Page 16

Flanked on either side by Yvette and Aunt Adélaid, Vangie entered the study and stopped just inside the doorway. Yvette’s spaniels trotted over to greet her, and she idly petted their mottled heads.

His back to the room, Lord Warrick stared out the bay window. Uncle Gideon sat at his mammoth mahogany desk, drumming his fingers atop a short stack of papers. He stared at his lordship. The stern expression marring his usually pleasant features gave her pause.

Something unpleasant was afoot. Her heart skipped then fluttered uncomfortably. Uncle Gideon was rarely out of sorts and never with her. Skirting the dogs and a table displaying carved jade figurines, she approached his desk.

Hands clasped before her, she said softly, “You wished to see me, Uncle Gideon?”

She cast a nervous glance in Lord Warrick’s direction. When she’d spoken, he’d stiffened visibly, his shoulders going rigid. He didn’t turn around but remained obsessed with the scene beyond the beveled window, seemingly ignoring her.

Fitted out in the first stare of fashion, he was undeniably a handsome spectacle. His hunter-green cutaway stretched across his broad shoulders, and those coffee-colored curls she noticed last evening teased the starched edge of his neckcloth once more. Buff-colored pantaloons, emphasizing his long legs and narrow hips, disappeared into gleaming Hessian boots.

He was a startling attractive man.

His fingers, knuckles newly bruised, curled around the rim of the hat he held. He tapped it against his muscular thigh every now and again, as if he’d a great need to release restrained energy.

“Please have a seat, Vangie.” With a casual wave of his hand, Uncle Gideon indicated the striped maroon settee before the fireplace.

Her gaze never leaving her uncle’s much too serious countenance, she did so. Only after sitting and arranging her skirts did she turn to look at Yvette and Aunt Adélaid, still hovering near the entrance. Why hadn’t they taken a seat too? Apprehension gripped her. Were they waiting for permission to stay? “Aunt Adélaid, Yvette?”

Their gazes remained fixed on Uncle Gideon. She flicked a quick glance at her uncle. A nearly imperceptible shaking of his head denied her aunt’s and cousin’s silent request.

Giving Vangie a reassuring smile, Aunt Adélaid stepped forward and patted her on the shoulder. “All will be well, chérie. Trust your uncle.”

Uneasiness pummeled her. If only she could remember what happened last night.

“Come along, dearest.” Aunt Adélaid slipped an arm around Yvette’s waist and led her from the room, the dogs following at their mistress’ heels.

Vangie’s sense of foreboding increased, and she shivered, despite the warmth of the cheery fire. She fisted her hands in her gown, taking slow, deep breaths. She thought she heard Lord Warrick heave a gusty huff, but after darting him another fleeting look, decided she’d imagined it. He still faced the window, although he now rested a shoulder against the sill.

Was he to never turn around, the boorish lout? Thwap went the hat against his leg.

Waiting for her uncle to speak, she shifted her gaze between Uncle Gideon and Lord Warrick. Her uncle’s dark eyebrows were drawn together into a severe line as he studied the viscount. This was not good, no indeed, not good at all. Within the folds of her skirts, she clenched her hands until the tips of her fingers grew numb.

A frown flitted across Uncle Gideon’s face before he stood and gave her a kind smile. He spoke plainly. “Vangie, you and Lord Warrick will wed in three days.”

“Pardon?” Rounding her eyes in shock, she choked on a gasp. Her attention flew to the viscount.

He’d turned and now lounged against the window sill, his ankles and arms casually crossed. However, he was anything but relaxed. He stared at her, his eyes hooded, his striking features blank. His hat remained in his hand, only now it rested on his folded arm. A shadowy discoloration marred his lordship’s cheek, near his eye.

That hadn’t been there last night.

The sunlight behind him speared his shadow the length of the room. The distorted silhouette was oddly disturbing. Almost ominous.

She shuddered and rubbed her hands the length of her arms wishing she’d donned her cashmere shawl. Her gaze meshed with his, and she recognized an answering spark of anguish. And anger. That had been there last night.

His tail’s lashing.

She suppressed the hysterical laugh bubbling from her throat at the absurd thought. Her mind refused to believe what she heard. “I’m sorry, Uncle Gideon. I must have misheard you. Would you please repeat what you said?”

“You heard me, Vangie” he gently said.

He cannot be serious. She peered at him, seeking even a nuance of humor. “Surely you jest, although I don’t find this the least amusing, I assure you.”

When his expression remained unchanged, a shrieking alarm sounded in Vangie’s brain. Throwing caution and manners aside, she cried, “Lord Warrick couldn’t have agreed to such a match. We only met yester eve. We’re complete strangers.”

Lord Warrick spoke then. “It’s no jest. We shall wed—two days after the morrow.” His modulated tone couldn’t conceal his scorching fury.

She swung her head around to gape at him.