Yes, it’s time for another Friday excerpt. In this scene, Vangie is really ticked at Ian.
The edits are done for The Viscount’s Vow and I’ll be announcing release party information as well as having a cover reveal over the next few weeks.
September 4, 2013 is the big day!
Vangie struggled to turn over, the weight of the quilt covering her adding to the burden of her grief. She pinned Ian 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?”
“Vangie. . .”
“Perhaps downfall isn’t accurate. Putting me in my place? Giving me my just due? Ruining me?”
He said nothing. Had guilt rendered him speechless? She searched his face. His handsome features were etched with sorrow, and his eyes . . . was that regret? Or . . . could it be? Were those tears awash in the silvery depths?
Her heart twisted painfully. Blast and damn. No. She’d not feel compassion for him. She was the victim. She would offer him no quarter, no mercy. “Well, did you?”
“That was before I. . .”
Pain, razor-sharp pierced her heart and left it bleeding. “It’s a simple question, Ian. Yes or no?”
“It’s not that simple—”
With a doggedness that surprised even her, Vangie persisted. “Yes or no?”
“Sweeting, I’d been told. . .”
Told? Fury whipped anew. She bit out, “Yes. Or. No?”
Absolute, resolute, demanding truth’s validation, either to mend her shattered heart or annihilate it completely, she would have her answer. 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 voice choked with tears, “Go away.” Her shoulders shook with the sobs she couldn’t suppress, couldn’t hide from him. She needed to find some meager degree of release for the pain destroying her soul.
“Vangie—” He touched her head.
Flinging his hand away, she sat up. A torrent of scalding tears flowed from her eyes. She knew her face mirrored the abject misery in her heart. She swiped at them angrily, then pointed to the door. “Leave, you despicable bostaris. I’ve already divorced you,” she shouted, not caring the Romani camp could hear her every word.
Where was her dagger? She groped beneath the pillow until her fingers closed on the familiar engraved hilt.
Ian’s face paled. “You don’t know what you’re saying—”
“I’m not addled, just gullible.” She revealed her dagger. “Now get out!”
