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

as she swayed in time to the music. He imagined his fingers doing the same.
    Blood rushed to his loins. He’d been too long without a woman. Not since Amelia . . . Damn, had it really been eight months? He caressed Miss Caruthers’s spine with his thumb. One slow stroke. She shuddered. Was that a gasp? Perhaps she wasn’t as poised as she affected.
    Excellent.
    It was better to catch her off guard if he was to succeed with his plan. Why then, didn’t his scheme of vengeance fill him with the same sense of satisfaction it had before meeting her?
    Vangie flicked a glance upward, her gaze colliding with Lord Warrick’s again. What unusual eyes. Light blue flecks colored the gray. And those dark eyelashes. She’d never seen eyelashes so thick on a man. Her gaze lowered to his mouth. His well-formed lips curved into a smile. She stumbled, though he didn’t seem to notice.
    “I’ve not seen you at other assemblies, my lord,” she blurted, feeling the rush of color skimming her face at her ineptitude.
    Faith, what’s with this blushing ?
    His lips slanted again. “I’ve just returned to London. My father and brother died recently.”
    Her breath caught. “I’m deeply sorry.”
    “Thank you.”
    Shouldn’t he be home, in the comforting presence of his family? Perhaps he didn’t have anyone else. At least she had Uncle Gideon, Aunt Adélaid, and Yvette. Had he anyone?
    “Have you any remaining family?” Faith, now she was prying.
    “My stepmother and a sister, Charlotte.” Warmth infused his voice when he spoke of his sister.
    What possesses a man in mourning to leave his family and attend a ball? Vangie barely finished the thought. That little niggling she’d mentioned to Yvette had begun to throb full on now. Vangie was light-headed, and it took every bit of her effort not to trip while dancing.
    Why now?
    Her last megrim episode had been many months ago. It must be the excitement—and the corsets of course. She only wore short stays at home. Oh, why had she let Yvette talk her into trying one of her new back-laced French corsets? The garment didn’t fit properly, and pressed against Vangie’s ribs making it difficult to breath.
    She sucked a meager puff of air into her constricted lungs. Bother, she could scarcely breathe, though whether it was from her spell or the corset she couldn’t say for certain. She didn’t care what Yvette and Aunt Adélaid said, the blasted corded stays did interfere with her breathing. She detested the dratted thing.
    “My lord?”
    She must get off the dance floor before she disgraced herself in front of everyone. She swallowed against the waves of nausea assailing her. Tiny black spots flashed before her eyes. “My lord, I. . .”
    Her steps faltered. She weaved, clutching at his hand and shoulder to keep her balance.
    Vangie began to panic. Her vision narrowed. The familiar blackness closed in. The fuzzy ringing in her ears amplified, as the pain throbbing in her temple crescendoed to an excruciating climax. She struggled to remain standing, and felt his lordship tighten the arm around her in added support.
    She swayed and gulped. “I fear I need some air.”
    The distress in Miss Caruthers’s tone alerted Ian.
    The terrace was at the other end of the ballroom. Maneuvering her across the crowded floor, he assisted her through the open French windows, then onto the veranda. She started to sag. He slipped one arm around her slender waist.
    Turning her head, her hazy gaze met his concerned one. “Forgive me.”
    She slumped in his arms.
    This wasn’t a fit of the vapors. He’d seen his sister perform that stunt far too many times to be taken in by play-acting. No, Miss Caruthers was truly insensate. Scooping her up, Ian winced. Pain lanced through his shoulder. He stood undecided for a moment. Should he carry her into the ballroom? He glanced downward. A sliver of moonlight illuminated her ashen face.
    Her bout of faintness was most convenient, even providential. She’d