The Viscount's Vow (A Regency Romance) Read Online Free

most inappropriate. Why wasn’t she shocked or annoyed? Perhaps because the warmth vibrating the length of her arm, when his firm mouth grazed her, still tingled.
    “Enchanted, Miss Caruthers.”
    The way he said her name, the timbre of his voice lowering to a rumbling purr, caused another prickle across Vangie’s flesh.
    She was wrong. He most definitely was dangerous.
    “I so desired an introduction, I cajoled my dear aunt into doing the honors. I was determined to make your acquaintance.”
    Determined? Vangie stared, open-mouthed, shutting it with a snap when Yvette nudged her none too gently in the ribs.
    The musicians struck a few discordant notes. An elderly lord, smelling of camphor, bowed before Yvette. “I believe you promised me this dance, my dear.”
    Yvette smiled. “Indeed I did, Uncle Gabriel.” She looked to Vangie. “Your headache?”
    “Is all but gone,” Vangie assured her. It wasn’t the truth.
    With a smile and a little wave, Yvette placed her other hand on her uncle’s arm and allowed him to lead her away.
    Vangie flinched as Lord Pickles rudely shoved his way past her cousin. Vangie was certain he thought to partner her for the next dance. For a number of weeks now, the loathsome bore had been trying to persuade her to venture into another, much less respectable, sort of liaison.
    With practiced efficiency, a pinched look about her nose and mouth, Lady Fitzgibbons introduced the viscount and earl. Breathing between her slightly parted lips, Vangie only half listened, the whole while silently rehearsing her excuse for declining to dance with Lord Pickles.
    Wait, did her ladyship say his name was Pickering?
    Bold as brass, Lord Warrick tucked her gloved hand into the bend of his arm. Surprised, she glanced up at him.
    He smiled at her. “Miss Caruthers, do say you’ll do me the honor of partnering me for this dance.”
    She ought to object to his forwardness. Instead, she returned his smile, grateful to have been rescued from the awkwardness of refusing Lord Pickering. Now, perhaps he would scurry away and leave her be.
    “I say, Warrick, Miss Caruthers was to be my partner for this waltz.”
    Arching a brow, Lord Warrick smiled possessively. He offered what sounded like a half-sincere apology. “Sorry, Pickering, old chap. Miss Caruthers has graciously accepted my request.”
    Persistent to the point of boorishness, Lord Pickering insisted, “I heard no acceptance.” He turned his watery gaze on Vangie. “Do you wish to dance with the Viscount or myself, Evangeline?”
    The way he puffed out his padded chest indicated he’d every confidence she would favor an earl over a minor lord. Most impressionable misses would have. She wasn’t one of them.
    And Evangeline? Did the man have no sense of propriety? Faith, whatever was he thinking addressing her by her given name? She’d never given him permission to do so. His cock-sureness and indecorous behavior was embarrassing, not to mention off-putting.
    Lady Fitz . . . gibbles rounded on him, outraged. “Lord Pickering, you overstep the bounds! How dare you address Miss Caruthers in such a manner?”
    “Indeed, bad ton, Pickering . . . taking liberties with a lady ,” said Lord Warrick.
    Vangie cast him a quick glance. Was that sarcasm in his voice? He returned her regard with an innocent smile. She must have imagined it.
    “Miss Caruthers?” Lord Pickering scratched his bum and looked at her expectantly.
    Gads, but he was gauche. Grateful to be spared his lascivious attention and malodorous company, she answered, “Lord Warrick did ask first, Lord Pickle— er, Pickering.”
    Sputtering in indignation, he minced off, his face a mottled shade of red; an exact match to his garish, clattering footwear.
    “Needs his ears boxed, boorish jackanape,” Lady Fitzgibbons said, jabbing her fan in the direction of his retreating form. She sniffed the air. “And a bath, by God!”
    Vangie suppressed a smile. Her sentiments exactly .
    Her