o Del dela, oda ela. What God gives will be.”
A wide grin on his face, he lifted his cup overhead. “Come, brother Ian, join me in a cup.”
As dusk fell, an enormous bonfire blazed in the center of the encampment. The night was balmy. An unseasonably warm breeze periodically whisked by like a fickle maiden unable to decide if she’d stay with her lover for the night.
Makeshift tables groaned under the weight of an assortment of succulent foods, many of which Ian never tasted before. The Roma brought out their instruments, and the night came alive with music. The singing and dancing was unlike anything he’d experienced.
These were an un
inhibited people, embracing life vigorously and celebrating with the same carefree abandonment they lived by. He now understood why the Roma, clapping and stomping and swirling round the scampering flames, preferred their unrestrained lifestyle.
How different they were from the sophisticated and artificial denizens of the haut ton. The Roma lived free from the confinements and judgmental protocols of society.
Ian suspected they were the better for it.
Eldra whirled by, gyrating her full hips provocatively. She raised her arms overhead, thrusting her breasts upward. She stared at him, a clear invitation in her sultry eyes. With marked deliberateness he averted his gaze and sought his wife.
Where was she? She’d been speaking with Simone a moment ago.
He shoved to his feet intent on finding her. Slipping away from the celebration, he ventured into the neighboring darkness. The night was clear except for an occasional drifting cloud. The muted brightness of the moon and stars illuminated the ambling brook. The water surging over and around the stones, caressing them with its cool touch, was a peaceful melody in the darkness.
Vangie, her head bent, stood beyond the fire’s flickering light, apparently watching the river.
“Vangie?”
She looked over her shoulder, the hint of a welcoming smile on her lips.
“Sweeting, are you well? You left the festivities—”
“I’m fine.” She faced the river once more.
Ian gently grasped her shoulders, turning her to face him. “Are you?”
Her gaze flicked to his before she lifted her shoulders, breathing out a deep sigh. Attuned to her every mood, he sensed her uncertainty.
“What is it?” His thumbs caressed her shoulders. “Is it the babe?”
She shook her head, her midnight curls swirling round her shoulders. The silky strands stroked his hands. “No, I. . .”
A cloud glided past, permitting the moon’s full radiance to shine. She tilted her chin upward and peered at him.
“Ian, I don’t blame you for the loss of the babe.”
Her gaze dipped to his lips.
“I did at first.” She shook her head and pursed her lips. “But not anymore.”
His breath caught and hitched in his lungs. She didn’t blame him? Relief, pure and cleansing surged through him. His eyes misting, he closed them for a moment and slowly exhaled. Her words didn’t alleviate the entire weight of his guilt. He still blamed himself. His deceit and thirst for vengeance had cost them their child.
“I would have cherished the babe, and its loss pains me greatly.” Her voice caught.
He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly. How could he ever make recompense to her? Vangie’s gaze wandered to the dark row of trees behind him. Tears glistened in her eyes. He’d caused those tears. Those and countless others.
“But it’s unfair to blame you when even I didn’t know I carried your child.” She tucked her chin to her chest.
“Because of our hasty marriage and the numerous changes in my circumstances these past weeks, I paid no heed to. . .” She trailed off into an embarrassed silence.
Ian bathed her in a love-filled gaze. He understood. She hadn’t realized she missed her monthly menses. He braced himself to ask the other question that had been tormenting him for days. Dread kicked him in the ribs. He knew in his heart what he must do, what he would do, though he didn’t know how he’d bear it, if she confirmed his greatest fear.
“Is it Besnik, then? You harbor a tendresse for him?”
Vangie gave a watery chuckle and wiped her eyes with her shawl. Faith, was the man addled? Besnik?
“Why are you laughing?” Ian furrowed his brow, his expression as nonplussed as a schoolboy. He sent a glance in the direction of the merrymakers. “It’s obvious he’s enamored with you.”
Was Ian jealous? The notion sent a jolt of pleasure skittering through her spine. It was really wicked of her, but she savored the moment.
“Do you?” His question was an agonized whisper. “You can tell me.”
Vangie searched his silvery eyes. Faith, are those tears? No, it must be a trick of the moonlight.
“I promise, sweeting,” he trailed a finger across her jaw, “I won’t be angry.”
The remorse in his voice tore at her heart. She couldn’t bear his pain.
“I’m convinced Besnik’s affections lie elsewhere, though he may not, as yet, be aware.”
Ian’s strong hands cupped her shoulders more firmly. “You,” he hesitated, “you aren’t in love with him?”
“Besnik is a dear friend. Nothing more.”
“Ah.”
Ah? That was it? What did ah mean?
Ian wrapped his arms around her and drew her into his embrace. She didn’t resist, but rested her head against the wide planes of his chest and listened to his steady, comforting heartbeat. The circle of his arms offered her solace.
His spoke against her hair. “What is it then? Why aren’t you celebrating with the others?”
He kissed the top of her head and gave her a slight squeeze. “You can trust me.”
Vangie remained silent, snuggled against him. Trust again. His actions today had done much to restore her faith in him. She wanted to trust him, but did she dare?
A passing cloud covered the moon once more. He took a step away. With his forefinger, he gently tilted her chin, until her gaze met his. “What is it?”
“I don’t belong here . . . with them.” She angled her head in the direction of the boisterous revelers. “I adore visiting my kinshna, but their way of life isn’t mine, not any longer.”
Surprise flickered in his eyes.
The revelation astonished her as much as Ian. She lifted her shoulders and attempted a smile. “I find I prefer stability. I guess I’m more English than Roma after all.”
He had said he’d stay with her and the Roma. She’d eliminated that option. He only had two left.
He didn’t say anything. He just stood there solemn-faced peering at her, unblinking and unwavering in the intentness of his stare. He angled his head the merest bit and opened his mouth. He shut it again and sighed. He was trying to decide something. Would he offer her his love—or her freedom. Which would she choose?
Which would cause less heartbreak?
“Vangie, Sheffleton Cottage is truly yours. You can live there—”
She stiffened and covered her mouth, barely stifling the cry surging to her lips. She backed away from him, pain wrenching her heart. It was to be her freedom then.
She should be overjoyed.
He didn’t want her.
“Vangie, you misunderstand.” Ian rushed on, stumbling over his words. “I love you. Love you enough to let you choose.”
He spread his hands in supplication.
“I want to give you a child, no a dozen children. I long to see your belly swell with my seed. I beg you, give me a chance to show you the kind of man, the kind of husband, I can be.”
The sincerity of his words rang true, touching an answering peal in her heart. She stood silent and stunned. He wasn’t casting her off. He was giving her a choice. She so wanted to believe him, to trust him, to forgive him. Didn’t he deserve another chance? Hadn’t he shown her his inherent decency only hours ago?
He stood before her, his head bowed. He appeared beaten, defeated. “I’ll let you go, if that’s what you truly desire. If you cannot forgive me.”
He raised his head, begging her with his gaze.
Overcome, she shook her head. She didn’t want him to let her go. A life without him would be meaningless. Shudders shook her. She shoved her fist against her mouth to quiet the sobs she struggled to conceal. Bitter tears of regret cascaded down her cheeks.
Ian’s shoulders slumped. “So be it. I�
�ll keep my word.”
Vangie wept harder. “No,” she gasped between sobs.
Reaching for her, he wrapped her in his arms.
“It’s all right, darling.” He kissed the crown of her head. “I only want you to be happy.”
Ian ran a soothing hand up and down her spine. “Shh, sweeting. In the morning I’ll make the arrangements for your things to be sent to Sheffleton Cottage.”
“No, Ian, No!”
She threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him as if she was drowning. “Don’t cast me off. I couldn’t bear it. I know you didn’t want me to wife, but please let me stay with you. I love you.”
“You love me? You forgive me?” he asked in stupefied awe, unable to hide the astonishment from his voice or face.
“You want to stay with me?”
“Oh yes, please, yes.”
She clutched at his neck and shoulders, raining kisses across his throat.
Ian enclosed her in a fierce embrace, bending his head to meet her seeking lips. His hot assault deepened her chaste kisses. It was as if the past fortnight had never been; the memory erased by a hidden hand.
Looping an arm beneath her knees, he swept her into his embrace. Vangie clung to him, pressing her face to his neck. She licked him and smiled when his throat muscles worked against her lips. He strode to the maple trees huddled beside the river.
Passing between their massive trunks, he entered a sheltered nook. Lowering her to her feet, he tugged her shawl loose and laid it on the ground. Straightening, he ran his fingers through her hair.
“I love your hair.”
Sighing, she closed her eyes.
She remained motionless as he tugged her blouse over her head, then shoved her padma off her hips. She stepped from the many ruffles, before kicking off her boots. Clad only in her light shift, she stood before him unashamed.
The Viscount's Vow (A Regency Romance) Page 27