Free The Viscount's Vow (A Regency Romance) by Collette Cameron

late, dash it all.
    He regretted that. He rather liked the idea of Stapleton stewing a bit at Ian’s tardiness, fretting as to whether he was going to call at the appointed time.
    Or, call at all.
    He’d been sorely tempted not to.
    Damn his insufferable honor . . . and damn Stapleton’s threats.
    Tucking the watch away, he climbed the steps to the entrance. Although the appointment’s purpose was to sign the marriage agreement, he intended to try one final time to extract himself from the compulsory nuptials.
    Scowling, he was ushered into a large office by a skinny, anxious clerk. The clerk was so nervous, he didn’t announce Ian’s arrival at all, but shuffled backward out the door the moment Ian crossed the threshold. No doubt his glower contributed to the fellow’s ineptness. Poor chap.
    Removing his topper, and tucking it beneath his arm, Ian quickly surveyed the room.
    Overflowing bookshelves filled one entire wall. The pleasant odor of old leather-bound books scented the air. A long since abandoned cobweb dangled from the topmost corner of one of the tall shelves. A fern, sorely in need of water, drooped before a tall window. Stapleton, and a man Ian presumed was Mr. Dehring, were talking quietly and examining a pile of papers atop a mammoth double desk. At his entrance, they stopped speaking and looked up.
    Ian strode to the desk. “Please tell me, you don’t mean to see this farce through, Stapleton? You, yourself acknowledge no impropriety occurred.”
    “Ahem.” Mr. Dehring cleared his throat. “Why don’t I give you gentlemen a moment?”
    He slid a handful of official looking documents to Stapleton before making a hasty retreat.
    After the door closed, Stapleton waved his hand at the papers before him. “If you’ll examine these, you’ll find I’ve bestowed upon Evangeline a generous settlement, and. . .”
    “I don’t want your niece’s marriage settlement any more than I want this damned marriage.”
    Ian couldn’t even bring himself to say her name. He’d been furious for the past pair of days and was the first to admit he wasn’t the least interested in being agreeable.
    Stapleton leaned forward resting his elbows on the desk and formed a vee with his fingertips. Leveling Ian with a lengthy stare, he tapped his fingertips together several times. Ian supposed the perusal would unnerve a lesser man. It only irritated him more. He didn’t intimidate easily. Precisely why Stapleton resorted to the tactics he had two nights ago.
    The movement stopped. Stapleton’s fierce gaze was unyielding. “You cannot be absolved from responsibility, regarding this farce .”
    He pointed a well-manicured finger at Ian. “You ought to have gone for help at once and not taken it upon yourself to loosen Vangie’s stays.”
    Relaxing against the high-backed leather chair, he folded his arms across his chest, and continued, acid permeating his tone.
    “Had you done so, her reputation would remain intact. The gossipmongers wouldn’t be bandying her name about with malicious glee and,” he lowered his hands to grip the chair’s arms, disgust written across his face, “taking undue pleasure in her humiliation.”
    Fiend seize it, Stapleton had a valid point.
    But she couldn’t breathe .
    Ian blew out a frustrated sigh, though he remained mulishly silent. He’d argue that truth no more. A more difficult task was keeping his lips sealed regarding the damage Miss Caruthers had done to her own good standing prior to his making her unfortunate acquaintance.
    He forced himself to stubble it, knowing Stapleton would deny such offensive allegations and most likely call him out for it. He’d no intention of killing a decent man over an immoral tart. The result of such a duel was predictable. Ian was a crack shot.
    Too bad the same couldn’t be said of Geoff.
    The devil take it, why did he have to think of Geoff at this moment? Ian’s mood was black enough.
    Straightening, Stapleton nudged the documents