Married to the Viscount Read Online Free PDF Page A

faint in his life. And to have it be this particular woman, who’d always seemed to robust and happy in America, turned his stomach.

    But damn it, she’d taken him by surprise. Forged letters? A marriage license? A stolen dowry? What in bloody hell had come over his brother?
    The answer came to him in a flash. It must have something to do with Nat’s determination to gain that partnership. Why else had the scoundrel vanished earlier? He must have heard about Miss Mercer’s arrival in England and scurried off to hide.
    As well he should. When the idiot eventually showed up, Spencer was going to thrash him within an inch of his life.
    As Spencer entered the haven of his study, he heard Mrs. Graham explaining to anyone who would listen about how he’d married Miss Mercer by proxy. Good God, what a mess.
    Still, his first concern must be Miss Mercer. He carried her motionless body over to a chaise longue. But when he laid her on it and she didn’t even moan, his concern exploded into alarm.
    Smelling salts. He needed smelling salts, but where was he to find them in a bachelor household? He could call for his housekeeper…No, there wasn’t enough time.
    Then he spied Miss Mercer’s reticule, miraculously still attached to her wrist by its cord. Jerking it open, he was relieved to find a bottle inside. He twisted off the cap, then waved the bottle under her nose.
    Just as a sweet herbal scent wafted to him, making him wonder if this was smelling salts after all, she gasped and her fragile eyelids fluttered open. Thank God. He set the bottle on the floor, then chafed her hands in his, alarmed by how frigid her fingers were.
    “Miss Mercer,” he said in a low voice, “are you all right?”
    “Wh-what happened?”
    Her voice sounded far too reedy and weak to him. “You fainted. What can I do to make you more comfortable? Fetch you some wine? Or brandy perhaps?”

    “C-corset,” she whispered, licking her lips.
    Good God, had she lost her wits when she’d lost consciousness? “What?”
    “Can’t breathe,” she rasped. “This…corset. Not used to…wearing one.”
    When she unhooked the fastenings at the front of her gown, he realized what she was trying to tell him. He watched speechlessly as she unhooked her gown, then wriggled out of the restrictive bodice, shoving it down to her waist so she could reach the laces of the corset tied at the back. For a moment, all he could do was gape at the golden female flesh that showed above the lace of her chemise.
    Then she glanced up at him as she struggled to catch her breath. “H-help me,” she pleaded.
    That spurred him into action. First he closed the door to the study, then returned to shift her onto her side. But when he started on the laces, he found them knotted.
    “Just cut them,” she whispered. “Get it loose!”
    Grimly he drew out his penknife, but cutting through the too tight laces of her corset wasn’t all that easy. No wonder she couldn’t breathe. He had to work his knife into the fabric just to get under the strings. Even then it took some sawing before the annoying thing gave way.
    With a satisfied “Ahhh,” Miss Mercer relaxed and dragged in several deep breaths.
    “I cannot fathom why you women wear such torture devices,” he muttered as he pocketed his knife.
    “I don’t generally.” She rolled onto her back again, her bodice now crumpled down about her waist and her corset loosely covering her chemise. “But Mrs. Graham insisted that a viscountess should wear a corset, so—” She took a shuddering breath. “Anyway, she thought it appropriate.”
    For a viscountess. A pang of guilt shot through him. Nat might have deceived her about Spencer’s desire to marry her, but she’d had good reason to believe him. The Americancourts would consider both the letters and the marriage certificate valid until Spencer proved otherwise. Now what the hell was he to do about it?
    He felt rather than heard someone enter the room behind