Page 88

She slipped and almost fell. Dratted, damp grass.

Ian started toward her but turned his head when Tobar spoke to him, drawing his attention back to the horse. He said something and gestured in her direction before ducking beneath the rope.

Vangie increased her pace, skidding again on the dew-laden grass. Ian reached her as she crested the ridge. She didn’t want to talk to him. Couldn’t without crying.

“Vangie, please, wait.”

Keeping her head bowed, she didn’t slow. Lord, blasted tears again? What was he still doing here, anyway? She thought he’d left last night.

Ian gently grasped her elbow, forcing her to halt. “How do you fare?”

He sounded genuinely concerned, and she flicked a swift glance at him through her lashes then lowered her gaze. He appeared exhausted. No doubt, she looked a sight herself. Likely dark circles rimmed her eyes from a sleepless night and the many tears she’d spent at his expense.

“Why are you here? I thought you left last night.” Vangie plucked at the shawl’s fringe, refusing to meet his eyes again.

“I shan’t leave you, Vangie. You’re my wife.”

The breath hissed from between her teeth. She hadn’t expected that. Tobar came up behind him. Pausing briefly, his black eyes questioned her. He answered the gentle shake of her head with a terse nod and strode past them. She didn’t need him to fight her battles.

“Ian—”

“Please, let me explain.” He blew out a breath, running his hand through his russet hair. “I’ve wronged you, terribly, deplorably, and for that I beg your forgiveness.”

Vangie stood gazing at a bunch of bluish-purple lupine waving in the early morning breeze. A carpet of bluebells and cowslip blanketed the slope. Her gaze intent on the flowers, she murmured, pain lacing her every word, “Why do you hate me?”

“Hate you?” Ian reached across the distance separating them and touched her face. “Sweeting, I do not hate you. I…”

Angling her head away, she broke the contact. She couldn’t think straight when he touched her.

Ian dropped his hand to his side. “I love you.” he whispered hoarsely.

That was the wrong thing to say. The absolute worst thing he could’ve said at that moment. Vangie snapped her head up. Disbelief whipped through her turning her grief to ire. Furious, she glowered at him. “Oh, so that sets everything right? Do you expect me to throw my arms around you? Tell you I forgive you and vow my undying devotion and love?”

He blinked, obviously not anticipating this reaction.

She poked him in the chest. “You’re sorely mistaken, Ian Hamilton, Viscount Warrick!” Hands on her hips she railed at him. “If I were a man, I’d call you out. You’re cruel to jest about something so precious. Something you know naught of, or you’d never have treated me with such calculated contempt and callousness.”

Turning, she ran several steps before wheeling around to face him. Her shawl dangled off one shoulder. “You know nothing of love.”

She tugged the shawl around her back, then across her chest, never stopping her tirade. “Love is patient, kind, considerate. It’s what I’ve tried to show you, day after day.” Her voice broke as emotion rendered her nearly incapable of speaking. She pulled in a shaky breath. “Only to have you repeatedly trample my heart underfoot.” She wrapped her arms around her middle in an effort to ease the crushing pain in her chest.

Ian lifted his hands in supplication. “I do love you. I wanted to tell you, tried to tell you the day we first explored the gardens together.”

Vangie’s thoughts skipped to that wonderful morning. Ian had opened his mouth to say something. More than once, in fact. She’d mistakenly believed renewed grief brought on by discussing Geoff’s duel with the duke had caused his inability speak.

An unbidden thought flashed into her mind, and she stood stark still. Lord, no. Her head whirled, and she clutched a nearby oak to steady herself. She must be wrong. Oh, God, please, please let me be wrong. She wasn’t though, and she knew it with every fiber of her being.

“Vangie?” He took a step toward her, worry furrowing his forehead. “Are you all right?”

Am I all right? God no, you jackanape. I’m not bloody well all right.

“Lord, how you must be laughing.” Her voice shook with the strength of her emotion. “The duke—your brother—the woman whose honor he defended. It was me, wasn’t it?”

Ian paled beneath his tan, his slate eyes rounding in guilt. He closed them briefly, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her.

Everything made perfect sense now.

She continued, speaking to herself. “That’s why I never saw either of them again. Geoff called the duke out. They both died—because of me.” She lifted her gaze to Ian, accusing him with her eyes, and he sucked in a ragged breath. “You knew, Ian, and that’s why you sought me. You said you were determined to meet me. You planned on leaving me half-naked in the retiring room, didn’t you?”