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Ian didn’t believe a word of that flim flam. A persistent notion niggled in the recesses of his mind, as if he had overlooked something. He turned his mouth downward, but only for a moment. He’d not fret on it. The answer would come to him. It always did. His mind had a way of sifting and sorting information subconsciously, forming a logical explanation from a conglomeration of facts, nuances, and details. The ability was really quite extraordinary.

Not as extraordinary as his new bride, however.

Blades and pistols. Would wonders never cease?

He wasn’t altogether certain whether to be reassured or concerned about this newly acquired knowledge regarding his wife. Vangie was turning out to be a deucedly fascinating catch after all. His face split with what he was positive was an imbecile’s grin, and he chuckled inwardly. He quite liked the idea of having taken a gypsy to wife. For certain, life would never be dull.

A few inches separated their hands, and Ian gathered hers in his. She’d not donned her gloves after tending to Malcolm. He rubbed a finger against her wedding ring. “It was my mother’s.”

An unspoken question shone in her pretty eyes. He smiled an answer, chagrined to see a hopeful light flicker in his wife’s gorgeous gaze. She so wanted his acceptance, his approval. She deserved it after proving her loyalty to him. No, she deserved it before then, when she’d gone willingly to his bed, an untried maid, trusting him, her stranger-of-a-husband.

A spark of anger flared, burning hot behind his breastbone. He’d not be as forgiving with his stepmother and sister as his bride had been with him. They’d caused incalculable harm to her, though his conscience whispered he was to blame for listening to their gossip and reacting with anger instead of self-control and logic.

These past days had tried him to the limits of his endurance. He wanted her in is bed. Wanted to taste her sweet lips once more. His attention strayed to Vangie’s mouth. Slowly, giving her plenty of opportunity to turn away, he lowered his head. When his mouth met hers, a wistful sigh escaped her plump lips, and she tentatively returned his kiss.

Gently, reverently, he caressed her mouth with his. Not a kiss of passion or lust, but a tender, heartfelt apology. He explored, yearning, seeking, hoping he’d find what he desperately sought within the honeyed cavern—forgiveness—though unwarranted.

With a final press of his lips against her beautiful mouth, he leaned away, smiling contentedly. She hadn’t rebuffed him, and he now knew what he must do to win his wife over.

He’d woo her.

There’d been no courtship before their nuptials, but he vowed, he’d charm his bride. He’d dazzle her with everything a young damsel’s heart desired. She’d willingly given herself to him, and not only her luscious body, but her heart as well.

What an incredible and wholly unpredictable turnabout.

Barely a week ago, he’d cursed fate for her role in forcing him to wed Vangie. And today, he rejoiced at his good fortune. He caressed his wife with his gaze, and as if sensing his perusal, she gifted him with an exquisite smile. More optimistic than he’d been the whole of the previous week, he returned her smile, gently squeezing her hand.

Perhaps he’d found favor with God at last. Why the recent streak of misfortunes then? If only the feeling he’d missed something obvious didn’t persist annoyingly like a sliver in his finger.