Page 54

She met her aunt’s glare straight on. “I’m sorry to have been an encumbrance to you for so many years, Aunt Eugenia.”

Ian detected a sharp shred of sarcasm lacing her words.

Vangie heaved what he determined to be a resigned sigh. “I do have several pieces of crocheted work completed and some cups and plates painted as well.”

“You do?” Greed lit her ladyship’s face. “Where are they?”

“In my room. I’ll fetch them.” Vangie turned halfway, but her aunt’s words froze her in place.

“Oh, well, as for those, er…” Lady Caruthers hedged before plowing on. “They’ve already been sold.”

Vangie whirled around to face her fully, disbelief etched on her beautiful face. “You went into my chamber, took my belongings, and sold them—again?”

Again? They’d done this before? Indignation rose in Ian, simmering dangerously near the surface, testing his self-control.

Rage contorting his face, Sir Percival lurched to his feet. “You don’t have any belongings except for those our Christian charity permits you.” He advanced until he was but inches from her.

Though quaking, Vangie stood her ground. Unflinching, she looked him straight in the eye. “Did you sell my mother’s china?”

Silence greeted her question.

Sucking in a great draught of air, she whispered. “How could you? Those four cups were all I’d left of her.” She tilted her chin proudly. “You had no right.”

“Hold your tongue, you insolent chit.” Eyes enraged slits, he raised his hand, and she threw her arm upward to ward off his blow.

So, this wasn’t the first time the bloody sod had struck her. By God, it would be the last.

Ian stormed into the room. “Don’t you dare!” he roared.

Sir Percival froze. His pig eyes grew huge, and crimson dashed his gaunt face. No sound emerged from his flapping mouth.

Lady Caruthers seemed petrified too, rooted to the floor, staring bug-eyed at Ian.

His eyes skewered Sir Percival and dared her ladyship to utter so much as a peep. “If you lay a hand on my wife, it will be the last thing you ever do. I promise you.”

“Your wife?” Lady Caruthers said in a strangled voice. Her attention darted between Vangie and him, astonishment causing her beady rodent eyes to bulge.

“Wife?” squawked Sir Percival before a sly glint entered his calculating gaze.

Lowering her arm, Vangie retreated until she bumped into Ian. He wrapped an arm around her and spoke quietly into her ear. “Vangie, go gather whatever you need. You shan’t be returning here—ever.”

After one sharp nod, she edged past him. Then lifting her skirt, she tore from the room.

Vangie glanced up from packing as Ian bent to enter the tiny attic chamber that had served as her bedroom for thirteen years. It didn’t surprise her he’d found his way here. She raised her chin, refusing to be ashamed of her modest room. The roof slanted downward on both sides, and only in the middle could one stand upright. A single-paned, curtainless window at one end allowed a trickle of light inside.

“Aunt and Uncle?”

“Are graciously keeping Gifford and Malcolm entertained.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Meaning?”

Ian’s gaze roamed the chamber before meeting hers. “Meaning, I’ve bought them off and threatened them with legal action if they so much as mention your name again.” He shook his head. “What was your father thinking, appointing them to be your guardians? They spent your trust fund.”

“Pardon?” She snapped up her head. “They aren’t my guardians. Uncle Gideon and my father’s Romani mother are…were.”

Married now, she no longer had guardians.

Ian’s smile turned apologetic. “Then they altered the documents to gain access to your funds.”