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

Three, four and five.
    There she’d done it. There were a goodly number of things this marriage brought her, besides a most reticent groom. Puffing out a little breath, Vangie forced her lips upward and nodded at something Uncle Gideon asked her. To be honest, she’d not a clue what it was. He could’ve been speaking about flying monkeys or singing kidney pie, and she’d be none the wiser.
    But what could Ian find positive pertaining to their marriage? She supposed there was a marriage settlement involved. Uncle Gideon would have insisted upon it, despite her adamant protests. It was mortifying to be bartered into marriage. Any man could be purchased if the inducement was large enough.
    Skipping the length of the line of dancers, she cast a glance at her glowering groom. Mayhap the marriage settlement influenced his decision to proceed with the marriage. Or, perchance he was as chivalrous as she hoped, and his selfless act was indeed to protect her honor.
    And pigs ride camels.
    Peering at him over her uncle’s shoulder, she saw a shadow flicker across his harsh features. No, Ian wasn’t pleased to be wed. W hy had he gone through with it then?
    Ma-sha-llah . As God wills, Puri Daj would say. Could it be as simple as that? Not likely.
    Vangie suppressed a sigh. Will this falderal never end? The pretense of portraying an ecstatic bride was trying. The day had been a whirlwind of activity. She was done over, emotionally and physically. After eating but a few mouthfuls of flavorless breakfast, and enjoying a long soak in lily of the valley scented bathwater, she’d been preened and groomed for hours.
    Then there had been a most embarrassing discussion with Aunt Adélaid regarding wifely duties.
    “Vangie, the union of a man and woman is a beautiful thing. There’s pain the first time of course, but a considerate husband will do his best to lessen it and introduce you to pleasure.”
    Vangie wanted to die of chagrin. Worrisome thoughts she’d shoved to a remote corner of her mind consumed her. Faith, surely Ian wouldn’t want to consummate the wedding tonight. They scarcely knew each other. Perhaps he could be persuaded to postpone the event for a few weeks. Or months—
    He was staring at her, with those brooding, slate eyes of his. She felt his gaze on her as surely as if he reached and trailed a finger over her cheek. He wanted her to look at him. She sensed it.
    No, she wouldn’t.
    He’d not find her easy to manipulate. Her gaze flitted about the room, landing here and there, hovering like a bee over a flower before darting on.
    She would not look at him. Drat the man. Stop staring.
    Her gaze strayed in Ian’s direction. She caught herself and pointedly turned her head pretending to be absorbed in the floor-to-ceiling tapestry depicting a Grecian garden. She stumbled to a stop. Blast and bother.
    It was as futile to resist his silent command as it had been to refuse to say his name earlier. Or refuse to marry him. He was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted.
    Vangie raised her reluctant gaze to his. Their glances meshed and held. She felt like prey caught in a snare, unable to look away. He was dangerous, like the panther she’d likened him to that first fateful night. Every inkling of self-preservation shouted for her to flee.
    Angling himself upright, Ian smiled his disturbing smile. Never breaking his entrancing stare, he crossed to her. She stood rooted, mesmerized in the middle of the room, unable to tear her gaze from his.
    Sweeping her into his arms, he guided her round the floor once more. She could feel his thighs brushing hers, her breasts, pushing against his coat, the buttons cutting into her tender flesh. He was holding her much too close for propriety. Why didn’t she mind too terribly much?
    Her new husband’s arms were bands of steel, wrapping her in an impenetrable vise. His unusual eyes peered into hers, probing, seeking—what she knew not. They roamed across her face, lingering for a