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Soaking in the deliciously lilac-scented water, frothy bubbles to her neck, Vangie sighed contentedly. The remnants of a delicious meal sat on a table by the window. Never had hot rolls dripping with butter or strawberries smothered in clotted cream tasted so wonderful. The eggs had been light and fluffy, the ham exactly the right crispiness, and the tea steaming hot. Her shrunken stomach couldn’t hold much, but she’d sampled everything on the tray at least twice.

Her gaze roved the stately room, taking in the blue, peach, and white rose-themed wallpaper, the damask royal blue silken draperies, and the ornate cherrywood furnishings.

Cabbage rose hand-hooked rugs in the same hues as the walls adorned the floors, and a dozen matching embroidered pillows were strewn in the window seat. It was a lovely room, but it brought her no peace or contentment. Her mind whirled with confused emotions that tumbled chaotically over and around one another.

Her thoughts turned once more to Ian. He’d appeared genuinely contrite. Every instinct told her he was truly an honorable man. The twin demons of doubt and confusion, however, had a way of raising their grotesque heads, causing her no small amount of consternation. She supposed the most practical course was to become acquainted with the man who was now her husband.

Toward that end, she dressed with care, donning her only decent gown. The vibrant green poplin frock trimmed with black lace boasted a filmy translucent overskirt with brilliantly-colored floral embroidery. The garment, a birthday gift from Puri Daj, was a unique blend of Romani inspiration and English fashion.

Aunt Eugenia hadn’t confiscated and sold the gown, claiming no decent English woman would wear anything so appallingly vulgar. Vangie liked the dress. The bold hues complimented her dark coloring. She’d had no opportunity to wear the gown, but today, she refused to put on her threadbare rags to celebrate her husband’s homecoming.

Making her way below, she ran her damp palms over the fabric, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle. Would Ian find her attractive in the unusual garment? Or would he be repulsed by the obvious Romani influence? She tilted her chin fractionally. If he truly accepted her as his wife, then he would have to embrace her heritage as well.

Brow furrowed, she stood uncertainly at the base of the grand staircase. Should she seek him out? His study was that door, to her right, wasn’t it? She hadn’t been on this level since the day she arrived. She bit her lip. What if he wasn’t in the study? Where was the drawing room again?

As if sensing her presence, Ian exited the study. He stopped short, examining her from her hair to her slippers. The masculine smile of approval tilting his mouth caused Vangie’s toes to curl deliciously in her worn footwear.

He lifted her hand to his mouth, his warm lips caressing her knuckles. “You are a vision, sweeting.”

When had he moved across the room?

His smoldering gaze traveled her form again, pausing momentarily at the fullness of her bosom. Her nipples puckered under his visual caress. That he was aware of her arousal was obvious. His nostrils flared, and his pupils enlarged before his gaze returned to her eyes. Could he see how flustered she was?

Her pulse beat a neck or nothing cadence, and her stomach churned from nerves.

“Did Tanny take your measurements? I’m sending a courier to London this afternoon and would like your shopping order to be sent along.”

“Yes, she did.”

Vangie searched his face. Gone were the scratches and bruises he’d come to their marriage with. “I truly don’t require an entirely new wardrobe—”

“But sweeting, I want to provide you with one.” He turned his lips up into that wholly disarming smile of his. “Would you deny me my pleasure?”

At the carnal glint in her husband’s eyes, Vangie swallowed and shook her head. Though precisely what pleasure he referred to was a bit obscure.

“Good, it’s settled then.” He drew her hand through the curve of his elbow. Tucking it near his side, he covered her fingers possessively with his. “Do you feel strong enough to take a stroll in the garden? They’re untidy, but still quite charming.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve admired the grounds from the tower window—” She changed the subject abruptly. “I’d love to go outdoors. It’s a beautiful day.”

He guided her onto the rear terrace.

Vangie gazed at the beauty before her. Weathered, whimsical stone statuary speckled the gardens and pathways, though several were chipped or missing limbs. Apparently, once a gardener had been adept with sheers. Several evergreens had been sculpted into fanciful topiaries, though it was difficult now to determine precisely what some of the shapes were.

“Ian, is that a horse?” She pointed to the four-legged bush.

“Indeed. And over there is what used to be a bear.” He indicated a large humped shrub with blobs for ears. “And that one is—”

“Don’t tell me. A pig?”

“Madam, you insult me.” He lifted his nose loftily. “Pig indeed. That, my dear lady, is a noble hunting hound.”

She giggled. “It has no nose or tail, and it’s short and fat.”

He cocked his head and studied the shrub. A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest. “A pig-hound, then.”

“Can we walk the gardens?” Three weeks of staring at them from the tower window made her eager to explore the gardens in person.

Ian flashed a charming smile. “What, and leave these zoological masterpieces?”