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The gypsy raised his head, glaring at Ian. Across the distance, their gazes clashed, accusation blazing in the gypsy’s hostile glower. Now wasn’t the time to deal with the Roma.
Turning, Ian climbed the narrow stairs to the wagon’s entrance. He opened the door and paused, momentarily taken aback at the caravan’s deceptively roomy interior. A lantern hanging from an iron hook on the ceiling to the left of the door cast a soft glow on the still form huddled beneath a vibrant quilt. The bed looked more like a folding shelf, which was practical and efficient given the vardo’s close confines.
Vangie had her back to him. Was she awake?
Vangie stiffened. Though the door swung shut without a sound, she knew the moment Ian stepped inside. Two short steps, and he stood beside her. The stool scraped the floor as he scooted in near, and he bumped the small bed with his long legs when he sat.
Where was Puri Daj? Why had she allowed him in? She’d told her grandmother she didn’t want to see him. Ever again.
“Sweeting, are you awake?”
What was he doing here? Hadn’t he caused her enough heartache? She whispered, “Leave me alone.”
“Your grandmother told me about our baby.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so very sorry.”
Oh, how she needed a comforting touch. But not his. Never again his. She wrenched away and her voice ringing with scathing condemnation said, “Tell me, Lord Warrick. Are you terribly disappointed I’ll not have a distended belly proclaiming to the world I carry your seed before you discard me?”
He sucked in a harsh gulp of air. “She lied, Vangie.”
She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sobs demanding release.
Did she? Or is Lucinda telling the truth, and Ian is the liar?
When she didn’t respond, he pressed, “Lucinda knew you were behind me. She contrived those lies to cause you pain and grief.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “We’re legally married. By all that is holy, I swear it.”
What did he know of holiness?
Vangie struggled to turn over, the weight of the quilt adding to the burden of her grief. She pinned him with a direct look. “Tell me one thing,” she rasped, “Did you or did you not venture to London for the express purpose of causing my downfall?”
He paled slightly. “Vangie—”
“Perhaps downfall isn’t accurate,” she snapped. “Putting me in my place? Giving me my just due? Ruining me?”
He remained silent. Had guilt rendered him speechless? She searched his face, once so dear to her. Sorrow etched his handsome features, and his eyes… Was that regret glimmering there? Or, could it be? Were those tears awash in the silvery depths?
Her heart twisted painfully, but she smothered her sympathy. No. No. No. She wouldn’t feel compassion for him. She was the victim in this, and she would offer him no quarter, no mercy. “Well, did you? Is that why you asked me to dance?”
“That was before I…” He pinched his eyes shut for a blink.
Pain, razor-sharp pierced her heart, leaving it shredded and bleeding. She had her answer, but she’d hear it from his mouth. “It’s an easy question, Ian. Yes or no?”
“It’s not that simple.” He tried to take her hand, but she jerked it away.
With a doggedness that even astounded her, she persisted. “Yes or no?”
“Sweeting, I’d been told—”
“Told?” Fury whipped anew within her breast. She bit out, “Yes. Or. No?”
Absolute, resolute, demanding truth’s validation, either to mend her shattered heart or annihilate it completely, Vangie would him admit the truth. No more a corked-brained, beguiled miss, blinded by love. Looking through the twin lenses of betrayal and deceit, she could at last see Ian clearly.
His eyes pleaded with her to understand. His voice low and filled with self-condemnation, he uttered but one syllable. “Yes.”
Vangie rolled onto her side, murmuring in a tear-choked voice, “Go away.” Her shoulders shook with the sobs she couldn’t suppress or hide from him. She needed to find some meager degree of release for the agony destroying her soul.
“Vangie?” He brushed a finger over her hair.
Flinging his hand away, she jerked upright. A torrent of scalding tears flowed from her eyes, and she had no doubt her face mirrored the abject misery in her heart. She angrily swiped at them then pointed to the door. “Leave, you despicable bostaris. I’ve already divorced you,” she shouted, not caring the Romani camp could hear every bitter word.
