The Viscount's Vow (A Regency Romance) by Collette Cameron Page A

produced heirs, his heirs, he didn’t give a fig what she did.
    He cast a glance to the mantle clock. Not yet.
    From beneath half-closed eyes, he studied her as she floated by in her uncle’s arms. He rescinded his last thought. He might be inclined to indulge himself and sample her charms for an extended duration. She did quicken his blood, though he attributed his arousal to lust. He’d long been without a woman. What other explanation was there for the nagging ache in his innards?
    Aunt Edith approached, a knowing smile teasing her lips. “Can’t keep your eyes off your beautiful bride I see.”
    He had no intention of discussing his wife and pointedly changed the subject. Surveying the decorated room, he angled his head. “Thank you for this.”
    She smiled. “I did it as much for her as you. She needed a pretty wedding. Her life’s not been easy.”
    Unlike her virtue.
    Laying a bejeweled hand on his arm, Aunt Edith searched his face. “I’m pleased you decided to give her your mother’s ring. Does she know?”
    “No.”
    She stared at him for an intense moment. “I’ve always admired your commitment to honor and justice. The least you can do is to extend the same courtesy to your new wife, Ian.”
    Her gaze shifted to Vangie before she admonished him. “Give her a chance. She deserves that much from you.”
    “My wife has gotten precisely what she deserves.”
    “Balderdash!” Aunt Edith drew her brows together in disapproval.
    “You’re not the only one who was forced into marriage, nephew,” she snapped. “It’s much more difficult for a woman than a man. Believe me— I know .”
    She slapped him on the arm with her damnable fan. “Stop being such an arrogant cork-brain.”
    With that declaration, she proudly lifted her head and swept from his side, nodding as she passed Lord Sethwick making his way to Ian.
    Feeling like a chastised schoolboy, he turned his gaze to Sethwick.
    “Warrick, I’m afraid I’m off. I’ve been delivered a communiqué. Night Hawk left an urgent missive at the War Office.” He smiled and shook Ian’s hand. “Congratulations, old chap.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Didn’t think you’d be leg-shackled at twenty and seven.” Sethwick turned to look at Vangie, though his aqua gaze lingered far longer on her cousin. He grinned at Ian. “Your bride’s a beauty.”
    Ian’s gaze roamed over Vangie. “Indeed.”
    Vangie had been observing her new husband while she danced. Lord War—Ian looked anything but happy while conversing with Lady Fitzgibbons and Lord . . . what-ever-his-name was. She didn’t blame him. She couldn’t understand why he’d gone through with it. The marriage benefited her far more than he.
    She mentally ticked off his attributes.
    He was handsome, a Corinthian, titled, and fairly well-heeled. And, she’d gleaned from the accounts everyone was eager to fill her ears with, a decent man, though known for his temper, dark moods, and obstinacy. He was fond of horseflesh, a top sawyer in fact, and his pugilist and firearm skills were renowned.
    She turned and dipped, stepped forward and backward in time to the music. It was rumored he was somewhat of an intellect as well. He didn’t gamble, womanize, or drink overly much. Or so she’d been assured by Aunt Adélaid who’d been trying to reassure her, the match wasn’t a complete tragedy.
    Her dear aunt had failed in her attempt to comfort Vangie. She was tempted to indulge in another sulk. No, she mentally chastised herself. Roma were made of sterner stuff. As if lifted upright by an invisible hand, she raised her chin and straightened her spine.
    There must be something advantageous about this union.
    Another turn, a hop and skip.
    She could paint until her heart was content. One.
    There would be darling children—eventually. Two.
    Poverty and deprivation wouldn’t be her constant companions. She’d no longer be treated as a servant. And perhaps as a titled lady, she could help the Roma.