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

smelling bottle, he found no trace of the salts. He stood staring in disbelief. All these fallalls, fripperies, and female whatnots, and not a single vial of smelling salts amongst them?
    “Blast it all,” he muttered under his breath. “Come on, man, think. Charlotte’s flopping round like a loose fish half the time. What else is done to help her?”
    He raked his fingers through his hair again, pushing it on end. Miss Caruthers’s chest barely rose now, her breaths even shallower.
    Would her breathing ease if he loosened her stays?
    Loosen her stays ?
    His gaze ricocheted to the door, then returned to Miss Caruthers. Were her lips bluer? The devil take it, she was struggling to breathe.
    “Why do women insist on wearing those blasted contraptions?”
    There was nothing for it then.
    Ian slid her gauzy gown off one shoulder, then the other. Bent over her, his face inches from her tempting breasts, he began to tug the dress to her waist. Her perfume wafted upward. The fabric caught and held behind her. He gave a little jerk, then a harder yank. The material was stuck fast.
    Raising her plaint form part way, he peered over her back. A hook had caught on her stays. Sweat broke out across his brow. It’s the heat of the room—nothing more. Her breasts crushed against his chest most certainly weren’t the cause.
    With her head lolling against his shoulder, Ian shifted Miss Caruthers to a more upright position. With a might more force than was necessary, he jerked the gown once more. It popped loose, leaving a shred of lace stuck to the stays. Damn and blast. It was considerably more difficult to undress an insensate woman than one eager to have her clothes removed.
    He darted another worried look to the door. All he needed was some dame to enter the retiring room and catch him in the act of undressing Miss Caruthers. That unwelcome thought spurred him on.
    He laid her on her stomach, then made quick work of unlacing her stays. The moment they were loosened, she sucked in a shuddering breath. Turning her onto her back, he snatched the dress’s neckline, pulling the fabric over her breasts. His fingers brushed the smooth mounds in his haste.
    “Hell.” He swore at the involuntary tightening in his breeches.
    He tried to slide her arms back into their sleeves, but the gown, pulled nearly to her neck now, was too tight. Ian unceremoniously yanked the dress down, slid her arms into the sleeves, then once again, covered her breasts. He hadn’t accomplished the task with a great deal of finesse, but at least her breathing had eased somewhat.
    He wiped his upper lip before standing and staring at Miss Caruthers. Her gown was rumpled and sagged off her shoulders. He adjusted the fabric into some semblance of decency, then smoothed her skirts. She still did not rouse. His concern increased. Charlotte never remained unaware for this long.
    Miss Caruthers needed a physician.
    Now.
    Striding to the room’s entrance, he breathed a grateful sigh. He’d not been interrupted in his ministrations. Gads, he could only imagine what the gossipmongers would make of it. Glancing at Miss Caruthers, he smoothed his hair, then reached to button his coat once more.
    A gaggle of twittering women piled into the room. They halted abruptly, stumbling pell-mell into one-another.
    Bloody, maggoty hell.

Chapter 4
    Ian finished securing his coat, and addressed the lady’s maid, who’d finally made an appearance. She skittered around the edge of the ladies to gape at Miss Caruthers splayed on the divan. “Miss Caruthers is seriously ill. Please find her cousin, Miss Stapleton, and request she come at once.”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    Bobbing a hasty curtsy, the pudgy girl tore from the room as if the hounds of hell were after her. More likely, she was already planning the juicy details she would use to embellish her rendition of what she’d seen.
    A warning sounded in Ian’s head.
    The rotund Duchess of Beacock drew herself up in indignation,