The Viscount's Vow (A Regency Romance) (28 page)

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.”

“Mine too,” piped the child as she limped away.

Vangie watched them go. Faith and bother. She couldn’t even think of an excuse for asking
Pur Daj
to stay. The silence after her departure hung heavy and awkward with constrained emotion. Ian’s gaze kept wandering: first to Yoska’s
vardo,
then the river and corral, and finally to the hillside behind the camp.

“All is well here?” He scanned the clearing again before he settled his gaze on her once more. Something indecipherable glimmered in his eyes before he masked it. “You are well?”

“Yes.” Vangie cocked her head.

Ian seemed reserved and preoccupied. Did he regret his promise to return? His gaze roved around once more.

“A letter arrived for you.” He withdrew the slightly crumpled paper from inside his coat pocket. “It’s from your cousin.”

Vangie took the letter. “Thank you.”

“Forgive me, Vangie, but I must speak with Yoska and Tobar.” He bowed, then leading Pericles, he went in search of the men.

She stared after him, perplexed. Untying her simple apron, she tossed it across the makeshift table. She didn’t know what to make of his peculiar greeting. He’d seemed happy to see her, almost anxious to talk to her. Then he’d retreated into his shell of indifference. She’d not seen him like that since the night she stabbed the highwayman.

Well, there had been those few moments in Somersfield’s drawing room too.

Why had he returned if he only meant to keep her at a distance?

Did she really want to know?

No. Yes. No. Oh, bother and blast. She’d never been so double-minded in her life.

She turned the letter over. Yvette’s dainty writing slanted across the front. Finding a quiet spot behind
Puri Daj’s
wagon, comfortably settled on a blanket, Vangie broke open the letter’s wax seal. She quickly scanned the contents.

Papa is expanding his shipping enterprises once

more. He is moving us to Boston, Massachusetts for

two years. Dearest cousin, how can I bear being

away from you so long? We are to leave in September.

Papa has said I may come for an extended visit next  

month. . .

Yvette was leaving England? Two years? Vangie fought back tears. She should be overjoyed at the prospect of a visit. But despair better suited her mood.   She worried her lower lip while twisting a strand of hair. What was she to do? She wasn’t ready to explain her altered marital status with anyone yet, most especially her family.

She could already envision the secretive pitying looks. It simply wouldn’t do to have Yvette to visit if Vangie weren’t in residence at Somersfield. But how could she tell Yvette she couldn’t come? And Vangie did want to see her before she sailed.

“
Latchi divvus
, Zora.”

Vangie hadn’t heard Besnik approach. Smiling a welcome, she patted the blanket. “Good day to you too. Come, sit with me, dear friend.”

Besnik’s dark gaze searched her face. “You are well,
nukkidai
?

  “
Aue
.”

“Will you remain with us now?”

Something in Besnik’s tone caused Vangie to twist and peer at him intently. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

Angling back onto his elbows, one knee crooked, he smiled, revealing strong, white teeth. He truly was a handsome man, and if her heart weren’t already engaged, she might have come to love him.

“You
kam
him?”

Vangie tilted her head. “
Aue,
I love him
.
” 

His gaze roved her face. “I would still gladly make you my
rommadi.
”

Yes
,
if only she hadn’t met Ian, hadn’t danced with him at that wretched ball. She’d have been blissfully happy as Besnik’s wife. But now. . .? It wouldn’t be fair to Besnik when her heart, though mangled, belonged to another.

Laying her hand on his muscled arm, Vangie offered a nascent smile. “Thank you, but no. My heart is full of him. You deserve someone who will love you with her whole heart.”

Besnik accepted her rejection, with a slight inclination of his raven head. “I thought as much, but I wanted to be sure.”

He looked around. “Where is your
jakkel
?”

“Ailsa is playing with Lancelot.”

His gaze followed the fair-haired lass as she darted through the encampment with her usual entourage of children. As if sensing his perusal, she looked up, then smiled and waved cheerily before continuing on her way.

“She’d make a good wife.”

“It is easier to milk a cow that stands still. With that one, I’d have not a moment’s peace.”

Vangie grinned, her first heartfelt smile in days. She stole a sideways glance at him. The twitching of his lips and the intensity aglow in his eyes was far more revealing than the words of denial he spoke.

Besnik stood, then helped Vangie to her feet. “There will be dancing tonight. Will you join us?”

She shook her head. “No . . . I’m sorry.”

“In time,
nukkidai.
” After squeezing her shoulder, he turned to go.

“Thank you, Besnik.”

He stopped and smiled at her. Shrugging his wide shoulders he said, “
Ma-sha-llah
. As God wills.”

Vangie’s gaze trailed him as he swiftly made his way to Yoska’s
vardo
. He was a good man, far better than the fops she’d met in London. She relaxed against a tree trunk, watching Ailsa and her playful antics with the children and Lancelot. Yes, indeed. The bubbly maid might be exactly what the gypsy king needed.

A dust cloud on the horizon drew Vangie’s attention. Numerous riders grew closer.   It wasn’t unusual for the Roma to have visitors. Truth be told, it was common, even expected

Uneasiness gripped her. Guests didn’t stampede into the camp. They approached respectfully and waited for an invitation to enter. These visitors didn’t bode well. She folded the letter, then tucked it into the pocket of her skirt.

Where was Ian? She must find him at once. Every instinct in her screamed something was wrong. Hurrying to the front of the wagon, she searched the encampment. Lifting her skirt, she ran to the improvised corral. Upon seeing her approach, he excused himself and ducked beneath the rope.

“What is it?” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“Ian, look.” She pointed to the approaching riders. “I fear something is afoot.” 

He followed her gaze. A scowl drew his dark brows together, his eyes troubled.

Tobar approached, his gaze fixed on the horsemen. “We best make our way to the others.”

Ian thrust Vangie at him. “Keep her with you,” he ordered before running to Yoska’s campsite.

By the time Vangie and Tobar reached the center of camp, most of the other Roma were assembled. Their unease was apparent in their quiet murmurs and the anxious gazes they darted, over and over again to the approaching horsemen. Even Yoska looked concerned, his perpetual smile gone, replaced by a grim expression.

Ian, now attired in his hunting coat, joined them as the first riders thundered into the travelers’ encampment. The Roma scattered lest they be trampled. Another group trailed the first at a more sedate pace.

Vangie recognized Gerard and another five men from Somersfield stables. Despite the seriousness of the moment, she bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud. Jasper, with a look of fierce concentration on his face, and his tongue between his teeth, clumsily drove an overflowing dog cart into the clearing.

Yoska and a handful of others, including Ian and Besnik, approached the newcomers. Besnik’s gaze met Ian’s, and he gave one curt nod. Vangie inhaled sharply. Besnik had given his consent. The simple gesture implied much more. He’d proclaimed Ian one of them.

Yoska stepped forward. “Welcome to our humble camp,
didkai
,” he said cordially, though hardness edged his voice. “How can we be of service?”

A fleshy man spit, the nasty glob missing Yoska’s foot by a mere inch. The darkening of the bandolier’s swarthy skin was the only indication of his anger.

How dare he!

Vangie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from objecting. She sliced a glance toward Ian. The muscles in his jaw rippled. She swung her gaze to Besnik. His face was impassive, but fury spewed from his black eyes. As his gaze slowly traveled the semi-circle, Nicu, Tobar, and several others dropped a hand to the knifes they wore at their waists.

She stiffened, fear coursing through her.
No.
They must not fight. The riders were armed. More than one sported a pistol in his hand. The Romani women melted into the shadows along with their children.

“I’ve received several complaints you gypsies been stealing poultry, livestock, and other goods,” the man sneered.

“That seems unlikely, Sir Doyle,” Ian countered.

Vangie looked between the two men.

A droll smile touched Ian’s mouth, and his eyes held a dangerous gleam. “I’ve been here a fortnight and can personally attest that coins or goods have been exchanged for everything the Roma have acquired. I’ve purchased some fine horseflesh from them myself.”

Sir Doyle belched and spit again. “A fortnight?”

His baleful glare flicked round the glen. “Why would you stay with the likes of
them
for that long?”

He bent forward and licked his lips. “Is it true? The wenches spread their legs for a groat?”

He narrowed his eyes before sitting up straight again, his saddle creaking in protest. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. “Course, I’d be afraid of getting the clap—”

He grabbed his crotch and shuddered theatrically. His beefy jowls waggled with the movement.

Rage whipped through Vangie at his vulgar insinuation.
Revolting cur.
She leveled him with a scathing glare. An offended growl rumbled through the Roma. Besnik raised his hand, and the furor abated.

“Guard your tongue, Doyle.” Ian spoke softly, but the threat in his voice permeated the air.

With a condescending smirk, Sir Doyle dared, “Say, didn’t
you
make an honest woman of a gypsy wench?”

Vangie went rigid. Indignation coiled her muscles into tight knots of tension. Oh, how she longed to skewer the hoggish lout. She brushed her fingers over her thigh. Blister and damn. Where was her dagger? Had she left it on the table? Behind the
vardo
when she opened Yvette’s letter?

A course laugh erupted from the magistrate. His cronies cackled their approval. He slapped his thigh and swung his gaze over the crowd. His gaze riveted on her. A lascivious gleam entered his watery eyes, and a lewd sneer curled his lips.

She glared at him, repulsed.