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

across the scratched and stained desk. “Please, Lord Warrick, do take a seat, and see if the terms meet with your approval.”
    Ian dropped his hat atop the desk, then yanked off his gloves, tossing them beside the hat. He sat before the desk, then lifted the papers. Scanning them, he barely concealed his astonishment: Fifty thousand pounds; a stable full of prime horseflesh; numerous pieces of jewelry; and the Sheffleton Cottage. He shook his head. Cottage, his arse.
    Sheffleton was a thriving two hundred acre estate. He should have been thrilled at the generous settlement Stapleton bestowed on his niece, but Ian wanted none of it. 
    It was bribery, pure and simple.
    He felt like a fancy man, being paid to take Evangeline Caruthers to wife. A wife he didn’t want. A wife not of his choosing, one he’d never have selected for himself.
    He sighed. Hell and damnation. This drama in his head was for naught. He was as good as hung, and what’s more, Stapleton knew it. At least the wench was pleasing to the eye. He’d no doubt she’d also be a pleasure to bed.
    If he could get past the men who had gone before him.
    The door opened after a quick rap. Mr. Dehring poked his balding head, and only his head, inside the room. His gaze, eyes magnified behind wire-rimmed glasses, darted between Stapleton and Ian.
    He curled his lips into a thin smile. The diminutive man didn’t know if it was safe to come in. Ian quirked a brow at Stapleton. Well , he silently challenged.
    Stapleton angled his dark head and gestured with two fingers. “Come in, Joseph. You need to witness Lord Warrick’s signature.”
    Mr. Dehring hurried into the room, another stack of papers beneath his arm.
    Shaking the papers he held, Ian shook his head. “I want nothing to do with your damned money, Stapleton. Transfer the entire settlement to your niece as her irrevocable property.”
    “Come now, Warrick. Don’t be hasty. Somersfield is in disrepair, and the new Arabian bloodline you’ve invested in would set back a man with pockets much deeper than yours.”
    Ian glared at Stapleton. “Bloody hell, does your interference know no bounds? What other business of mine have you been prying into?”
    Stapleton crossed his legs, lounging against his chair once more, seemingly completely at ease.   “There’s the rather stiff penalty Prinny’s assessed—”
    Ian set the papers aside and curled his toes in his boots until they protested in pain. What he truly wanted to do was slam his fist atop the desk—or into Stapleton’s much too smug face.
    “That amercement,” Ian said with a calm deliberation, though fury thrummed through his veins, “is none of your concern.”
    “There you are wrong, Warrick. Anything affecting Vangie is my concern. A portion of her marriage settlement would certainly soothe the Prince Regent.”
    “You know nothing of it.”
    “I know your brother killed one of Prinny’s favorites.”
    “Geoff was. . .”
    How could Ian explain the duel to Stapleton?
    By-the-by, Stapleton, my brother found your niece engaging in a ribald dalliance with the Duke of Paneswort on the veranda. Poor gullible, infatuated pup that he was, it appeared to Geoff she was being set upon against her will. He was honor bound to call the duke out.
    Or so Lucinda had ranted to Ian when she’d told him the cause of the duel.
    Against Miss Caruthers’s will? And geese lay golden eggs.
    He’d heard the men at the Armstrong’s ball boasting about sampling her charms, even if her uncle hadn’t.
    Staring past the sooty-paned window behind Stapleton, Ian’s gaze rested on the scarcely visible masts of the ships in London’s harbor. Geoff had wanted to join His Majesty’s Navy.
    Father had soundly forbid it.
    With one son already in his Majesty’s service, the risk to the viscountcy was too great. Despite his sire’s strenuous objections, Ian had used his inheritance from his maternal grandmother to buy a captain’s commission.
    If he hadn’t