Read Online The Viscount's Vow (A Regency Romance) by Collette Cameron - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Collette Cameron
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sighed, a trembling breath, her eyes fixed on the toe of her slipper to avoid Lord Warrick’s withering glare. He was right of course. She’d known what the outcome would be, must be, but she’d hoped . . . no prayed otherwise.
“This is grossly unfair,” she whispered, more to herself than the men in the room. How could she bear this?
Toying with the soft fringe edging the silk pillow scrunched beside her, Vangie stifled a ragged sob. Her throat ached from the effort. She swallowed hard against the sting, then swallowed again as a cry of protest welled up, trying to force its way past her compressed lips. She clasped her hands together in a silent prayer. Surely God wouldn’t allow this injustice to take place.
Lord Warrick could walk away from the alleged indiscretion, couldn’t he? Rakehells who cared nothing for their honor did so, quite often, in fact. Her reputation, however, was tarnished beyond repair. To all intents and purposes, she’d been despoiled, at least verbally. Without an immediate marriage, she’d no hope for anything but a lifetime of condemnation and malevolent gossip.
If she were a woman of means, she’d refuse the marriage. She’d travel, paint, do . . . do whatever she wished. Be free at last. But, as it was, she was a penniless orphan. Vangie gripped her hands tighter, and closed her eyes against the anguish tearing at her heart and mind.
Lord Warrick was sacrificing himself for her. A woman he didn’t know. It spoke of his character, of his decency and honor. She knew she should feel gratitude—supposed somewhere in the recesses of her heart she did. The only emotions she could summon at present were desolation and despair, tempered with a good deal of horror.
She sucked in an unsteady breath. He would never forgive her for being forced into marriage. Not like this. How could he?
Would she be able to forgive Uncle Gideon?
Marriage without love.
There were worse fates.
Not for someone with Romani blood running through their veins. Someone who, from girlhood, always prayed she would make a love match.
Uncle Gideon stood, offering a sad smile. “I hope someday you’ll understand and be able to forgive me.”
He shifted his gaze to Lord Warrick, including him in the request as well.
His Lordship met her uncle’s gaze squarely, though there was no answering warmth in his eyes. Instead a contemptuous smile contorted his strong mouth. Despite the fire’s cheery warmth, Vangie shivered and sank deeper into the settee’s cushions.
Uncle Gideon strode to the door, reaching for the brass handle before turning to face her. With his hand clasping the latch, his solemn gaze shifted between her and his lordship for a disquieting moment.
“Lord Warrick, please, do proceed with the proposal. Vangie, you will accept his offer.” He opened the door. “I’ll allow you some privacy.”
Uncle Gideon slipped from the room, the door closing behind him with a firm, final-sounding thunk .
Vangie sat stunned.
Run , everything in her cried. Get away. Flee .
Why then did she remain inexplicably fixed and mute as her uncle exited the room, leaving her to the viscount’s mercy . . . or lack thereof?
Except for the purple finches’ muted scolding in the lilac bush beside the sunlit window, the room was silent as a tomb. Death had indeed visited the room today. Her dreams died with the decree she must marry Lord Warrick. The demise of her heart’s desire left a bitter stench in her nostrils. She twitched her nose and mashed her lips together.
She refused to lift her gaze from her clenched hands. A single unkind look or word from him and she’d be caterwauling like an infant. She knew he was looking at her. It unnerved her no end. The man truly should acquire some decorum.
Holding her breath to calm her stampeding heart, she listened to the viscount’s steady breathing.
He rustled about. She started in surprise when he sat beside her on the settee. His cologne, crisp and woodsy,
“This is grossly unfair,” she whispered, more to herself than the men in the room. How could she bear this?
Toying with the soft fringe edging the silk pillow scrunched beside her, Vangie stifled a ragged sob. Her throat ached from the effort. She swallowed hard against the sting, then swallowed again as a cry of protest welled up, trying to force its way past her compressed lips. She clasped her hands together in a silent prayer. Surely God wouldn’t allow this injustice to take place.
Lord Warrick could walk away from the alleged indiscretion, couldn’t he? Rakehells who cared nothing for their honor did so, quite often, in fact. Her reputation, however, was tarnished beyond repair. To all intents and purposes, she’d been despoiled, at least verbally. Without an immediate marriage, she’d no hope for anything but a lifetime of condemnation and malevolent gossip.
If she were a woman of means, she’d refuse the marriage. She’d travel, paint, do . . . do whatever she wished. Be free at last. But, as it was, she was a penniless orphan. Vangie gripped her hands tighter, and closed her eyes against the anguish tearing at her heart and mind.
Lord Warrick was sacrificing himself for her. A woman he didn’t know. It spoke of his character, of his decency and honor. She knew she should feel gratitude—supposed somewhere in the recesses of her heart she did. The only emotions she could summon at present were desolation and despair, tempered with a good deal of horror.
She sucked in an unsteady breath. He would never forgive her for being forced into marriage. Not like this. How could he?
Would she be able to forgive Uncle Gideon?
Marriage without love.
There were worse fates.
Not for someone with Romani blood running through their veins. Someone who, from girlhood, always prayed she would make a love match.
Uncle Gideon stood, offering a sad smile. “I hope someday you’ll understand and be able to forgive me.”
He shifted his gaze to Lord Warrick, including him in the request as well.
His Lordship met her uncle’s gaze squarely, though there was no answering warmth in his eyes. Instead a contemptuous smile contorted his strong mouth. Despite the fire’s cheery warmth, Vangie shivered and sank deeper into the settee’s cushions.
Uncle Gideon strode to the door, reaching for the brass handle before turning to face her. With his hand clasping the latch, his solemn gaze shifted between her and his lordship for a disquieting moment.
“Lord Warrick, please, do proceed with the proposal. Vangie, you will accept his offer.” He opened the door. “I’ll allow you some privacy.”
Uncle Gideon slipped from the room, the door closing behind him with a firm, final-sounding thunk .
Vangie sat stunned.
Run , everything in her cried. Get away. Flee .
Why then did she remain inexplicably fixed and mute as her uncle exited the room, leaving her to the viscount’s mercy . . . or lack thereof?
Except for the purple finches’ muted scolding in the lilac bush beside the sunlit window, the room was silent as a tomb. Death had indeed visited the room today. Her dreams died with the decree she must marry Lord Warrick. The demise of her heart’s desire left a bitter stench in her nostrils. She twitched her nose and mashed her lips together.
She refused to lift her gaze from her clenched hands. A single unkind look or word from him and she’d be caterwauling like an infant. She knew he was looking at her. It unnerved her no end. The man truly should acquire some decorum.
Holding her breath to calm her stampeding heart, she listened to the viscount’s steady breathing.
He rustled about. She started in surprise when he sat beside her on the settee. His cologne, crisp and woodsy,
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